Philosopher-monks, episcopal authority, and the care of the self: The Apophthegmata Patrum in fifth-century Palestine (Instrumenta Patristica Et Mediaevalia) 9782503578880, 2503578888

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PHILOSOPHER-MONKS, EPISCOPAL AUTHORITY, AND THE CARE OF THE SELF

I N S T R V M E N TA PAT R I S T I C A E T M E D I A E VA L I A

Research on the Inheritance of Early and Medieval Christianity

80

Zachary B. S mith

PHILOSOPHER-MONKS, EPISCOPAL AUTHORITY, AND THE CARE OF THE SELF THE APOPHTHEGMATA PATRVM IN FIFTH-CENTURY PALESTINE

2017

I N S T R V M E N TA PAT R I S T I C A E T M E D I A E VA L I A

Research on the Inheritance of Early and Medieval Christianity

Founded by Dom Eligius Dekkers (†1998)

Rita Beyers Alexander Andrée Emanuela Colombi Georges Declercq Jeroen Deploige Paul-Augustin Deproost Anthony Dupont Jacques Elfassi Guy Guldentops Hugh Houghton Mathijs Lamberigts Johan Leemans Paul Mattei Gert Partoens Marco Petoletti Dominique Poirel Kees Schepers Paul Tombeur Marc Van Uytfanghe Wim Verbaal

D/2017/0095/265 ISBN 978-2-503-57888-0 e-ISBN 978-2-503-57895-8 DOI 10.1484/M.IPM-EB.5.114777 © 2017, Brepols Publishers n.v., Turnhout, Belgium 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.

In memory of Maureen and Bill, whose lives were a blessing. For Ezekiel and Ezra, who supported daddy writing his “book about coffee shops.” For Margaret, who cares for my heart, mind, and soul.

TABLE OF CONTENTS Preface .

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Introduction: The problem of writing . . . . . . . . 1. The Apophthegmata Patrum as a book . . . . . 2. The Apophthegmata Patrum and its counterparts . . 3. The Apophthegmata Patrum in its historical context . 4. Moving forward . . . . . . . . . . . . . Chapter 1: The text and production of the Apophthegmata Patrum . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1. The Apophthegmata Patrum: Its text and dating . . 2. Egypt, Palestine, and the context of the Apophtheg   mata Patrum . . . . . . . . . . . . .    Conflict and competition . . . . . . . . . 3. The nature and function of apophthegmata . . . . 4. The audience of the AP . . . . . . . . . . 5. Conclusion: Reading the AP . . . . . . . . . Section I: Texts and church authority

11 13 13 14 17 21 25 27 31 36 47 56 63

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Chapter 2: Asserted authority in late antique Christian lit erature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1. Bishops over monks . . . . . . . . . . .   a.  Athanasius . . . . . . . . . . . . .   b.  Socrates . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   c.  Sozomen . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   d.  Bishops over monks . . . . . . . . . . 2. Separate spheres of authority . . . . . . . .   a.  Anonymous, Historia monachorum in Aegypto .   b.  Ammonas . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   c.  Separate spheres . . . . . . . . . . . 3. Revelatory ambivalence . . . . . . . . . .   a.  Theodoret . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   b.  Cassian . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   c.  Palladius . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   d.  Antony . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   e.  Revelatory ambivalence . . . . . . . . .

67 73 76 82 88 93 94 94 103 105 105 106 108 110 115 117

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4. A common trope . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117 5. Conclusion: A live question . . . . . . . . . 120

Chapter 3: Authority in the Apophthegmata Patrum . . . 1. Monks and ecclesiastics in the AP . . . . . . .   a.  Antony . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   b.  Bishops, priests, deacons, and monks . . . . .   c.  Ecclesiastic monks . . . . . . . . . . .   d.  Monks, ecclesiastics, and authority . . . . . 2. Authority in Palestine . . . . . . . . . . . 3. Conclusion: Power and authority in the AP . . .

123 125 126 137 153 157 158 166

Section II: Self-care and the philosopher-monks . . 169 Chapter 4: Self-care in classical and late antiquity . . . 171 1. Partial approaches to self-care in modern scholarship 172 2. Self-care in classical and late antique philosophy . 179   a.  The state of the soul . . . . . . . . . . 183   b.  The goal of the self . . . . . . . . . . 186   c.  The soul’s problem and its imperative . . . . 188   d.  Asceticism: The technologies of the solution . . . 190   e.  Environments of self-care: The self and others . . 196   f.  The final state: Self-death . . . . . . . . 198   g.  Practical concerns . . . . . . . . . . . 199 3. Conclusion: The self-care milieu of late antique thought 200 Chapter 5: Self-care in the Apophthegmata Patrum . . . 1. The state of the soul in the AP . . . . . . . 2. The goal of the monk . . . . . . . . . . . 3. The soul’s problem and imperative . . . . . . 4. The soul’s solution in ascetic technologies . . . . 5. Monastery and cell: The environments of self-care . 6. The final state . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7. Conclusion: Use of self-care in the Apophthegmata    Patrum . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion: Contextualizing the Apophthegmata Patrum .

203 205 211 217 219 234 245 248

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Appendix 1: The language of self-care . . . . . . . 259 Appendix 2: Self-care in the philosophical literature (tables) 263

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Appendix 3: Transitioning from elite to ecumenical . . . 281 Appendix 4: Supplements to self-care in the Apophthegmata Patrum (tables) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 285 Bibliography Ancient sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 291 Secondary literature . . . . . . . . . . . . 299 Index Index of persons and texts . . . . . . . . . . 317 Subject index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 320

PREFACE This book is the result of a decade of reading, contemplation, conversation, and critique. I have benefited during this project from the professional and material support of many people, and I would like to thank some of them here. Having my own intellectual abbas – Richard Valantasis, Larry Welborn, and Joe Lienhard – to guide me through several iterations of this project with their wise counsel, discerning eyes, expansive knowledge of both ancient literature and contemporary scholarship, and overall encouragement was invaluable. I am also grateful to George Demacopoulos and Ben Dunning for their comments at earlier stages and their suggestions for further reading and consideration. Likewise, the late Maureen Tilley and Bill Harmless were generous sounding boards for my ideas, and gentle shepherds of my overenthusiastic tendencies. A thank you to my friends and colleagues at Emory, Fordham, and Creighton; senior colleagues at NAPS, the Oxford Patristics Conference, and other universities; my parents (Teresa and Gilbert) and all of my in-laws; and my students. They supported (or, for the students, tolerated) my pursuit of this topic and its current form as this book with thoughtful comments, insightful questions, and helpful ideas. Noteworthy are Michael Azar, Alden Bass, David Brakke, Kem Crimmins, John Garza, Jennifer Illig, Matthew Lootens, Eric Meyer, Sean Moberg, Peter Nguyen, Paul Olson, John Penniman, Kyle Schenkewitz, Jon Stanfill, Blossom Stefinew, Krista Stevens, and Jonathan Zecher. I am grateful to Anthony Dupont for his support and for suggesting that I publish in the IPM series; and to my editor at Brepols, Bart Janssens, who patiently guided me through the process and provided help and encouragement at every point. Special thanks also to my anonymous reviewer who found in my submission something worthwhile, and then worked carefully to correct errors, suggest places where I could tighten my argument, and point me to additional scholarship. Both Bart and the reviewer were instrumental in helping me understand publishing for an international audience.

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Knowing how much they do for researchers daily, I thank also the hardworking librarians and staff of the Pitts Theology Library (Emory), Walsh Library and Quinn Library (Fordham), New York Public Library, and Reinert-Alumni Library (Creighton). Deserving special shout-outs are Lynn Schneiderman and the circulation staff at Reinert. I thank Rachel Nozicka for indexing this book, and Dr. Gail Jensen (dean of the Graduate School at Creighton) for awarding me a Faculty Research Support Grant to help with the project. Your ability to work reflects the support of your community; for me that is my family. I thank my amazing sons, Ezekiel and Ezra, for providing me with the motivation to work and to stop. They have tolerated daddy muttering about monks their entire lives, and their smiles kept me working long into the nights so that I could play with them the next day. On days when daddy had to work, they accepted that with the magnanimity of much older souls. Of course, I thank most of all my companion and spouse, Margaret Gurewitz Smith. She has read these pages as many times as I have and offered the best feedback; she also edited my prose to produce something readable. As a medieval historian, she brought a critical eye and judicious criticism to all stages. She is the most extraordinary partner in all regards, and this book reflects her support as much as it does my own work. Useful, good, and intelligible parts of this book are the product of my coenobium of colleagues, family, friends, and mentors. Whatever flaws remain are mine alone, produced in the solitary cell of my mind through my own shortsightedness or stubborn pride – sins and passions the monks knew well.

INTRODUCTION: The Problem of Writing This is a book about a book. Texts layer meaning on top of meaning, and this book explores the layers of the Greek alphabetical Apophthegmata Patrum (AP), or Sayings of the Desert Fathers, a collection of sayings and stories that condenses nearly two centuries of primarily Egyptian desert wisdom into a single text. Compiled in late fifth-century Palestine, the AP was the work of a monk familiar with the Egyptian monastic establishment of Scetis. Ostensibly, the compiler collected the sayings to educate ascetic practitioners during Palestine’s monastic flourishing; however, there is more than one layer to the AP. The AP’s compiler used his text to advocate tacitly for monastic autonomy. This book explores how and why the AP’s compiler constructs his argument. 1. The Apophthegmata Patrum as a Book My basic question is simple. Why did its compiler produce the AP? Writing a text is an intentional action (and, in late antiquity, an expensive one1), subject to literary and cultural conventions, that preserves the author’s understanding of his world. Late antique literature frequently contained a protreptic element: biographies persuaded the reader of their subjects’ virtues or vices; histories provided versions of events that directed the reader toward a particular understanding of past or current events; most letters were persuasive tools; and legal documents persuaded subjects toward particular actions. Understanding a text’s goal illuminates the text, its author, and the thought-world that the author inhabited. Philip Rousseau warns that while the historian should be interested in the world revealed by a text, one must also be 1  One needed either the money or leisure to learn writing (either out of necessity for business practices or out of education befitting social class), or the money to pay someone to write (R. Bagnall, Egypt in Late Antiquity, Princeton, 1993, pp. 255–60).

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wary of the historical realities supposedly uncovered in the text. Texts, by their nature, distort historical persons and events, often revealing more about their authors’ perspectives than about their authors’ worlds.2 This understanding yields an important heuristic tool – reading for biases provides suggestions about both an author’s and his opponents’ perspectives. What they write, and what they omit, becomes revelatory. I argue that the compiler of the Apophthegmata Patrum tacitly urges monastic autonomy from ecclesiastical oversight by carefully compiling stories with an anti-clerical bias and an emphasis on the continuity of practices and intellectual systems from classical philosophers to Christian monks. The AP’s compiler writes his hidden protreptic in the immediate aftermath of contested church-monastery relationships in Egypt and Palestine during the fourth and fifth centuries, anticipating possible conflicts in late fifth- and early sixth-century Palestine. The anti-clericalism and the assertion of monastic autonomy remain tacit precisely because the compiler does not want his text to repudiate overtly the mainstream church and risk becoming a flashpoint in itself. We find the compiler’s argument by reading the sayings in their literary, intellectual, and historical contexts. 2. The Apophthegmata Patrum and its Counterparts My young sons (Ezekiel and Ezra) helped me consider approaches to the AP. Ezekiel (now four years old) was learning how to think categorically as I wrote this book. As an example, he was learning how to place things that walked, quacked, looked, and acted like ducks in the category “likely a duck.” A text functions in the same way, but on more levels than just genre: the contents and structure also reveal a text’s purpose, especially when comparing it to related documents. For example, scholars for nearly seventy years have compared three texts by or about Antony, the “father” of Egyptian monasticism, and found that there are multiple Antonys depending on the authors’ purposes. 3 The best historical 2  P. Rousseau, “Knowing Theodoret: Text and Self,” in The Cultural Turn in Late Ancient Studies: Gender, Asceticism, and Historiography, ed. by D. B. Martin and P. Cox Miller, Durham, NC, 2005, pp. 278–97, esp. pp. 279–80. 3  S.  Rubenson, The Letters of St. Antony: Monasticism and the Making of a Saint, Minneapolis, 1995, pp.  89–191; D.  Brakke, Athanasius and Asceti-

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reconstruction starts with the Letters instead of Athanasius’s Vita Antonii, but we would not know the difference unless we found the duck (Antony in his Letters) and compared it to the Antony in the Vita Antonii to discover a goose. My approach to the AP is similar to my son’s approach to ducks. I consider the multi-layered stories and sayings of the AP, comparing them to other texts to illuminate the AP’s goals. Parts of the text that look like other texts warrant the same approaches – because both of them, at least initially and possibly still at the end, look like ducks. Where there are differences, I  explore what dynamics might have motivated the divergent depictions.4 The relationship between monks and ecclesiastics in the AP departs from other documentary evidence, meaning that the AP’s compiler must be asserting something different about the nature of authority. For example, in the AP monks like Antony regularly seek other monks for advice instead of going to the bishops.5 Bishops and priests look to monks for advice.6 Monks chide bishops for their mistaken treatment of monks.7 Monks exert independent power and authority over their own lives, and bishops and priests often appear in the AP as figures who interfere with the normal order of the ascetic and monastic life. An author does not need to cism, Baltimore, 1998, pp.  201–65; the originator of this comparative thesis was H. Dörries, “Die Vita Antonii als Geschichtsquelle,” in Nachrichten der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen: Philologisch-Historische Klasse 14, Göttingen, 1949, pp. 357–410). 4  C. O. Schrag examines what he calls a “communicative praxis”: “Discourse and action are about something, by someone, and for someone. Communicative praxis thus displays a referential moment (about a world of human concerns and social practices), a moment of self-implicature (by a speaker, author, or actor), and a rhetorical moment (directedness to the other)” (Communicative Praxis and the Space of Subjectivity, Bloomington, IN, 1989, pp.  viii). When texts present different perspectives on the same referential moment (in this context a historical event or figure), the authors evince different moments of self-implicature and different rhetorical moments. 5  E.g., Antony 6 (PG 65, col.  77); Antony 26 (PG 65, col.  84). Chapter one explores the manuscript tradition and the composite edition used throughout this book; n.  2 in chapter one, below, provides the edition citations for the AP. 6  E.g., Theophilus the Archbishop 2 (PG 65, col.  197); Eulogius the Priest 1 (PG 65, cols  169–72). 7  E.g., Theophilus the Archbishop 3 (PG 65, col. 200).

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assert implicit claims about power unless authority is contested. The AP’s compiler disguises his claim about the nature of monastic authority because overt advocacy for monastic self-determination might unsettle his community, or even leave his community vulnerable.8 The AP provides one piece of evidence for the complex power dynamics in fifth-century Palestine. To analyze the AP, I utilize two approaches: one compares similarities among texts to establish historical context,9 and the other reads seemingly disparate texts to demonstrate that they participate in the same strand of intellectual history.10 The first approach reads the AP for its concerns about power dynamics in late fifth-century Palestine; the second approach reads the AP for its proposed solution to the problem of authority. The compiler’s solution relies on a dominant thought-system in classical and late antiquity, for which I use the term “self-care.” Self-care identifies a problem in humanity (pneumatic deformation combined with the goal of accessing wisdom), posits a solution (reformation of body and soul) with specific techniques (asceticism), and provides

M.  Foucault aptly writes that “power is tolerable only on condition that it mask a substantial part of itself” (The History of Sexuality, vol. 1, An Introduction, trans. by R. Hurley, New York, 1990, p. 86). Discourses about power hide their nature because assertions of power or authority would disturb the reader if presented openly. When applied to monks, power becomes not just personally transformative but also locally transformative: “Ascetical power, then, produces the capacity for change and a capacity to affect the environment in which change is produced” (R. Valantasis, “Constructions of Power in Asceticism,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 63 [1995], p.  791). Valantasis argues that “social” ascetic power is contested between the environment from which ascetics come and the environment that they create. The greatest power derives from the asceticism to come, which is constructed mentally and becomes the goal of practice (pp. 806–11). Ascetics create their own systems of power that subvert the dominant power systems, and the subversion (Valantasis uses “contestation”) occurs in part through textual production (p. 791). Authors hide this power-play in their texts, often behind theological language, because (as Foucault argues) overt power claims and overt claims to authority are more divisive and less effective than hidden protreptics. 9  This is the approach that Brakke and Rubenson use on the texts about Antony. 10  D.  Boyarin uses this approach in Socrates and the Fat Rabbis, Chicago, 2009. 8 

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pedagogical mechanisms for training oneself and others.11 These approaches to the AP reveal the compiler’s twin arguments for monastic self-sufficiency – the separation of power between the ecclesiastic and monastic systems, and the continuity of thought from philosophy through Christian monasticism. Texts reveal more about their creators’ versions of history – whether realized or idealized – than about objective historical reality.12 By categorizing the AP’s contents and comparing them to other texts (in other words, sorting the ducks and the geese), we uncover the compiler’s biases and claims within his fifth-century Palestinian context. 3. The Apophthegmata Patrum in its Historical Context Another story about my oldest son. As I wrote this book, I  researched and wrote in my office, home, parents’ and in-laws’ homes, and one of my favorite spaces – American-style coffee

11  M.  Satlow similarly understands the rabbinical exercise of “talmud torah” as part of this milieu: “By constructing talmud torah in this manner, the rabbis were participating in the broader spiritual landscape of late antiquity, of which asceticism was an important component. Although their means differed, ancient rabbis, pagan philosophers, and church fathers were all engaged in a similar quest to perfect the individual through physical and mental discipline in order to bring him or her closer to the divine” (“‘And on the Earth You Shall Sleep’: ‘Talmud Torah’ and Rabbinic Asceticism,” Journal of Religion 83 [2003], p.  205). Michel Foucault and Pierre Hadot develop similar intellectual histories of self-care (Foucault) or spiritual exercises (Hadot), though their readings have shortcomings. See M. Foucault, The History of Sexuality, vol. 1, An Introduction; M.  Foucault, The History of Sexuality, vol.  2, The Use of Pleasure, trans. by R. Hurley, New York, 1990; M.  Foucault, The History of Sexuality, vol.  3, The Care of the Self, trans. by R. Hurley, New York, 1988; M.  Foucault, The Hermeneutics of the Subject: Lectures at the Collège de France 1981–1982, ed. by F. Gros, trans. by G. Burchell, New York, 2005; P.  Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault, ed. by A. I. Davidson, trans. by M.  Chase, Oxford, 1995; P.  Hadot, What Is Ancient Philosophy?, trans. by M. Chase, Cambridge, MA, 2002. 12  See H. White, “The Value of Narrativity in the Representation of Reality,” Critical Inquiry 7 (1980), pp. 5–27; he similarly recognizes that the need to write or claim authority implies the contestation of authority.

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shops.13 Ezekiel always wants to know what I am doing and where I am going. One day, when my wife told him that I was going to a coffee shop, again, to work on my book, he paused for a moment and asked, “Is Daddy writing a book about coffee shops?” My son understood that I spent a lot of time writing in coffee shops, so for him it was only natural that the book reflect the space in which it was produced. He is astute: if someone writes in a particular place (such as writing the AP in late fifth-century Palestine), the author necessarily encodes something of that place in the text. It is more honest to read the AP as a reflection of Palestine in the fifth century than as a reflection of Egypt in the fourth century (the original setting for most of the sayings). In this regard, my book departs from the four major works on the AP. Two of these books, by Wilhelm Bousset and Jean-Claude Guy,14 focus almost exclusively on the manuscript, version, and translation traditions of the AP. While useful, these questions are not my own. The other two books, by Graham Gould and Douglas Burton-Christie,15 mine the AP for information on ascetic and monastic practices in fourth-century Egypt. Gould uses the AP to outline the history and idea of “community” among the Egyptian desert ascetics. While he recognizes that the AP rests in two contexts, one that originated the sayings and one that collected the sayings, he finds more value in what the AP reveals about Egypt.16 Gould notes the lack of interactions between monks and church authorities, but writes that this ellipsis suggests nothing.17 Gould is a careful scholar and reader 13  The United States’ “coffee shop” is roughly analogous to a Wiener Kaffeehaus, and in university towns throughout the United States they are frequented by faculty and students reading, researching, and writing. They hold little resemblance to a Dutch “coffee shop” that sells narcotics. 14  W.  Bousset, Apophthegmata: Studien zur Geschichte des ältesten Mönchtums, 1923, Aalen, Ger., 1969; J.-C.  Guy, Recherches sur la tradition grecque des Apophthegmata Patrum, Brussels, 1962 (Subsidia Hagiographica, 36). 15  G.  Gould, The Desert Fathers on Monastic Community, Oxford, 1993; D. Burton-Christie, The Word in the Desert: Scripture and the Quest for Holiness in Early Christian Monasticism, Oxford, 1993. 16  Gould, Desert Fathers, pp. 4–25. 17  Gould, Desert Fathers, p. 14. Gould elsewhere tackles the issue of monks and bishops barely interacting in the AP (G. Gould, “Lay Christians, Bishops, and Clergy in the Apophthegmata Patrum,” Studia Patristica 25 [1993],

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of the text, but his concerns lie with the text’s Egyptian monastic origins and not with the circumstances of the AP’s production. Unlike Gould, I contend that the largely absent interactions between monks and ecclesiastics in the AP reveal much about the fifth-century context of the AP’s compilation. Burton-Christie’s goals likewise revolve around the Egyptian setting in which the sayings originated, working to understand how the monks viewed education in scripture and holiness. His interest lies in the process of oral transmission of Egyptian desert wisdom. Burton-Christie identifies the “give a word” trope that pervades the AP as the source of the oral tradition undergirding the text. These sayings passed from monk to monk as part of the didactic tradition of early monasticism. Monks learned from those who came before and then passed that wisdom to the next generation.18 Burton-Christie further argues that the monks recorded and collated these sayings in order to preserve the initial spark of monastic fervor that was being lost in the fifth-century monastic diaspora.19 While he briefly acknowledges the AP’s textual cohesion, the apparent cacophony of its characters’ voices lures him into proposing that it cannot be read as a whole outside its Egyptian monastic Weltanschauung.20 Burton-Christie’s approach serves his goal of reading the Egyptian desert in the AP; however, we may also read the AP in the context of its compilation. Other scholars similarly approach the AP for historical data about Egypt, and occasionally about Palestine. Derwas  J. Chitty uses the AP for historical, geographical, and biographical information; Peter Brown scatters references to the AP throughout the second part of Body and Society to show how monks lived and thought; and Elizabeth Clark uses it both to establish and ques-

pp.  396–404). He devotes only half of the short article to addressing the interactions between monks and bishops or priests and seems loathe to admit that the interactions between monks and bishops and priests were strained in the AP (pp. 400–04). Gould’s short article appears to be primarily a critique of P.  Rousseau, Ascetics, Authority, and the Church in the Age of Jerome and Cassian, 1st ed., Oxford, 1978. 18  Burton-Christie, Word, pp.  76–79. 19  Burton-Christie, Word, pp. 79–88. 20  Burton-Christie, Word, pp. 92–95.

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tion the assumption of monastic illiteracy.21 Lucien Regnault uses the monastic apophthegmata as sources for understanding ascetic and monastic politeia.22 Georgia Frank and Daniel Caner both mine the AP for information on monastic pilgrimages.23 Susanna Elm uses the AP as a category of evidence for the formation of asceticism, especially female asceticism, in Egypt.24 Philip Rousseau unpacks some of the constructions of characters and authority in the AP, but primarily to depict the period before the AP’s collation.25 All of these authors use the AP as a sourcebook for history, biography, or geography – primarily of Egyptian monks. My approach differs from previous scholarship by reading the AP in both a narrower and a broader field than Egypt. I see the AP’s claims as instructive for its Palestinian compositional context; this approach is the narrower reading of the AP.26 The broader reading places the AP in the long intellectual and religious history of self-care. The AP emerged in late fifth-century Palestine, necessarily carrying with it the intellectual history of

21  D.  J. Chitty, The Desert a City: An Introduction to the Study of Egyptian and Palestinian Monasticism under the Christian Empire, 1966, Crestwood, NY, 1999; P.  Brown, The Body and Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity, 2nd ed., New York, 2008, pp.  213–84; E.  A. Clark, Reading Renunciation: Asceticism and Scripture in Early Christianity, Princeton, 1999, pp. 53–61. 22  L.  Regnault, The Day-to-Day Life of the Desert Fathers in Fourth-Century Egypt, trans. by É. Poirier, Jr., Petersham, MA, 1999. 23  G. Frank, The Memory of the Eyes: Pilgrims to Living Saints in Christian Late Antiquity, Berkeley, 2000 (Transformation of the Classical Heritage, 30); D.  Caner, Wandering, Begging Monks: Spiritual Authority and the Promotion of Monasticism in Late Antiquity, Berkeley, 2002 (Transformation of the Classical Heritage, 33). 24  S.  Elm, Virgins of God: The Making of Asceticism in Late Antiquity, New York, 1994, pp. 253–82. Elm mentions that the presentations of relationships between monks and ecclesiastical authorities betrays an anti-establishment viewpoint on the part of many Egyptian monks (p. 281). 25  P. Rousseau, Ascetics, Authority, and the Church in the Age of Jerome and Cassian, 2nd ed., Notre Dame, 2010, pp. 9–76. 26  In this way I agree limitedly with Samuel Rubenson’s contention that the AP is best understood when reading it as a fifth-century Palestinian text (S. Rubenson, “The Formation and Re-formations of the Sayings of the Desert Fathers,” Studia Patristica 55 [2013], p.  19). I  diverge from his strong claim that the AP says little about Egypt.

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classical and late antiquity, and the intra-Christian conflict leading to the fifth-century; it therefore lies not only in fourth-century Egypt but also in the classical Mediterranean and fifth-century Palestine.27 4. Moving Forward I argue in this book that a text that looks like a duck and is written in a coffee shop probably says something about the nature of Anatidae swilling espresso. I present a different picture of the AP than was painted in earlier scholarship, one that pays careful attention to what is said and unsaid in the context of its compilation.28 While the sayings yield information about their Egyptian origins, an equally important message in the AP transcends instruction in asceticism and monasticism. The AP’s intended monastic audience would have relished its implicit assertion of monastic autonomy in the face of historical realities that conspired to subsume monks under a bishop’s phailonion. The AP’s compiler argues furthermore for a monastic autonomy rooted in the monks’ ascetic way of life inherited from the philosophical traditions of earlier centuries. These philosopher-monks develop their own system of authority that subverts control over their politeia, a system that stands as a culmination of the long Mediterranean intellectual tradition of self-care. The first chapter of this book addresses concerns about the text itself (including genre, manuscript tradition, and audience) James Goehring writes similarly: “In terms of the impact of the literary models on our understanding of asceticism, it must be recognized that ascetic practice in Egypt was more diverse than the literary models indicate. This is true not only with reference to doctrine, but also with reference to practice. As the literary models of asceticism took hold in the minds of the early Christians, their rhetoric of imitatio not only forced the future into a prescribed mold, it also reshaped the past. Historically, the ascetic practice represented by the literary source is most at home in the later age that the source itself helped to shape” (J. Goehring, “Through a Glass Darkly: Diverse Images of the Apotaktikoi(ai) of Early Egyptian Monasticism,” Semeia 58 [1992], p. 37). 28  Samuel Rubenson makes a similar claim concerning the AP: “What is typical for the collection as a whole … reveals more about the collections per se, and their historical background, than about the society in which the sayings originated” (Rubenson, Letters, 152). 27 

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and outlines the post-Chalcedonian Palestinian setting of the AP’s compilation. It compares historical moments to analogous accounts in the AP to suggest why the AP skews toward non-confrontation, while remaining ecclesiastically ambivalent. Given the discrepancy between the history and what the AP’s compiler writes, chapter two assesses other pieces of literature to establish that monks and bishops fought for monastic control in late antique Christianity. Some texts and authors assert the primacy of the episcopacy, others decry ecclesiastical overreach into monastic affairs, and others still fall somewhere between those perspectives. Chapter three demonstrates that the AP falls into the second category by tacitly presenting ascetics and ecclesiastics as separate groups. The compiler’s presentation avoids aggression but remains consistent – monastic authority should reign supreme within monasteries. In the AP, monks gird their authority with their ability to practice self-care. Chapter four establishes the classical and late antique background for fifth-century self-care thought in Christianity. The AP is not the only text in Christianity to appropriate this intellectual tradition, but the compiler uses it to demonstrate that monks stand apart from the rest of Christianity. Chapter five explores the contours of self-care thought in the AP, suggesting how monastic communities applied the Christian narrative to the self-care tradition. The result is a Christianized self-care that allows monks to assert their autonomy based on the tradition of philosophical and religious communities educating themselves independently in self-care. The appropriation by the AP’s characters of the Greco-Roman intellectual tradition of self-care and their development of a Christian system of self-care implies to monastic audiences a power structure with its own authorities and practices, operating outside the traditional power structure created and maintained by church authorities. The AP’s compiler did not intend the AP solely as a hidden polemic against ecclesiastical interference. One of the AP’s main goals was in fact protreptic and didactic toward Christian asceticism, but its character presentations and creation of a Christian system of self-care hint at multivalence in the AP’s composition in late fifth-century Palestine. The AP is not an accidental text. Its compiler, like the compilers of other apophthegmata, selects his sayings and organizes them with a clear purpose. By presenting particular characteri-

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zations of monks and church leaders, he attends carefully to his own time period and its concerns about clerical abuses of power against monks. By selecting those sayings that follow the theory and practice of self-care in Greco-Roman intellectual culture, the compiler presents an ascetic system of authority that justifies monastic autonomy.29

29  Jan Stenger undertook a similar project exploring the presence of Greco-Roman philosophical thought in Dorotheos of Gaza, allowing Dorotheos to create his own system of training in practices that teach virtue (J.  R. Stenger, “What does it Mean to Call the Monasteries of Gaza a ‘School’? A  Reassessment of Dorotheus’ Intellectual Identity,” Vigiliae Christianae 71 [2017], pp. 59–84).

CHAPTER 1: The Text and Production of the A pophthe gmata Patrvm This chapter explores the production and genre of the Apoph­ thegmata Patrum, a text marked by its turbulent context. The text itself is a Greek-language collection of nearly one thousand sayings and stories from and about famous late antique monks, primarily from Egypt, though also from Palestine, Syria, and Asia Minor. The compiler organizes the sayings under one hundred thirty headings, each named for the monk who spoke the saying or about whom the story is written. The names of these one hundred twenty-nine monks appear alphabetically by the first letter of the monks’ names – Antony, Arsenius, Agathon, and Ammonas open the collection.1 In most manuscripts, the collection receives an introduction and a large appendix of unattributed sayings.2

1  The discrepancy between the headings and monks is caused by doublelisting Arsenius, once under his name and once under “Roman Abba.” Six manuscripts have one hundred thirty-two headings representing one hundred thirty-one monks, adding an Abba Theodotus (J.-C. Guy, Recherches sur la tradition grecque des Apophthegmata Patrum, Brussels, 1962 [Subsidia Hagio­ graphica, 36], p. 22). 2  Unless otherwise noted, I use the abbreviation AP to refer to the Greek alphabetical collection. For the alphabetical collection the edition is split between the manuscript edited by J. B. Cotelier, in Ecclesiae Graecae monu­ menta, vol. 1, Paris, 1677, pp. 338–712; reprinted in J.-P. Migne, PG 65, Paris, 1858, cols 71–440; and the reconstructions in Guy, Recherches, pp. 13–58. I cite the sayings by character and number, followed by the column(s) in Migne; e.g., Antony 10 (PG 65, col. 77). For sayings reconstructed by Guy, I cite by character and Guy’s supplemental number, followed by the page number in Guy; e.g., Isidore S1 (Guy, Recherches, pp. 24–25). The edition of the anonymous collection is split between F. Nau, “Histories des solitaires égyptiens,” Revue d’orient chrétien 12 (1907), pp. 43–68, 171–81, 393–404; 13 (1908), pp. 47–57, 266–83; 14 (1909), pp. 357–79; 17 (1912), pp. 204–11, 294– 301; 18 (1913), pp. 137–46; and Guy, Recherches, pp. 59–111; ed. and trans. by J. Wortley, The Anonymous Sayings of the Desert Fathers: A Select Edition and Complete Translation, New York, 2013.

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The AP’s manuscript tradition presents serious challenges to studying it. The earliest manuscript dates from the tenth century, though there are quotations from the sixth century, and the most commonly used edition is Jacques-Paul Migne’s Patrologia Graeca from the mid-nineteenth century, itself a reprint of Jean Baptiste Cotelier’s 1677 edition. Besides the single manuscript upon which Cotelier and Migne base their text, Paris BNF Grec 1599, Wilhelm Bousset and Jean-Claude Guy have identified several other manuscripts with full or partial editions of the Greek alphabetic AP, and the Early Monasticism and Classical Paideia project at the University of Lund has developed a database that reproduces and cross-indexes most of the manuscripts, versions, and editions of the AP. 3 Another collection of the AP exists, organized topically instead of alphabetically,4 creating questions about which collection holds priority. Finally, there are manuscripts that contain the whole collection of the AP, individual sayings from the AP, or sayings from the same figures as those in the AP but not found in the AP – in Greek, Latin, Ethiopic, Syriac, Slavonic, Georgian, Armenian, and Arabic. The manuscript, translation, and edition traditions are difficult to untangle, but it is possible to reconstruct (with reasonable accuracy) a form of the Greek alphabetical collection of the AP as it stood near its fifth-century compilation. This chapter utilizes a century of scholarship that helps to reconstruct an original form, then explores the original text in its context: a Greek-language collection of orally transmitted sayings organized alphabetically by the monks’ names, produced in the late fifth-century in Palestine. The chapter contextualizes the AP in its Egyptian origin and its Palestinian compilation. Finally, the chapter compares the AP to other apophthegmatic texts to define the contours of the genre and demonstrate that authors intentionally constructed apophthegmata to achieve specific goals. While it 3  W.  Bousset, Apophthegmata: Studien zur Geschichte des ältesten Mönch­ tums, 1923, Aalen, Ger., 1969; Guy, Recherches, pp. 13–58; Early Monasticism and Classical Paideia, Monastica, Centre for Theology and Religious Studies, Lund University (http://monastica.ht.lu.se/). 4  For the systematic collection the edition is J.-C. Guy, Les Apophtegmes des Pères, 3 vols., Paris, 1993–2005 (SC, 387, 474, 498); trans. by J. Wortley, The Book of the Elders: Sayings of the Desert Fathers: Systematic Collection, Collegeville, MN, 2012 (Cistercian Studies, 240).

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is nearly impossible to reconstruct the exact autograph of the AP, we can reproduce the core of the original text reliably enough to consider the purpose and circumstances of its production. 1. The Apophthegmata Patrum: Its Text and Dating Scholars have traditionally treated the alphabetic AP as less polemical than other texts because of its seemingly straightforward organization. Despite the quasi-random appearance of the material in the alphabetic AP, texts in this genre present their compilers’ biases and arguments. Before exploring the genre, though, the version, variants, and dating of the AP require clarification. No critical edition exists of the Greek alphabetic AP; the primary text is found in Jacques-Paul Migne’s PG, based on a twelfth-century manuscript.5 The closest to a “critical” edition is Jean-Claude Guy’s Recherches, which outlines some variants in ordering and contents between twelve manuscripts (including Paris BNF Grec 1599) dated from the tenth to the fourteenth centuries.6 Based on the alphabetic manuscripts, Guy concludes that the Cotelier-Migne text is one version, somewhat incomplete, of the alphabetic AP, but that the other manuscripts fail to offer a consistent version between them.7 Guy reconstructs from the manuscripts a “normal” Greek alphabetic Apophthegmata Patrum. Scholars generally use his reconstructed text (Migne as a base, Wilhelm Bousset for corrections, and additions and corrections from other manuscripts) to understand the collection. Even with variations in ordering between the two generic strands Guy identifies, and a small number of additions or exclusions, there is a remarkable amount of consistent content between the manuscripts. There was a core AP that Guy reliably reproduces as the “normal” version. Guy argues for a three-stage formation of the apophthegms, with the earliest forms given from abba to disciple as an answer to a question or request; the later forms add narrative, combine certain apophthegms, and generally edit the text until finally 5  6  7 

Guy, Recherches, pp. 18–19. Guy, Recherches, pp. 13–58. Guy, Recherches, pp. 36–40.

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arriving at a collection such as the alphabetic or systematic, which represent less the true sayings of the desert and more the construction of a genre.8 The prologue of the AP presents the work as containing two sections: an alphabetic collection and an appended anonymous collection.9 Whatever the sayings’ original forms and transmission, the alphabetic AP reflects the sayings in the compilation’s own historical context. The alphabetic and anonymous collections together work to give monks a compendium of wisdom for living the Egyptian monastic life in another setting, but it is a compendium with implicit advice tailored to their specific late fifth-century struggles. The AP, or a form of it, circulated in Palestine before the midsixth century, and may have originated with followers of the Egyptian monk Poimen. Extensive sayings from the monks appear by the time of Dorotheos of Gaza, who probably had access to a version of the alphabetic-anonymous AP, given his many references to its sayings.10 Wilhelm Bousset dates the compilation of the AP between 460/70 and 500, positing a Poimenian sayings text as its core.11 Sayings by or about Poimen make up the largest single part of the AP, and sayings from his Egyptian monastic establishment, Scetis, form more than half of the AP. Derwas Chitty argues that Poimen and his monastic companions who fled Scetis in the fifth century, settling eventually in Palestine, produced the

8  J.-C Guy, “Note sur l’évolution du genre apophtegmatique,” Revue d’Asce­ tique et de Mystique 32 (1956), pp. 63–68. He argued similarly a year earlier (J.-C.  Guy, “Remarques sur le texte des Apophthegmata Patrum,” Recherches de Science Religieuse 43 [1955], pp. 252–58), drawing the same conclusions regarding the authenticity of sayings. Graham Gould questions Guy’s conclusions from this three-stage system and instead posits more room for variety in the sayings (G. Gould, “A Note on the Apophthegmata Patrum,” Journal of Theological Studies, n.s., 37 [1986], pp. 133–38). 9  AP “Prologue” 7–9 (PG 65, cols 73–75). See also Nau, “Histories,” Revue d’orient chrétien 12 (1907), pp. 43–47. 10  L.  Regnault, “Les Apophtegmes des Pères en Palestine aux Ve-VIe siècles,” Irénikon 54 (1981), pp. 324–35. 11  Bousset, Apophthegmata, pp. 66–68, 68–71, respectively. Karl Heussi argues in support of Bousset’s dating (K. Heussi, Der Ursprung des Mönch­ tums, Tubingen, 1936, pp. 133–37).

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apophthegmatic collections.12 Lucien Regnault argues, based on the proliferation of apophthegmata in Palestine and the presence of sixty sayings from Palestinian monks, that the AP originated in Palestine during the late fifth or early sixth century.13 These three strands of evidence all present the same general date for the AP (late fifth or early sixth century, certainly post-Chalcedon14), and two of them give Palestine as the likely place of composition. Even with the near certainty of a Poimenian origin in late fifth- or early sixth-century Palestine, manuscript questions about AP still hound its scholars. All surviving manuscripts of the AP date from the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and all of them have lacunae.15 Some of the sayings present in Migne’s version are not universal in the other manuscripts; some sayings are reordered; sayings appear in some manuscripts that are absent in the Cotelier-Migne edition. Guy presents a guide for a “normal” AP, but the fact that the reconstruction utilizes non-universal sayings (for example, the last sayings in Migne do not exist in the other manuscripts16) suggests that the “normal” text represents a reconstruction and not a manuscript reality. The twelfth-century manuscript utilized by Cotelier does not have the anonymous collection appended to the end of the alphabetic collection, though the prologue mentions it; this editorial excision reveals that the Cotelier-Migne text underwent later changes. Guy recognizes that there are likely two traditions represented by the manuscripts: one from the Cotelier-Migne manuscript, and one from the other manuscripts. Guy indicates that the other manuscripts do not agree enough to consider them the normative tradition, so the “normal”

12  D. J. Chitty, “The Books of the Old Men,” Eastern Churches Review 6 (1974), pp. 16–17, 20. 13  Regnault, “Les Apophtegmes,” pp. 320–30. 14  Chalcedon appears in the AP; see, e.g., Gelasius 4 (PG 65, cols 149–52) and Phocas 1 (PG 65, cols 432–33). Gelasius 4 is omitted in two manuscripts, and Phocas 1 in a single manuscript (Guy, Recherches, pp. 20, 36). 15  Guy, Recherches, pp. 16–19. Guy dates one manuscript to the tenth or eleventh century. 16  Guy, Recherches, p. 36. They do appear as anonymous sayings elsewhere (L.  Regnault, Les sentences des Pères du désert, vol. 3, Troisième recueil & tables, Sablé, Fra., 1976, p. 244).

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AP is a conjunction of the two,17 and may have originated both strands. Even if some sayings in the twelfth-century manuscript utilized by Cotelier do not appear in the other manuscripts, it is possible to label the collected whole as a “normal” AP with much apparent agreement representing a written collection produced far earlier than the Byzantine manuscripts, allowing us to work with the Migne-Guy text as normative.18 Moreover, even though some sayings (for example, the seven sayings of Abba Or that close the Cotelier-Migne manuscript) do not appear in the alphabetic-anonymous manuscripts examined by Jean-Claude Guy, they are present as anonymous sayings in other manuscripts according to Lucien Regnault. These sayings must have been excised from or added to Abba Or’s section at the end of the Cotelier manuscript. Since loss of attribution seems likelier than gaining attribution, in this instance the Cotelier-Migne text probably represents an earlier version of the alphabetic AP. Jean-Claude Guy’s reconstruction is a reasonable reproduction of a compiler’s activities in fifth-century Palestine; this compiler was likely part of (or at least close to) a group of Poimenian monks.19 In using the AP as a source of Palestinian monastic life, I will note the few places of significant disagreement between the manuscripts to ensure that evidence is not skewed by a minority manuscript reading. Given the massive amount of evidence scattered throughout the sayings of the AP, manuscript variants do not hinder the overall argument. Moreover, most sayings in the AP are present in all or most of the manuscripts, especially when account-

Guy, Recherches, p. 41. Guy, Recherches, pp. 231–33. Bousset believes that this alphabetic-anonymous collection was the parent of the systematic collection, while Guy believes that they represent different collation efforts (Bousset, Apophtheg­ mata, pp. 1–93; Guy, Recherches, pp. 190–200). 19  As demonstrated by Chiara Faraggiana di Sarzana, the collation of the sayings, either individually or in groups, into various apophthegmata rarely involved significant changes to the contents of the sayings themselves. Rather, the process of composing and editing the collections was more a series of decisions about of which sayings to include and in what order (C. Faraggiana di Sarzana, “Apophthegmata Patrum: Some Crucial Points of their Textual Transmission and the Problem of a Critical Edition,” Studia Patristica 29 [1997], pp. 455–67). 17 

18 

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ing for lost pages. There are very few sayings missing from Cotelier-Migne, and even fewer sayings found only in Cotelier-Migne. Despite some issues with the manuscript tradition, the MigneGuy text reasonably represents a compiler collecting sayings by and about monks, primarily Egyptian, and placing them into a document for the purpose of teaching the monastic life. This text represents the compiler’s ideals regarding monastic life, ideals shaped by two historical realities the compiler faced. First, the sayings arose in an Egyptian environment; second, they coalesced in the swirling politics and theology of post-Chalcedonian Palestine. The AP’s historical contexts (both in its earliest oral form and in its later written form) reveal a picture of monks consistently weaponized by various sides in the heated theological debates of the fourth and fifth centuries. 2. Egypt, Palestine, and the Context of the Apophthegmata Patrum The AP’s stated purpose is to give monks a guidebook for living as earlier generations of monks had lived. Indeed, a concern about declining late fourth- and early fifth-century monastic rigor and spirituality runs throughout the sayings. Later practitioners of the monastic life created a text that would grant future generations of monks access to the same wisdom that engendered the feats of practice seen in the first men and women of the Egyptian desert. The core of the AP is decidedly Poimenian: the monk Poimen and his community (six biological brothers20 and various disciples21) make up almost a quarter of the sayings in the AP. The AP records that Poimen and his brothers lived in Scetis until its destruction, after which they moved closer to the Nile, 22 ultimately settling outside Egypt.23 Scetis was the farthest south of the Egyptian monastic communities, deeper into the desert than 20  Anoub 1 (PG 65, col. 129). Anoub is the only named brother to have his own heading in the AP. 21  Agathon (Poimen 61 [PG 65, col. 357]) is the only disciple with his own heading in the AP who we can mark with some certainty. 22  Anoub 1 (PG 65, col. 129). 23  Poimen 183 (PG 65, cols 365–68).

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Nitria or Kellia (the two other famous Egyptian establishments) and farther from the life-giving Nile or Alexandria than either of them.24 Scetis rested in a valley, approximately eighteen miles long northwest to southeast, with lakes, marshes, and enough fresh water to supply the monks and to allow palms to grow.25 The monastic establishments of Scetis spread over a large portion of the valley, known as Wadi al Natrun, a short distance into the desert and a short way from the lakes and marshes. The closest settlement to Scetis was approximately forty miles away, making Scetis the remotest of the establishments.26 The monastic sources name Macarius of Egypt (also called Macarius the Great) as the first monk to settle in the Wadi al Natrun, probably around 330 ce; stories about his early life portray him as a camel driver for caravans conveying natron, a mineral salt found in the region’s lakes. He likely found the valley during excursions to collect the valuable resource.27 Scetis grew quickly and became the foundation that trained many of the great monks immortalized in the AP – besides Macarius of Egypt, the monks Arsenius, Agathon, Ammonas, Anoub, Apollo, Bessarion, Benjamin, Daniel, Zeno, Zacharias, Theodore of Pherme, Theodore of Scetis, John the Short, Isidore (priest of Scetis), Carion, Copres, Moses, Mark (disciple of Silvanus), Megethius (described as being brought up in the association of Sisoes and Poimen), Xanthias, Poimen, Pior, Paphnutius, Paul the Barber, Paësius (who has no heading of his own but was one of Poimen’s brothers and is mentioned), Sisoes, Silvanus, Timothy the Barber (brother of Paul, mentioned in the apophthegms under Paul’s name), and

24  Despite its age, the definitive archaeological and textual consideration of the (Lower) Egyptian monasteries is H. G. Evelyn White, The Monaster­ ies of the Wadi ’n Natrûn, 3 vols., 1926–1932, New York, 1973. Evelyn White demonstrates that Nitria sat in the Nile Delta just on the edge of the desert and near a town, with the establishment of the Cells (Kellia) about eleven travel (not straight-line) miles west-southwest and in what could realistically be called the desert (Evelyn White, Monasteries, 2, pp. 17–27). Scetis is about fifty-one travel miles to the south-southwest from Nitria (Evelyn White, Monasteries, 2, pp. 27–32). 25  Evelyn White, Monasteries, 2, pp. 27–35. 26  Evelyn White, Monasteries, 2, p. 41. 27  Evelyn White, Monasteries, 2, pp. 60–65.

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Phocas also spent time in Scetis.28 At least twenty-eight headings (one-fifth of the total) and five hundred eighty-two sayings (well over half) reflect the environment of Scetis. While monks associated with Scetis account for only twenty percent of the headings, they make up fifty-eight percent of the total number of sayings. In other words, Scetis dominates the AP.29 These thirty monks lived in Scetis for part or all of their careers, and other sayings record that monks traveled to Scetis. The prevalence of Scetis and Poimen illuminate the AP’s original historical context. Additionally, the dominance of Poimen suggests how these sayings appeared in Palestine. Raiders (Hugh G. Evelyn White posits Berber) overran Scetis in the early fifth century (407/8 ce), leading to the displacement and deaths of some of the AP’s heroes. Poimen and his brothers (Anoub and Paësius are named) fled to the closest settlement (the village of Terenuthis on the Nile), Arsenius fled to Canopus (where the Nile opened to the Mediterranean), and John the Short to Clysma (on the Red Sea). Moses the Ethiopian died in the destruction of Scetis. 30 From there the AP records that Poimen went to “Syria,”31 though that placement seems dubious given the lack of connections between Egypt and Syria, and the close connections between Egypt and Sinai and Palestine, in the AP. 32 28  This estimate of the monks associated with Scetis is a conservative one. Others – such as Amoun, Abraham, and Doulas – were likely also monks in Scetis at some point, but their location is less certain based on the sayings in the AP. 29  Derwas Chitty calls the AP the “chief document” of Scetis (Chitty, Des­ ert a City, p. 67). 30  Evelyn White, Monasteries, 2, pp. 150–61. 31  Poimen 183 (PG 65, cols 365–68). 32  “Syria” appears under only two other monks, both of whom lived in Scetis (Zeno 3 [PG 65, col. 176]; Mark Disciple of Silvanus 5 [PG 65, col. 296]). Zeno is described as residing in Syria, and Mark is described as not wanting to travel to Syria; however, Zeno is also connected to Palestine, and Mark to Sinai: Zeno 6 (PG 65, col. 177); Mark Disciple of Silvanus 4 (PG 65, col. 296). The attribution of Syria may be conflated with other locations by monks who were unfamiliar with distant geography. The distance between Scetis and Sinai or Palestine may have been enough that the weary monks considered themselves to have traveled far enough to be in Syria, a land of distant imagination and about which they had surely heard stories from monastic tourists (on monastic tourism, see G. Frank, The Memory of the Eyes: Pilgrims to

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Other evidence throughout the AP also suggests that Poimen and his brothers settled closer to Egypt after leaving Terenuthis. Mt. Sinai, across the Red Sea from Antony’s farthest mountain retreat (the “inner mountain”), and locations on the Sinai Peninsula, appear throughout the AP, demonstrating that the monastic establishments on the peninsula had connections with Egypt. 33 Mentions of Palestine and connections between Egypt and Palestine are nearly as numerous. 34 The connection between Scetis and Palestine or Sinai seems to have been fairly strong. Of the thirty Living Saints in Christian Late Antiquity, Berkeley, 2000 [Transformation of the Classical Heritage, 30]; and Cain, Greek Historia monachorum). The only saying definitively situated in Syria does not even use the term; it instead refers to Antioch (Gelasius 2 [PG 65, col. 148]). Moreover, the Antioch saying opens in Palestine, and Antioch’s purpose is as a waypoint between Palestine and Constantinople, and as the location of Symeon Stylites. It appears that besides the Poimen saying, the only other sayings that mention Syria may conflate it with other distant locations, and the only saying definitively in Syria uses the city name Antioch as its geographical marker. Poimen likely settled closer to Egypt than Syria proper, a distance from Scetis (Palestine, for example) that nevertheless may have felt like a trip to Syria. Additionally, at least one source from Palestine, the anonymous Historia monachorum in Aegypto, reveals an anti-Syrian bias that could preclude a Palestinian text like the AP from relying on a “Syrian” monk (A. Cain, The Greek Historia monachorum in Aegypto: Monastic Hagiography in the Late Fourth Century, New York, 2016, pp. 188–90). 33  Sinai: Cronius 5 (PG 65, col. 249); Mark Disciple of Silvanus 4 (PG 65, col. 296); Megethius 2 (PG 65, col. 301); Nicon 1 (PG 65, col. 309); Netras 1 (PG 65, col. 311); Xoius 2 (PG 65, cols 312–13); Silvanus 4 (PG 65, col. 409). Rhaithou: John the Eunuch 3 (PG 65, col. 233; this saying occurs only in Cotelier-Migne [Guy, Recherches, p. 25]); Matoes 9 (PG 65, cols 292–93); Nisterus S1 (Guy, Recherches, p. 27; this saying appears in most manuscripts); Peter the Pionite 3 (PG 65, col. 377); Sisoes 17 (PG 65, col. 397), 26 (PG 65, cols 400–01). Pharan: Arsenius 32 (PG 65, cols 97–100); Daniel 7 (PG 65, cols 156–57); Nicon 1 (PG 65, col. 309); Netras 1 (PG 65, col. 311). 34  Palestine: Gelasius 2 (PG 65, col. 148), 4 (PG 65, cols 149–52); Epiphanius Bishop of Cyprus 3 (PG 65, col. 164); Zeno 6 (PG 65, col. 177); Hilarion 1 (PG 65, col. 241). Eleutheropolis: Theodore of Eleutheropolis 1–2 (PG 65, col. 197; most manuscripts place this saying under a heading, not in Cotelier-Migne, for Theodotus [Guy, Recherches, p. 22]); Theodotus S1 (Guy, Recherches, p. 22; this saying occurs in a minority of manuscripts, and Cotelier-Migne does not have a heading for Theodotus). Jerusalem: Gelasius 4 (PG 65, cols 149–52); Phocas 1 (PG 65, cols 432–33); Philagrius 1 (PG 65, col. 436). Nilopolis: Gelasius 2 (PG 65, col. 148); Sisoes 15 (PG 65, cols 396–97). I do not include Cassian 1 (PG 65, col. 244) here because it does not demonstrate

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monks clearly connected with Scetis, six in the AP have some relationship to Sinai and three have some relationship to Palestine. There is a strong connection between the AP and Palestine. Lucien Regnault reinforces this conclusion by demonstrating that many Palestinian monks appear in the AP, the older (and shorter) surviving collections of apophthegms are primarily Egyptian, and many early quotations from the alphabetic-anonymous AP are by Palestinian authors. 35 Given that Poimen forms the core of the text; that Scetis grounds nearly sixty percent of the AP; and that the alphabetic-anonymous collection seems to have appeared first in Palestine, the monks associated with Poimen’s flight from Scetis to Palestine are almost certainly the originators of the first stage of the collection. Only one substantive piece of research analyzes Poimen, an unfortunate silence surrounding the monk most central to the AP. William Harmless notes that not only do modern scholars neglect Poimen, but even the Byzantine world overlooked him. 36 Harmless compares Poimen to Macarius of Egypt, who appears as a figure in several pieces of Byzantine monastic literature; he could similarly be compared to Antony, Pachomius, or Shenoute – all of whom feature prominently not only in late antique and Byzantine monastic texts, but also in significant bodies of scholarship. For a monk who clearly exercised strong influence, at least on Scetis and on the community of monks who fled the first Berber assault, it is curious that Poimen does not appear as a key figure in any other contemporary monastic literature. Harmless believes Poimen faces this neglect because he appears (possibly intentionally) more as a collector and dispenser of the early wisdom than as an active force in contemporary events. 37 a special connection between Egypt and Palestine, only that Cassian knows Palestinian customs and asks about them in Egypt. 35  Regnault, “Les Apophtegmes.” 36  W.  Harmless, “Remembering Poemen Remembering: The Desert Fathers and the Spirituality of Memory,” Church History 63 (2000), pp. 486– 88. 37  William Harmless demonstrates that this perception as a collector was true of Poimen not only in the AP but also in an Ethiopic collection of apophthegms that heavily features Poimen, and in a seventh-century life of John the Short. Overall, the process of collecting wisdom was part of the fourth-century milieu throughout the eastern Mediterranean, the time period

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Poimen’s centrality in the AP suggests the compiler’s concerns about the broader Christian community. Harmless notes that “Poemen was not just a subject who remembered. He was also an object of memory.”38 That the AP’s compiler collected memories about Poimen, not just Poimen’s memories of other monks, indicates some of the concerns that drove the AP. Unlike other monastic texts, the AP does not primarily portray theology and the triumph of orthodoxy over heresy (Athanasius), mystical practices leading to knowledge of the divine (Evagrius), or the wonderworking power of monks (Palladius). 39 While all of these concerns (theology, mysticism, thaumaturgy) appear in the AP, Harmless is correct that they do not drive the text; instead, they serve as means to the end of separating monks from ecclesiastics. Poimen’s portrait in the AP serves as a starting point for understanding the purpose of the AP’s production. Poimen is literally a shepherd, the meaning of his name, who guides others gently and compassionately on a middle-road asceticism (neither too easy nor too severe), employing skillful teaching and scriptural exegesis centered around the idea of sorrow and repentance for one’s sinful state.40 The AP’s compiler paints a Poimen able to care for the souls of others: such care forms his primary concern, as opposed to the concerns of the broader Christian community – concerns that frequently involved the monks in violent ways and broke apart monastic communities. Conflict and competition Integrating the disparate elements of Christianity into a cohesive community was a consistent difficulty.41 Institutional authorleading to Poimen’s flight from Scetis in 407/8 (Harmless, “Remembering Poemen,” pp. 497–517). 38  Harmless, “Remembering Poemen,” p. 517. 39  Harmless, “Remembering Poemen,” pp. 517–18. 40  Harmless, “Remembering Poemen,” pp. 489–97. 41  There are several examples from earliest Christianity. The apostle-centered factions mentioned in 1 Corinthians 1.10–17 and the tensions between Jews and non-Jews in the Jesus Movement in the last half of Acts are examples of the problems involved in creating Christian communities. In 2 Corinthians 10–12, Paul mentions people who question his qualifications to lead. The tension created by supporting prophets in Didache 13 necessitates a reminder in Didache 15 of the authority structure in the Didache community – in this case, charismatic authority had replaced institutional authority

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ity, especially in the hands of the bishops, was critically important to the development of Christianity. Claudia Rapp outlines three foci of episcopal authority – spiritual, charismatic (which she calls ascetic), and pragmatic – all of which are present in the persons and offices of bishops from an early period; changes over time in the episcopacy were a function of the emphasis given to specific foci.42 However, despite the internal emphasis on episcopal authority, the charismatic power of holy ascetics was indisputable.43 Monks were important authorities to the laity, especially by the fifth century. Institutional Christian authority by the time of the AP’s production was organized by geographically defined areas with episcopal authorities overseeing the affairs, both spiritual and temporal, of each region.44 The bishops of each region attempted, (for more on the support of prophets replacing the leadership of bishops, see Z. B. Smith, “Of Firstfruits and Social Fixtures: How Didache 13 Uses Torah to Reform Roman Patronage,” Early Christianity 8 [2017], pp. 251–68). 42  C.  Rapp, Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity: The Nature of Christian Leader­ ship in an Age of Transition, Berkeley, 2005 (Transformation of the Classical Heritage, 37), pp. 23–171, with the schema outlined succinctly on pp. 16–20. While she demurs from using “charismatic” because of its Weberian connotations of competition (p. 17), it is certainly an appropriate term for the kind of authority held by both bishops and monks. While charismatic authority need not necessarily include competition, in some instances in early Christianity that is clearly the case – the AP being one example. 43  P. Brown, “The Rise and Function of the Holy Man in Late Antiquity,” Journal of Roman Studies 61 (1971), pp. 80–101. Note especially pp. 82–84, in which Brown points to the Egyptian pattern of charismatic holy men clearly replicated by Syrian ascetics. The “holy man” paradigm starts in Egypt and reaches its high point in Syria. The AP’s stories demonstrate that the “holy man” paradigm appeared also in Palestinian monasteries, situated between Egypt and Syria. Monks rivaled the bishops as teachers, an intentional move to protect younger ascetic practitioners leading to suspicion of clergy (P. Rousseau, “Ascetics as mediators and as teachers,” in The Cult of Saints in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages: Essays on the Contribu­ tion of Peter Brown, ed. by J. Howard-Brown and P. A. Hayward, Oxford, 1999, pp. 45–59). 44  P.  Norton, Episcopal Elections 250–600: Hierarchy and Popular Will in Late Antiquity, Oxford, 2007, pp. 118–41, 162–76; Rapp, Holy Bishops, pp. 172–234. Ultimately, bishops primarily operated in the cities in the fourth and fifth centuries (see the essays in L’évêque dans la cité du IVe au Ve sièle: Image et autorité, ed. by E. Rebillard and C. Sotinel, Rome, 1998 [Collection de l’École Française de Rome, 248]). Canon 13 of the Council of Serdica outlined a kind of cursus honorum for Christian leaders with bishop

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sometimes successfully and sometimes not, to bring local monasteries under their episcopal oversight.45 In many instances, bishops and monks coexisted harmoniously, interacted somewhat frequently, and even cooperated throughout the fourth and fifth centuries, as the following two chapters demonstrate. Bishops came from the monasteries, monks assisted in theological disputes and confirmed episcopal elections, and the two realms overlapped in some of their concerns. The church required canonically that at the top (H. Hess, The Early Development of Canon Law and the Council of Serdica, Oxford, 2002, pp. 220–21 [Latin; cf. Greek on pp. 236–37, and the Theodosian version on pp. 248–49]; Hess’s commentary [pp. 157–61] outlines varieties of this cursus honorum). By 425, entry into the Christian hierarchical career path had become a viable choice for wealthy, elite Romans (M. R. Salzman, The Making of a Christian Aristocracy: Social and Religious Change in the Western Roman Empire, Cambridge, MA, 2002, pp. 132–34). 45  Kim Bowes explores some of these attempts, noting that they formed part of a broader play for rural areas and their places of worship on the part of city-centered bishops (K. Bowes, Private Worship, Public Values, and Reli­ gious Change in Late Antiquity, Cambridge, 2008, pp. 152–88, with the larger argument about rural “estate worship” [including monasteries] and its relationship to bishops at pp. 125–88). She concludes that in part “urban bishops were frequently at odds with estate-based Christian communities. The tension cannot be blamed on rural communities’ ‘natural’ tendencies towards heterodoxy, or on the specific growing pains experienced by early asceticism. Estate-based communities were simply different from those envisioned by the episcopate, and their hierarchy and very raison d’être were seigniorial, not episcopal. The interstices between these two different types of communities were spaces where tension accumulated: inward-looking estates versus distant episcopal cities, genuine local power versus theoretical diocesan authority, wealthy rural elites versus impoverished urban bishops” (p. 188). While her research focuses on the west and on the patronized ascetic establishments, Bowes makes well the point that there was a fundamental disconnect between the urban bishops and the more rural monks, even in the eastern Mediterranean, that resulted in attempts to control the monks (for examples, see D. Brakke, “Canon Formation and Social Conflict in Fourth-Century Egypt: Athanasius of Alexandria’s Thirty-Ninth Festal Letter,” Harvard Theo­ logical Review 87 [1994], pp. 395–419; and P. Allen, “The Festal Letters of the Patriarchs of Alexandria: Evidence for Social History in the Fourth and Fifth Centuries,” Phronema 29 [2014], pp. 1–19). Philip Rousseau outlines how this attempted “power grab” expressed itself in fourth-century Egypt (P.  Rousseau, Ascetics, Authority, and the Church in the Age of Jerome and Cassian, 2nd ed., Notre Dame, 2010, pp. 56–67, esp. pp. 66–67). Karl Heussi argues that this tension originated well before the fourth century (Heussi, Der Ursprung, pp. 11–69).

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monks obey their local bishops. For example, the canons of the fourth-century Council of Gangra attempted to exert control over ascetic practices, and six canons from the fifth-century Council of Chalcedon (4, 8, 16, 18, 23–24) tie monks and monasteries closely to their local bishops.46 Monasticism itself had become a highly organized structure in the fourth century, with solitary or small groups of monks as outliers rather than the norm.47 Most monasteries operated under the oversight of a single, older monk, with advanced monks under him overseeing the day-to-day operations (both spiritual and temporal) of the monastery and the monks within it.48 Despite the usual harmony between monks and bishops, tensions did arise and could become very severe, and bishops were not above using monks for their own purposes; these tensions between bishops and monks stubbornly crop up in many texts. Theological disputes in the fourth century, such as the Trinitarian debates and the Origenist controversy, either involved monks or were born from ecclesiastical concern over monastic teachings. The AP records Arians visiting Sisoes, who uses “the book of the holy Athanasius” to refute their teachings.49 Athanasius recruited monks as examples of anti-Arian piety, even going so far as to bring them to Alexandria. 50 Scholars largely agree that Athanasius wrote the Vita Antonii in part to paint Antony as the paradigm of 46  For the canons from Gangra, see “Canons from the Council of Gangra,” trans. by O. L. Yarbrough, in Ascetic Behavior in Greco-Roman Antiquity: A Sourcebook, ed. by V. L. Wimbush, Minneapolis, 1990, pp. 448–55; for the canons from Chalcedon, see The Acts of the Council of Chalcedon, ed. and trans. by R. Price and M. Gaddis, 3 vols., Liverpool, 2005 (Translated Texts for Historians, 45), 3, pp. 94–103. 47  M.  Dunn, The Emergence of Monasticism: From the Desert Fathers to the Early Middle Ages, Oxford, pp. 1–41. Rousseau, Ascetics, Authority, 33–49. These monks, however, were not as isolated from society as they seemed; see C. Rapp, “Desert, City, and Countryside in the Early Christian Imagination,” Church History and Religious Culture 86 (2006), pp. 93–112; and D. L. Brooks Hedstrom, “The Geography of the Monastic Cell in Early Christian Literature,” Church History 78 (2009), pp. 756–91. 48  Rousseau, Ascetics, Authority, 49–55; L. Regnault, The Day-to-Day Life of the Desert Fathers in Fourth-Century Egypt, trans. by É. Poirier, Jr., Petersham, MA, 1999, pp. 126–38. 49  Sisoes 25 (PG 65, col. 400): τὸ βιβλίον τοῦ ἁγίου Ἀθανασίου. 50  Evelyn White, 2, p. 73; he cites Pambo 4 (PG 65, col. 369) as evidence that Athanasius used monks to oppose Arianism, though that reasoning must

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anti-Arianism.51 At least one other Egyptian source from the midfourth century, a letter from Ammonius, indicates an anti-Arian slant among the monks.52 In the late fourth century, Egyptian monks refused to recognize the new Arian bishop of Alexandria, supported by the Arian emperor Valens, and helped revolt against him. In the ensuing violence Arian supporters (including imperial troops and some Arian ecclesiastics) exiled monks from Egypt, and may have killed some of them. 53 Among those exiled was Macarius of Egypt, the founder of Scetis. While a large part of Valens’s motivation to purge the monasteries was likely economic – residents of Egypt had started hiding in monasteries and passing as monks to avoid their financial obligations – Valens and Lucius (the Arian bishop of Alexandria) likely saw purging the monasteries of Egypt as a way to fix two problems.54 Whatever the exact contours of the persecution of monks under Valens, the Arian church united with the state to oppress the Egyptian monasteries that opposed Arianism.55 At least two late antique sources, including the AP, report that the Alexandrian bishop Theophilus used monks in the late fourth century as part of a force to demolish pagan temples in retribution for an uprising against Christians, making the monks perpetrators of violence at the behest of Theophilus. 56 This aggression cannot have engendered good sentiment toward the monks among the pagan population, which otherwise in the AP seems to have respected the politeia of the monks.57 Another controversy at the end of the fourth century included a monastic dispute over the be inferred from the historical context, as it is not implied by the apophthegm itself. 51  See, for example, D. Brakke, Athanasius and Asceticism, Baltimore, 1998, pp. 201–65. 52  Evelyn White, 2, pp. 74–75. 53  D. J. Chitty, The Desert a City: An Introduction to the Study of Egyp­ tian and Palestinian Monasticism under the Christian Empire, 1966, Crestwood, NY, 1999, pp. 47–48; Evelyn White, 2, pp. 77–80. 54  Evelyn White, 2, pp. 81–83. 55  Interestingly, in the AP, Arians are not seen as a violent force of division, but as wayward figures who need correcting. 56  Evelyn White, 2, pp. 89–90. See Theophilus the Archbishop 3 (PG 65, col. 200). 57  Olympius 1 (PG 65, col. 313).

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resurrection of the dead and nature of Melchizedek; Macarius of Egypt became embroiled in this controversy, partly at the behest of Theophilus. 58 The debate over Melchizedek is recorded in the AP as well.59 The most divisive debate of the desert, however, arose over Origen’s teachings. The contours of the debate are well researched,60 as are its effect in tearing apart the fabric of Egyptian and Palestinian monastic communities in the fourth century.61 Monks fought each other both willingly and at the urging of bishops, bishops worked against monks, and monks nearly rioted against bishops. Even the emperors Arcadius and Honorius, who had been taught by Arsenius before he became a monk at Scetis, supported the anti-Origen side. Populist riots flared against Theophilus in support of the monks, the monks themselves came to Alexandria to kill Theophilus, and Theophilus gathered a group of laypeople to attack monastic establishments. While accounts of the first Origenist controversy surely contain hyperbolic statements and overblown events, they do attest to the depth of conflict in the late fourth and early fifth centuries, before the first Berber invasion of Scetis. The AP bears witness to this controversy, though without the acrimony of other sources.62 Concerns from the larger Christian community regularly broke into the monastic world and either necessitated engagement (as in Arianism) or created serious conflict in monastic communities and between monks and bishops (as in Origenism), yet the AP’s compiler largely ignores them. In spite of the AP’s strand of anti-clericalism (or at the very least, ambivalence toward ecclesiastics), its compiler treats the bishop Theophilus – violent and heavy-handed Evelyn White, 2, pp. 115–17. Daniel 8 (PG 65, col. 160), Copres 3 (PG 65, col. 252). 60  See A. Guillaumont, Les ‘Képhalaia Gnostica’ d’Évagre le Pontique et l’histoire de l’origénisme chez les Grecs et chez les Syriens, Paris, 1962 (Patristica Sorbonensia, 5); E. A. Clark, The Origenist Controversy: The Cultural Con­ struction of an Early Christian Debate, Princeton, 1992; N. Russell, Theo­ philus of Alexandria, New York, 2007; D. Katos, Palladius of Helenopolis: The Origenist Advocate, Oxford, 2011; and K. Banev, Theophilus of Alexandria and the First Origenist Controversy: Rhetoric and Power, New York, 2015. 61  Evelyn White, 2, pp. 125–44. 62  Lot 1 (PG 65, cols 253–56), Sopatrus 1 (PG 65, col. 413). The story in Daniel 7 (PG 65, cols 156–60) may also be a part of the Origenist debates. 58  59 

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with the monks during the Origenist controversy – quite leniently. More importantly, the bishop Cyril appears in only two sayings, but in both he receives more positive treatment than the historical record would seem to allow.63 In the inter-religious conflicts of 415 in Alexandria, Cyril used monks as berserkers against the against the city’s prefect and the female philosopher Hypatia.64 It seems unlikely given the connections between monastic establishments in Egypt, Sinai, and Palestine that Poimen and his brothers (and the compiler of the AP) did not know about the violence of the Egyptian monks at the urging of Cyril. Yet this incident leaves no mark on the AP, which is odd given that Scetis was again attacked in 434 and another wave of monks (including Arsenius) left the outermost Egyptian desert for more populated places; ten years later, Scetis was overrun again.65 Monks from the first wave and from the second or third waves of resettlement from Scetis moved to Palestine.66 Surely they brought with them the stories of Nitria, Kellia, and Scetis, including the stories in which monks (at Cyril’s behest) created conflict in Alexandria. Despite the many upheavals in Egyptian monasticism (the Arian debates, Origenist controversy, and Theophilus’s and Cyril’s use of monks for violence), the AP largely ignores these problems. Instead, the compiler – and possibly Poimen and his community as the originators of the stories – saw the conflicts in Egypt and avoided making them central to the apophthegmatic narrative. The AP’s silence on the turmoil in fourth- and fifth-century Daniel 8 (PG 65, col. 160), Motius 2 (PG 65, col. 300). Evelyn White, 2, pp. 146–48. Christopher Haas takes some liberties with the accounts and makes assumptions in order to exonerate both Cyril and the monks (C. Haas, Alexandria in Late Antiquity: Topography and Social Conflict, 1997, Baltimore, 2006, pp. 302–16). Edward J. Watts explores the death of Hypatia as part of the changing educational dynamics of late antiquity (E. J. Watts, City and School in Late Antique Athens and Alexandria, Berkeley, 2006 [Transformation of the Classical Heritage, 41]). He further investigates how the inter-community violence in Alexandria continued into the late fifth century, with each group’s account of past events differing for the purpose of community formation (E. J. Watts, Riot in Alexandria: Tra­ dition and Group Dynamics in Late Antique Pagan and Christian Communities, Berkeley, 2010, [Transformation of the Classical Heritage, 46]). 65  Evelyn White, 2, pp. 162–67. 66  Chitty, Desert a City, pp. 71–77. 63 

64 

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Egypt speaks volumes; its Palestinian setting suggests the compiler’s reason for skirting these conflicts. When Poimen and his followers entered Palestine fleeing the destruction of Scetis, they found themselves entering a region soon to be embroiled in debates surrounding monophysitism and Origenism. These debates form the historical context for the AP’s production; they are the raison d’être for the kind of sayings collected in the AP, and they explain why the compiler painted portraits of the monks as independent philosophers with a chilly relationship to ecclesiastical authority. The overarching argument of the AP is one of monastic separation from ecclesiastical hierarchies. The theological conflicts that roiled Egypt during the flourishing of Poimen and his followers gave birth to this monastic goal of separation from the wider church, and monastic communities accentuated this stance in the aftermath of the councils of Ephesus (431) and Chalcedon (451) that divided monks in Egypt and Palestine.67 67  For an overview of the Christological controversy, see W. H. C. Frend, The Rise of the Monophysite Movement: Chapters in the History of the Church in the Fifth and Sixth Centuries, Cambridge, 1972. He focuses more on Egypt and Syria than Palestine, and his repeated assertions about the “loyalty” of monks to regional bishops and patriarchs are too simplistic. In reality, there was a variety of opinion in monasteries regarding episcopal authority. Aloys Grillmeier’s five volume Christ in Christian Tradition provides a highly detailed analysis of the development of Christological thinking, particularly in the roughly seven decades following the Council of Chalcedon (four out of the five tomes). For the Palestinian setting, volume 2, part 3 (A. Grillmeier and T. Hainthaler, Christ in Christian Tradition, vol. 2, part 3, The Churches of Jerusalem and Antioch from 451 to 600, trans. by M. Ehrhardt, Oxford, 2013) supplies the most useful information. Grillmeier and Hainthaler outline a variety of perspectives on Christology among post-Chalcedonian Palestinian monks before and after the AP’s production, though all of these are Christocentric (pp. 18–30, 40–48, 64–82, 91–128). Despite clear pro- and anti-Chalcedonian slants among different monks or groups of monks, Grillmeier writes that “the monastic ideals of asceticism made it possible to find a path to a common image of Christ that was closed to the bishops with their primary obligation towards traditional formulas and their involvement in ecclesiastical politics” (p. 21). This unity of asceticism, while it may be less realized at points or places, remained the monastic ideal even in the face of theological disputes. Ecclesiastic involvement of monks in these debates often led to the dividing of ascetic unity along partisan theological lines. Philippe Blaudeau focuses on the Council of Chalcedon and how the Christological concerns of

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These debates pitted monks against each other throughout Palestine, especially after Chalcedon, an event memorialized in the AP. The anti-Chalcedonian usurper bishop Theodosius took the episcopacy of Jerusalem from the pro-Chalcedonian (and canonical) bishop Juvenal with the help of many monks; the abbot Gelasius is depicted as opposing Theodosius.68 Gelasius was not the only monk to support the Chalcedonian definition as conforming to Nicaea and to Alexandrian theology – the famous Palestinian monk Euthymius did as well – but these two stood in the minority of Palestinian monks, and the anti-Chalcedonian monastic majority used force against them.69 The episcopacy of Jerusalem bounced from pro-Chalcedonian to anti-Chalcedonian to a late-fifth-century reunion between anti- and pro-Chalcedonian factions (monks and ecclesiastics included).70 Perhaps the early anti-Chalcedonian sentiment should not be surprising given the strong connections between Egypt (anti-Chalcedonian) and Palestine (mixed).71 Despite the outcome unifying most of the factions, anti-Chalcedonian sentiment survived in some Palestinian monastic communities into the sixth century.72 The AP’s production stands at the end of the extreme division between the monastic communities after Chalcedon, even though some division survived through and after the point of the AP’s production. In addition to working at the end of the Palestinian division over Christology, the AP’s compiler worked at the beginning of the second Origenist controversy. In outlining the Origenist controversy in Palestine in the sixth century, John Binns traces its origins to the anti-intellectual bent of the famous Sabas and a conflict between educated and uneducated monks in his monas-

the fifth century led to an increase in papal authority (P. Blaudeau, Le Siège de Rome et l’Orient [448–536]: Étude géo-ecclésiologique, Rome, 2012 [Collection de l’École Française de Rome, 460]). The tensions over Chalcedon, thus, were not isolated to monks and bishops, but were felt across the Mediterranean. 68  Gelasius 4 (PG 65, cols 149–52). 69  J. Binns, Ascetics and Ambassadors of Christ: The Monasteries of Palestine 314–613, Oxford, 1994, pp. 184–88. 70  Binns, Ascetics and Ambassadors, 188–89. 71  Binns, Ascetics and Ambassadors, 157–60. 72  Binns, Ascetics and Ambassadors, 189–90.

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teries.73 He writes, “Although tension between ‘simple’ and ‘intellectual’ monks was often present in monastic society, it was more pronounced in the monasteries of Sabas.”74 The AP reflects this tension. Both Arsenius and Euprepius lament the limitations of their education – for Arsenius in particular, no amount of classical training allows him to practice better than the uneducated αγροῖκοι καὶ Αἰγύπτιοι of Scetis.75 The AP describes Bessarion as indifferent to books, whereas Epiphanius thinks that those who can read must have books, especially scripture (but certainly not books of hidden wisdom, according to Sopatrus), although Ammoes says that he has seen monks willing to leave their books at a moment’s notice.76 Macarius of Egypt tells Theodore of Pherme to sell his books and give the money to the poor in order to be rid of possessions, and Serapion condemns a monk for having expensive books that could be sold to feed the hungry.77 Another monk focuses more on his practices than on copying a book precisely (or even reasonably closely).78 Gelasius has a very expensive copy of the entire Christian scripture, but he is more than happy to part with it after it is stolen.79 Sisoes keeps at least one book – by Athanasius – and uses it to refute Arians.80 Silvanus mocks a monk who is unwilling to work for his food but thinks that the highest calling of a monk lies in books.81 These sayings capture the tension in the AP between the educated and uneducated monks, reflecting not only the realities of Egypt, but also the realities of Palestine in the late fifth century. At least one apophthegm explicitly relates that some monks in Egypt had Binns, Ascetics and Ambassadors, 201–11. Binns, Ascetics and Ambassadors, 207. 75  Arsenius 5–6 (PG 65, cols 88–89), quotation from Arsenius 5 (PG 65, col. 89); Euprepius 7 (PG 65, col. 172). 76  Bessarion 12 (PG 65, col. 144); Epiphanius Bishop of Cyprus 8–10 (PG 65, col. 165); Sopatrus 1 (PG 65, col. 413); Ammoes 5 (PG 65, col. 128). 77  Theodore of Pherme 1 (PG 65, col. 188); Serapion 2 (PG 65, col. 416). Note, though, Theodore of Pherme 29 (PG 65, col. 196), in which Theodore still owns his books. 78  Abraham 3 (PG 65, col. 132). 79  Gelasius 1 (PG 65, col. 145). 80  Sisoes 25 (PG 65, col. 400). 81  Silvanus 5 (PG 65, col. 409). 73  74 

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been reading Origen.82 The AP’s compiler wrote in the Palestinian aftermath of Chalcedon, and he may have perceived the tensions that would form the second Origenist controversy, worrying about the damage renewed controversy could wreak on monastic communities. Following the pattern of the “shepherd” Poimen, the compiler downplayed monastic differences and muted the harsher historical realities of monk-monk, monk-ecclesiastic, and even monk-official relationships in Egypt and Palestine.83 The context of the AP’s production – Christological and Origenist controversies in mid- and late fifth-century Palestine, coming on the heels of monastic conflicts in Egypt in the fourth and fifth centuries – should inform interpretations of the text. The violent realities of monk-bishop and monk-monk relationships in Egypt with Theophilus and Cyril, and in Palestine after Chalcedon, do not appear in the AP. Instead, the compiler offers tacit suggestions that bishops and monks should operate in two largely separate spheres of concern and authority.84 The compiler conLot 1 (PG 65, cols 253–56). William Harmless makes a similar, though more limited, argument in an article to be published posthumously. Harmless approaches the AP from the question of Christological silence in the text and reads such silence as reflecting the compiler’s desire to heal the divisions of Chalcedon (W. Harm­ less, “Desert Silence: Why the Apophthegmata Patrum Is So Reticent about Christology,” unpublished MS). For Harmless, the crux of the AP lies in a saying of Poimen (Poimen 8 [PG 65, cols 321–24]), in which the main monk of the text refuses to discuss scripture and would rather talk about the passions (Harmless, “Desert Silence,” MS p. 20). Nicholas Marinides argues that the instances of “religious tolerance” in the AP reflects the practices of isolated Scetis preserved in a fifth- or sixth-century Palestinian/Gazan context that emphasized tolerance (N. Marinides, “Religious Toleration in the Apoph­ thegmata Patrum,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 20 [2012], pp. 235–68). Marinides is limitedly correct – while tolerance appears in the AP, there remains an implicit, though mild, anti-clericalism and a suggestion of monastic autonomy that both reflect their late fifth-century Palestinian context. 84  Philippe Blaudeau explores the contours of the two primary views of the church in the fifth century (P. Blaudeau, Alexandrie et Constantinople [451–91]: De l’histoire à la géo-ecclésiologie, Rome, 2006 [Bibliothèque des Écoles Françaises d’Athènes et de Rome, 327], pp. 461–89), and to this I add a third, monastic model advocated by the AP’s compiler – that the institutional church is its own structure and may fracture and split as much as it wants, but the monks and monasteries stand independent, unified by their common ascetic way of life. 82 

83 

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trols the narrative of episcopal power by selecting sayings that demonstrate monks as holding either tension with or indifference toward ecclesiastical authority and claims to power.85 Moreover, the compiler demonstrates that the monks operate in a different mode by placing them in the philosophical self-care tradition that permeated classical and late ancient thought. Because of the constructed nature of an apophthegmata, the compiler makes these claims without overtly rejecting the broader church or exhibiting severe anti-clericalism. 3. The Nature and Function of apophthegmata No text surfaces in a vacuum. People create texts to serve their goals, and texts can serve more than one purpose (intent in production) or function (use after production). While a text’s structure and genre can indicate its purpose or function, a close examination of its contents can suggest additional layers of information or argumentation that lie beneath the surface. Understanding some of the AP’s arguments and the occasion for its production necessitates a consideration of its genre.86 An apophthegmata is a collection of sayings, or apophthegms, that carry rhetorical force. They may or may not be encased in an explicit narrative that establishes the context for the saying. Douglas Burton-Christie ties the apophthegm in the AP to the original form, the rhema, of the oral sayings. The “saying” (apoph­ 85  The “memories” of Poimen, and the memories about Poimen, set the contours of the AP’s discourse (Harmless, “Remembering Poemen”). Remembering past characters was one way that different sides in a dispute would stake their claims, particularly in Palestine (P. Blaudeau, “Faire mémoires des Maccabées à l’époque de la controverse chalcédonienne [451– 520]: Remarques sur les enjeux d’une célébration disputée,” Atiquité Tardive 13 [2005], pp. 351–61). 86  Lillian Larsen’s dissertation addresses the relationship between the genre of the AP and the chreia of ancient rhetorical manuals (L. Larsen, “Pedagogical Parallels: Re-Reading the Apophthegmata Patrum,” doctoral dissertation, Columbia University, 2006, pp. 26–115). While I agree that the monastic apophthegmata have much in common with the classical chreia, I add here considerations from work on New Testament apophthegms and texts that are specifically identified as apophthegmata to create a clearer picture of the apophthegmatic genre on its own terms.

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thegma) was the “utterance” (rhema) written down.87 BurtonChristie suggests that while an apophthegm’s weight lies with its “dynamic words of power,” the only way to understand a saying is to place it in the immediate context in which the rhema was delivered.88 In other words, the only way to understand the words of the desert is to understand the desert. This originalist approach, however, reveals only some aspects of the AP and its genre. Because the AP’s compiler worked outside and after its Egyptian desert context, that initial environment reveals little about his goals. Moreover, many sayings in the AP are divorced from any surrounding context, introduced simply by Ὁ αὐτὸς εἶπεν, Εἴπεν πάλιν, or Ἔλεγον περὶ and followed by a short saying.89 When the rhema appears as an apophthegma, the most illuminating context becomes that of the literary production, not the original occasion of the saying or its oral transmission. While the original context of the rhema or the desert context of the apophthegma does shape some of a saying’s meaning, limiting meanings to only those relevant in the context of the original utterance obscures the multivalent nature of texts in general, and of apophthegmata in particular. The monastic reader of the AP finds substance in the concrete written saying that may not have been present in its original oral delivery; thereby, the intentional compilation of a collection of apophthegms can create meaning not originally intended at a saying’s utterance. Robert C. Tannehill’s work on apophthegms in the Christian synoptic gospels is useful for understanding the contours of the apophthegmatic genre. Tannehill defines the apophthegm as found in the gospels as “a brief narrative in which the climactic (and usually final) element is an utterance, often expressed in a succinct and striking way, by which someone responds to something

D. Burton-Christie, The Word in the Desert: Scripture and the Quest for Holiness in Early Christian Monasticism, Oxford, 1993, pp. 79–80. 88  Burton-Christie, Word in the Desert, p. 80. 89  E.g.: Ὁ αὐτὸς εἶπεν: Antony 5 (PG 65, col.  77); Εἴπεν πάλιν: Antony 8–11 (PG 65, col. 77), Arsenius 10 (PG 65, col. 89); Ἔλεγον περὶ: Arsenius 31 (PG 65, col.  97), Agathon 5 (PG 65, col.  109). Sometimes (e.g., Arsenius 30 [PG 65, col.  97]) the Ἔλεγον περὶ expression appears as Ἔλεγον πάλιν περὶ. 87 

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said or observed on a particular occasion.”90 Tannehill notes that sometimes Greco-Roman apophthegms appear with little narrative,91 an occurrence similar to some in the AP.92 Tannehill’s definition of an apophthegm highlights two important points about the purpose of sayings. First, the person providing the apophthegm (in our case, the compiler of the AP) is intentionally giving the hearer or reader something important. The sayings are not randomly thrown together in an apophthegmata, but represent the careful consideration of a compiler who intends to convey a particular meaning through the mouth of an authoritative speaker. This presentation may be divorced from the original occasion of the saying’s utterance or excerpted to prove a point. Second, the purpose of giving an apophthegm is to influence the reader toward a specific way of thinking or behaving. The goal of the saying lies in what the person relating the saying, or the person collecting the sayings into a single text, wants the reader to understand. The meaning does not lie in the original occasion of the saying (as in Burton-Christie’s rhema-centric apophthegms). As Tannehill writes, “The apophthegm is not a neutral mode of expression.”93 Analyzing other apophthegmata or texts containing apophthegms helps illuminate the genre. Apophthegms feature prominently in Christian and Greco-Roman texts long before the AP. Diogenes Laertius used them, and Plutarch wrote several apophthegmata that provide a close parallel to the AP. The Talmud’s Pirke Avot further illustrates the function of apophthegms. In all of these examples, the moment of literary production – not the moment of first utterance – provides the sayings’ background. 90  R. C. Tannehill, “Types and Functions of Apophthegms in the Synoptic Gospels,” in R. C. Tannehill, The Shape of the Gospel: New Testament Essays, Eugene, OR, 2007, pp. 57–98, quotation on p. 57. 91  Tannehill, “Types and Functions,” p. 57 n. 1. 92  E.g., Benjamin 4 (PG 65, col. 145). 93  Tannehill, “Types and Functions,” p. 69. Both in this essay and elsewhere, Tannehill analyzes the apophthegms in the synoptic gospels and demonstrates how they function in accordance with his definition – the force of the saying lies in what is placed into the mouth of the authoritative figure (in his case, Jesus) in the narrative setting of the individual saying. See  R. C. Tannehill, The Sword of His Mouth, Philadelphia, 1975 (Semeia Supplements, 1), pp. 152–85.

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Diogenes Laertius’s use of ἀπόφθεγμα94 and ἀποφθέγματα95 demonstrates that by the third century, apophthegms functioned as important sayings that could occur with or without an explicitly established context.96 Deciphering the meaning of these sayings requires not only an understanding of their original context (Burton-Christie), but also of the person who uttered or compiled these words (Tannehill and Harmless). Diogenes Laertius, in including sayings throughout his work (the vast majority of which are not introduced by ἀπόφθεγμα or ἀποφθέγματα), indicates that the sayings are more important than their context, and he uses the speakers’ sayings to construct their lives and thought-systems for the reader. That Diogenes can comfortably omit his sayings’ contexts demonstrates the dominance of content over context for late antique authors. Diogenes implies that the words themselves paint a sufficient portrait of the original speakers, and that his goals with the sayings are at least as important – if not more so – than the goals of their original speakers. A more direct parallel to the AP in Greco-Roman literature comes from Plutarch, who produced three different apophtheg­ mata – “Sayings of Kings and Commanders,” “Sayings of Spartans,” and “Sayings of Spartan Women” – two of which are orga-

94  Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers, trans. by R. D. Hicks, 2 vols., Cambridge, MA, 1972 (LCL, 184, 185), I.79 (Pittacus of Mytilene), Ἀπόφθεγμα αὐτοῦ` καιρὸν γνῶθι. 95  Diogenes Laertius, Lives  I.35 (Thales of Miletus), Φέρεται δὲ καὶ ἀποφθέγματα αὐτοῦ τάδε, followed by six single-sentence sayings without context; IV.47 (Bion of Borysthenes), Πλεῖστά τε καταλέλοιπεν ὑπομνήματα, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀποφθέματα χρειώδη πραγματείαν περιέχοντα, followed in IV.47–48 with a selection of the apophthegms and a summary of their narrative contexts; V.17 (Aristotle), Ἁναφέρεται δ’ εἰς αὐτὸν καὶ ἀποφθέγματα κάλλιστα ταυτί, followed in V.17–21 with a variety of sayings both with and without context; V.34 (Aristotle), πολλὰ γὰρ καὶ ἄλλα εἰς αὐτὸν ἀναφέρεται συγγράμματ’ αὐτοῦ καὶ ἀποφθέγματα, ἀγράφου φωνῆς εὐστοχήματα; V.39 (Theophrastus), Φέρεται δ’ αὐτοῦ ἀποφθέγματα ταυτὶ χρειώδη, followed by three sayings, only one of which has a context. 96  Diogenes likely lived and wrote during the third century (H. S. Long, “Introduction,” in Diogenes Laertius, Lives, 1, pp. xv–xvi; J. Jouanna, “Médecine et philosophie: Sur la date de Sextus Empiricus et celle de Diogène Laërce à la lumière du Corpus galénique,” Revue des Études Grecques 122 [2009], pp. 359–90), though modern scholars know very little about him.

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nized alphabetically.97 Examinations of the prologue to “Sayings of Kings and Commanders,” the forms of the texts, and their contents help define the genre apophthegmata. In the opening of “Kings and Commanders,” Plutarch includes a dedicatory letter to Trajan, writing that words, instead of actions, often reveal best a person’s nature.98 Plutarch recognizes that a saying’s value transcends the context of its original utterance and can be used for other purposes after its utterance.99 In creating his three apophthegmata, Plutarch selected those people and those sayings that he considered useful for his purposes. His creation of a text recording some of the sayings of kings and generals for the Roman emperor Trajan was not a random act – especially given that some of the sayings found in the “Kings and Commanders” also appear in the “Sayings of Spartans,” in which they occur alongside more sayings by the same characters.100 Plutarch selected fewer sayings for the “Kings and Commanders” than for the “Sayings of the Spartans.”101 Plutarch’s

97  Plutarch, “Sayings of Kings and Commanders” (Moralia 172A–208A; I include the “Sayings of Romans” as part of the “Sayings of Kings”), ed. and trans. by F. C. Babbitt, in Plutarch’s Moralia, vol. 3, 172A–263C, Cambridge, MA, 1931 (LCL, 245); Plutarch, “Sayings of Spartans” (Moralia 208A–236E), ed. and trans. by F. C. Babbitt, in Plutarch’s Moralia, vol. 3, 172A–263C; Plutarch, “Sayings of Spartan Women” (Moralia 240C–242D), ed. and trans. by F. C. Babbitt, in Plutarch’s Moralia, vol. 3, 172A–263C. I cite Plutarch by the individual essays in the Moralia, followed by their general Moralia citation in parentheses. For an overview of Plutarch’s life, see D. A. Russell, Plutarch, London, 1973; and J. Sirinelli, Plutarque de Chéronée: Un philos­ ophe dans le siècle, Paris, 2000. For an examination of Plutarch’s writings in their historical-political context, see. C. P. Jones, Plutarch and Rome, Oxford, 1971. 98  “Sayings of Kings and Commanders” Letter (Moralia 172C-D). 99  “Sayings of Kings and Commanders” Letter (Moralia 172E). Plutarch utilized some of the sayings from these apophthegmata in his other writings (F. C. Babbitt, “Introduction, Sayings of Kings and Commanders,” in Plutarch’s Moralia, vol. 3, 172A–263C, pp. 3–7). 100  Cf. the presentation of Agesilaus in Plutarch, “Sayings of Kings and Commanders” Agesilaus 1–12 (Moralia 190F–191D) and in Plutarch, “Sayings of Spartans” Agesilaus the Great 1–79 (Moralia 208B–215A); Babbitt notes the parallels in footnotes in the Loeb edition. 101  Indeed, Plutarch is explicit in his prologue address to Trajan that he does not want to waste too much of Trajan’s time with reading, so has made

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culling is necessarily an intentional action. The texts’ forms further reveal his intentionality. Plutarch arranges his apophthegmata with individualized systems. He organizes “Kings and Commanders” largely geographically and chronologically, and his organization may illuminate his goal with this text.102 Placing sayings chronologically shows change or continuity over time, and geographic foci serve to emphasize this change or continuity. If the words of famous leaders reveal their thoughts and personalities (as Plutarch writes to Trajan), then showing leaders in specific regions over time indicates breaks or continuities in leadership styles. In other words, Plutarch intentionally places these people chronologically to show changes or maintenances of leadership over time and across space, thereby (he hopes) tacitly forming Trajan’s opinions on leadership. Plutarch designed his apophthegmatic text with a clear goal.103

an editorial effort based on that consideration (“Sayings of Kings and Commanders” Letter [Moralia 172E]). 102  He starts with the sayings of various Persian kings, generals, and even a queen, and places the sayings under chronological character headings (Moralia 172E–174C). He then shifts to Egypt, Thrace, Scythia, Syracuse, and Macedonia, ending with Alexander the Great (Moralia 174C–181F). After Alexander, Plutarch departs from his largely geographic approach and begins to run through the various areas held by Alexander’s generals and their heirs, sometimes shifting more than a century forward or backward between characters, before moving from the second century bce (Antiochus VII of Syria) to fifth-century bce Athens to begin a mostly chronological examination of Athenian leaders (Moralia 181F–189D). He then jumps from Athens to Sparta, providing their sayings chronologically as well (Moralia 189E–194E), before moving to a long section on the leaders of Rome from the republic through the early empire (Moralia 194E–208A). 103  Plutarch’s two remaining apophthegmata reveal another organizational goal. He organizes “Sayings of Spartans” and “Sayings of Spartan Women” alphabetically, like the AP. These texts record the sayings of various famous Spartan men (including kings and generals) and women, emphasizing them as characters rather than as historical figures. The alphabetic instead of chronological arrangement highlights that they exist in the text more importantly as created figures than as members of a historical continuum. Plutarch appends to “Spartan Women” a collection of sayings for which no attribution is known, similar to many manuscripts of the AP in which an anonymous collection follows the alphabetic collection (Plutarch, “Sayings of Spartan Women” Unknown 1–30 [Moralia 241A–242D]).

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Plutarch provides a short occasion for the saying of most of his apophthegms, but his inclusion of sayings without context suggests that he believes the sayings are at least as meaningful in his own world as they were in their original societies.104 He generally provides the occasion to indicate a speaker’s motive. But Plutarch also includes sayings presented with no context, and even includes an entire section of anonymous sayings from Spartan women, indicating that for Plutarch the importance of an apophthegmata lies in the individual apophthegm – its original context is not fundamental to a saying’s function. A final piece of evidence, the Talmud’s Pirke Avot (codified in the third century ce), supports the contention that apophtheg­ mata represent a carefully constructed genre, and that a saying’s importance lies in its presentation in the text, not necessarily in its original utterance.105 Unlike most other Talmudic tractates, the mishnah (teaching) of Pirke Avot is not followed by gemarah (commentary).106 Instead, appended to the Talmud, and appearing in two versions, there is a separate commentary, the Avot de Rabbi Natan.107 Already the Pirke Avot separates itself from most 104  E.g., those without occasions: Plutarch, “Sayings of Kings and Commanders” Parysatis (Moralia 174A), Herio 1 (Moralia 175C); Plutarch, “Sayings of Spartans” Agesilaus 19 (Moralia 210A). A very few of the apophthegms are not “sayings” at all, but brief vignettes about the person: e.g.: Plutarch, “Sayings of Kings and Commanders” Caesar Augustus 6 (Moralia 207C); Plutarch, “Sayings of Spartans” Cleomenes son of Anazandridas 4 (Moralia 223B-C). That apophthegms can appear without context matches Eva Schulz-Flügel’s definition of an apophthegm, which is broad enough for her to consider the Historia monachorum in Aegypto in the genre of apophthegmatic literature (E. Schulz-Flügel, “The Function of Apophthegmata in Vitae and Itineraria,” Studia Patristica 18.2 [1989], pp. 281–91). While her definition may be a bit too broad, her list of nine types of apophthegms in the AP (defined by their contents) does demonstrate the variety of kinds of sayings in the text (pp. 281–83). 105  “Tractate Avoth,” in Mishnayoth, vol. 4, Order Nezikin, ed. by P. Blackman, rev. by I. Waller, 2nd ed., Gateshead, Eng., 1977, pp. 489–553. Hereafter cited as Pirke Avot. 106  P. Blackman, “Introduction, ‘Tractate Avoth,’” in Mishnayoth, vol. 4, Order Nezikin, p. 487. 107  A. J. Saldarini, The Fathers according to Rabbi Nathan, Leiden, 1975 (Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity, 11), pp. 4–11; M. Bar-Asher Siegal, “Sayings of the desert fathers, Sayings of the rabbinic fathers: Avot deRabbi

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Talmudic tractates by keeping the commentary separate from the sayings themselves, forcing the reader to consider the sayings as literary productions in their own right. As with the AP and Plutarch’s works, apophthegms in the Pirke Avot can appear with or without context, further demonstrating that the late antique apophthegmatic genre did not rely on original context to establish sayings’ importance or meaning.108 The force of an apophthegm lies in the words of wisdom from an authoritative figure, not in situating the saying in its original context. Like other apophtheg­ mata, the Pirke Avot has an internal structure that demonstrates a clear purpose in its construction.109 The last chapter of the Pirke Avot is almost entirely anonymous – the first nineteen sayings (out of twenty-three) are unattributed – making its construction similar to many manuscripts of the alphabetic-anonymous AP and to Plutarch’s “Sayings of Spartan Women.” Sometimes the purpose of an apophthegmata becomes evident from its overall structure, and sometimes from the contents of its individual apophthegms. However the text reveals its purpose, an apophthegmata is a conscious literary construction that furthers its Natan and the Apophthegmata Patrum,” Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum 20 (2016), pp. 245–46. 108  E.g., Pirke Avot 1.1 is a saying with context; Pirke Avot 2.1 is a saying without context. 109  The first two chapters consist of thirty-four sayings in chronological order, each one a link that shows a chain of unbroken wisdom from Moses to roughly four generations after Rabbi Judah haNasi, the rabbi who codified the mishnah. Chapters three and four contain forty sayings with no obvious internal order; eight of the sayings from chapter three (almost half) feature interpretations of passages from the Tanakh, versus two out of twenty-two in chapter four. The framing of each chapter sheds light on its structure. Chapter three opens with an encouragement to consider one’s origin, one’s future, and the ultimate being to whom a person answers (Pirke Avot 3.1). Contextualized in the preceding two chapters, the individual comes from a chain of Torah that starts with Moses (Pirke Avot 1.1). Chapter three then considers the future and ultimate end of the person as interpretation of Torah (almost half of the sayings, and the entirety of the mishnah). Opening chapter four is the question “Who is wise?” (Pirke Avot 4.1). The answer is kol adam – “all men” – a statement then supported by a passage from the Tanakh. Chapter four is primarily non-interpretive sayings, so the first part of Mishnah 1 links interpretation (chapter three) to the production of wisdom, something found in all the rabbis of chapter four whether or not they are explicitly citing the Tanakh.

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compiler’s goals. The examples from Diogenes Laertius, Plutarch, and the Pirke Avot support Tannehill’s definition and suggest two conclusions about the apophthegmatic genre that should affect considerations of the AP. First, the weight of an apophthegm relies on the utterance itself in the mouth of its authoritative speaker, generally emphasized by the utterance’s position in the last line in each apophthegm. The power of the words derives not from the occasion, the narrative, or the original context, but from the speaker’s own authority. Sayings carry weight even when divorced from their original context or interpretation simply because someone weighty said them. Therefore, appreciating individual apophthegms does not necessarily require detailing the context of their utterance. Understanding and application occur when the reader takes the words as authoritative for the reader’s own self. Second, apophthegmata is a genre marked by intentionality. The collection of sayings and their placement within a text is a deliberate action intended to sway the reader. Compilers used selection and organization to create tacit arguments in their texts. Tannehill’s conclusion that the “emphasis on a particular pronouncement indicates an intention to influence the mind, will, and imagination of the hearer or reader through the pronouncement”110 is an apt one. Just as Plutarch selects only some of his available Spartan maxims to give to Trajan, so the compiler of any text makes decisions based on the text’s goal. With this understanding of the apophthegmatic genre, two things emerge about the AP. First, understanding the purpose of the AP involves understanding that the compiler was intentional in the text’s composition. He selected and arranged of apophthegms to accomplish a goal.111 Second, the compiler, in creating Tannehill, “Types and Functions,” p. 58. An examination of the various forms of the AP, along with other manuscripts and translations, reveals that the compiler of the Greek alphabeticanonymous AP worked with purpose. On some of the sayings that were not included in the AP, see, for example, E. C. Tappert, “Desert Wisdom: The Sayings of the Anchorites,” Lutheran Quarterly 9 (1957), pp. 157–72. The sayings that Tappert uncovered in a single manuscript include ones from Gregory Nazianzen, Daniel, Paul the Simple, and Athanasius – all figures who appear in the AP either under their own headings or (as Athanasius) in the sayings of others. While their exclusion from the AP does not mean that the compiler knew these sayings and intentionally omitted them (though, given the 110  111 

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an apophthegmata, assumed that the text would be read somewhat (though not entirely) divorced from the original context of the desert utterances. Apophthegms function with or without an explicit narrative or context, because their power comes from their origins in figures considered powerful by their readers. It is what the authoritative monks said that matters, not that they said it in the desert. The compiler creates meaning and exerts power over his readers by placing sayings important to his goal in the mouths of authoritative people. In choosing sayings from the mouths of powerful monks in the context of a written apophthegmata, the compiler asserts his own views both explicitly and implicitly. Understanding the purpose of AP’s compilation as an alphabetic apophtheg­ mata requires exploring the stories in the AP, what they say, and what they omit.112 4. The Audience of the AP The last question for setting the AP’s compositional context is for whom the author compiled the text. Ostensibly, the AP is a monastic text intended for practitioners of the ascetic life, and as such it may serve only a limited purpose. Most scholarship takes this approach to the AP, using it to check the veracity of other sources or to provide information about the lives and practices of fourth-century Egyptian monks. When we compare the AP, however, to two other monastic texts from the closing years of the fourth century and the first quarter of the fifth century, we find that texts function on multiple levels and that they present evidence of monastic travel and sharing of knowledge and stories, it is certainly possible that he knew these sayings and omitted them), their existence demonstrates that editorial decisions affected the production of monastic apophthegmata. Harmless, “Remembering Poemen,” utilizes apophthegms from other collections to explore differences between the collections, as do the tables in Regnault, Les sentences, vol. 3: Troisième recueil & tables. 112  At points the AP also parallels the “collective biography” style of constructing characters in fourth-century literature (see P. Cox Miller, “Strategies of Representation in Collective Biography: Constructing the Subject as Holy,” in Greek Biography and Panegyric in Late Antiquity, ed. by T. Hägg and P. Rousseau, Berkeley, 2000 [Transformation of the Classical Heritage, 31], pp. 209–54).

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to their intended audiences more arguments than just the surface argument for monastic politeia. Indeed, it appears that all of these texts argue for a specific way of monastic life. The AP’s stated purpose is the edification of monks through teaching the words and actions of the great ascetics from previous generations.113 Perhaps slack practices and reduced desire for the monastic life necessitated preserving these memories.114 For Harmless, both the AP and one of the Ethiopic sayings collections build on the desire to remember the “roads to salvation” forged by earlier generations of ascetics, and that this impetus to remember was part of the fourth-century monastic milieu.115 Bias colored this memory, Harmless writes: “The memories preserved in both texts differ in focus, to some degree, from concerns found in other desert literature.”116 He suggests that the texts differ, in part, from the Historia monachorum in Aegypto and Palladius’s Lausiac History. Further exploration of the differences between the AP and the HMA and LH sheds more light on the AP compiler’s purpose and his audience.117 AP “Prologue” (PG 65, cols 72–73). Burton-Christie, Word in the Desert, pp. 79–88. 115  Harmless, “Remembering Poemen,” pp. 513–17, quote on p. 514. Writing this text, according to Philip Rousseau, may partly be a product of the fading memories of the disciples of the great masters (Rousseau, Ascetics, Authority, pp. 68–71). 116  Harmless, “Remembering Poemen,” p. 517, with the discussion on pp. 517–18. 117  Historia monachorum in Aegypto, ed. by A. J. Festugière, Brussels, 1971 (Subsidia Hagiographica, 53); trans. by N. Russell, The Lives of the Desert Fathers, Kalamazoo, MI, 1980 (Cistercian Studies, 34); hereafter cited as HMA. The production of the HMA may date before the end of the fourth century given that Rufinus translated it into Latin (PL 21, cols 387–462) possibly between 400 and 410 (A. de Vogüé, Histoire littéraire du mouvement monastique dans l’antiquité, vol. 3, Jérome, Augustin, et Rufin au tournant du siècle [391–405], Paris, 1994, p. 317 n. 3; Rousseau, Ascetics, Authority, p. 16). Cuthbert Butler dates the beginning of the journey itself to 394 (C. Butler, The Lausiac History of Palladius: A Critical Discussion together with Notes on Early Egyptian Monasticism, 2 vols., Cambridge, 1904 [Texts and Studies, 6], 1, pp. 198–203). Georgia Frank dates the HMA to the early fifth century (Frank, Memory of the Eyes, 39), but Andrew Cain, in the most recent and most thorough consideration of the HMA, convincingly argues for a date between 395 and 397 (Cain, Greek Historia monachorum, pp. 39–40). 113  114 

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The AP and earlier texts, including both the HMA and the LH, share some material.118 If we grant the arguments for a basic historicity of the HMA and LH as travelogues, both of which were written before the AP was compiled, then it is possible that the AP’s compiler had access to both documents. It is also possible that the HMA, LH, and AP all drew on common oral traditions that each author/compiler chose to insert in different ways. In any case, they utilize similar or the same material, and the way that they used that material points to the aim of each author and helps define part of the goal of the AP’s compiler. Cain notes that both the HMA’s author and the AP’s compiler chose to remain anonymous, suggesting that they wanted “to minimize their own identity and place the complete emphasis instead on the monks themselves.”119 In this point he is correct – both writers desired anonymity to allow their characters to shine as the true messengers of the ascetic, monastic life. Their messages, however, differed somewhat. Both are manuals for monastic living,120 but Cain notes that the HMA slants toward Evagrian apologetics, an underlying theme that seems to be at least a secondary aim of the HMA.121 Evagrius of Pontus, the early teacher of mystical Palladius, Lausiac History, ed. by Butler, Lausiac History; trans. by R. T. Meyer, Palladius: The Lausiac History, New York, 1964 (Ancient Christian Writers, 34); hereafter cited as LH. Citations are keyed to Meyer’s translation, with the location in Butler’s edition (page and line numbers from volume two) in parentheses. The Lausiac History is the second major text undergirding Frank, Memory of the Eyes, and her work represents the latest major consideration of the History. Meyer, Palladius, pp. 5–14, includes an overview of manuscript studies on and other editions of the History after Butler’s critical edition. Frank and Rousseau – following Butler – place Palladius’s composition of the History in 420 (Frank, Memory of the Eyes, p. 39; Rousseau, Ascetics, Authority, pp. 16–17). 118  Regnault, Les sentences, vol. 3: Troisième recueil & tables, p. 290. 119  Cain, Greek Historia monachorum, p. 71. 120  AP “Prologue” (PG 65, cols 72–73). HMA “Prologue” 1–3. See also Cain, Greek Historia monachorum, pp. 214–44, for his discussion of the primary didactic purpose of the HMA. 121  Cain, Greek Historia monachorum, pp. 245–70. Cain also argues that Rufinus amended his Latin translation of the HMA in order to emphasize, and thus expand into the west, Evagrian mysticism (A. Cain, “Rufinus’ Historia monachorum in Aegypto and the Promulgation of Evagrian Ascetic Teaching,” Vigiliae Christianae 71 [2017], pp. 285–314).

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ceaseless prayer, trained under Egyptian monks, becoming a disciple of Macarius of Egypt, who features prominently in the AP.122 Cain understands the HMA’s anonymous author as cherry-picking stories and soliloquies to prove Evagrius’s mystical theology, which was eventually condemned in 553 and was problematic even during Evagrius’s lifetime.123 Evagrian-style mysticism is not an emphasis of the AP; the compiler had different concerns when creating his text even though he included sayings from Evagrius,124 and he almost certainly had access to the HMA or some of its stories.125 Both texts were intended for monastic audiences, and both texts intended to demonstrate an ascetic lifestyle – and more to the point, both texts had secondary goals. A text intended to teach the monastic lifestyle may instruct the reader in more than plaiting ropes and avoiding sleep. It may also advocate a particular viewpoint, even one that is unpopular in the broader Christian community, such as Origen-tinted Evagrian mysticism. While using overlapping material, the AP and HMA have different aims, revealed by closely reading the texts. Palladius, however, clearly defines the purpose of the LH in the dedicatory letter – to evolve Lausus by teaching him the life of virtue using words and deeds of those closest to God.126 The deeds of the monks teach Lausus how to be “manly” – one of the three imperatives with which Palladius ends his letter: “Be strong! Be healthy! Be manly!”127 Among the LH’s primary themes is that strength and manliness reside in ascetic virtue, not in other (for

For an overview of Evagrius’s life and thought, see W. Harmless, Mys­ tics, Oxford, 2008, pp. 135–57. 123  Cain, Greek Historia monachorum, pp. 265–70. 124  Evagrius 1–7 (PG 65, cols 173–76), S1 (Guy, Recherches, p. 21; this saying appears in most manuscripts). 125  The HMA was written in a Palestinian monastery: HMA “Prologue” 2. See also Cain, Greek Historia monachorum, pp. 33–38. 126  Palladius, LH “Letter to Lausus” 1 (6.3–7.6). Butler believed that the dedicatory letter and prologue were genuine (Butler, Lausiac History, 2, pp. 182–84). 127  Palladius, LH “Letter to Lausus” 2–3 (7.6–21). The quotation is at ll.  20–21: ἴσχυε οὖν καὶ ὑγίαινε καὶ ἀνδρίζου. He repeats this call to manliness in the “Prologue” 10 (12.7), tying it to an exhortation to poverty. 122 

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Lausus, political) achievements.128 In his prologue, Palladius writes that each text serves a purpose, though some authors may have evil intent in their writing and produce bad works that attack the institutional church.129 Palladius understands that there are many layers of writing in a text, and that some compositions undermine ecclesiastic institutions. The purpose in his writing, then, is twofold: to teach Lausus how to be a “manly” ascetic practitioner who follows the deeds of earlier monks, and to write a text that edifies not just Lausus but the whole of institutional Christianity by highlighting the most illustrious practitioners of Christian asceticism. In this way, Palladius mirrors the HMA, creating a two-layered text, and therein suggesting the intended audience of the AP. The similarities and the differences between the HMA, LH, and AP provide clues to the AP’s compiler’s intentions. First, both the HMA and the LH were produced in response to a request,130 whereas the AP contains no such conceit. The AP is its compiler’s independent brainchild. While the “requests” in the HMA and LH may be literary conceits intended to convey humility, the AP’s compiler feels no such need. Compositional humility may be less necessary in an anonymous text, but the HMA is anonymous as well. The directness of the AP’s prologue is jarring, especially compared to the other two monastic texts. Moreover, the compiler appears to call earlier books to task, asserting that no previous writing had fully captured the lives and deeds of the ancient ascetic masters. The compiler implies that other writers had good intentions, but that they provided only snapshots and fragmentary accounts.131 By the compiler’s assertion, the AP contains the fullest account. 128  This would fit with René Draguet’s thesis that the LH was produced in the vein of Evagrian mysticism (R. Draguet, “L’Histoire Lausiaque: Une oeuvre écrite dans l’esprit d’Évagre,” Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique 41 [1946], pp. 321–64), which would emphasize the mystical, ascetic life over the political life of Lausus. 129  Palladius, LH “Prologue” 1 (9.1–10). For the pro-Origen Palladius, this condemnation could be against anti-Origenists whom he views as dividing the church (see E. D. Hunt, “Palladius of Helenopolis: A Party and Its Supporters in the Church of the Late Fourth Century,” Theological Studies, n.s., 24 [1973], pp. 456–80). 130  HMA “Prologue” 2–3; Palladius, LH “Prologue” 2 (9.10–10.9). 131  AP “Prologue” (PG 65, col. 73).

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In the AP’s prologue the compiler may write a specific slight toward Palladius. The LH’s prologue contains an indictment of some (unnamed) texts, not all of them necessarily monastic, that impugn the institutional church, preceded by a much shorter praise of texts that follow Jesus’s teachings.132 For Palladius, “following Jesus” seems tantamount to “following the teachings of the church.” The AP’s prologue explicitly identifies the monastic politeia as following the teachings of Jesus.133 Additionally, instead of condemning books, the AP’s compiler commends previous works on the monastic life, though he is quick to note that they were incomplete and unrefined.134 If the compiler did have access to the HMA and LH, then he may be putting them into the category of incomplete, unrefined texts regarding monasticism, an error that the compiler explicitly claims to clarify with the alphabetic AP.135 Moreover, in producing his manual for monastic living, the compiler does not condemn texts that attack the institutional church, as Palladius does, nor does he advocate tacitly that Evagrian mysticism is the correct form of the ascetic life, as the anonymous HMA does. Instead he presents the monastic way of life as following the commands of Jesus, and presents his compilation as the best source for that politeia. The AP’s compiler does not condemn earlier texts; he merely points out shortcomings and provides the fullest account. The compiler does not rely on the modesty of being “asked” to write – he writes because the other works fell short of their goals. And while their goals are didactic, the teachings reside in more than just the nuts-and-bolts rules of ascetic life. These are not regulae, and their genres allow their authors to create tacit arguments in their texts. All three texts provide manuals for ascetic, monastic living and likely envisioned similar audiences – people who wanted to Palladius, LH “Prologue” 1 (9.1–10). AP “Prologue” (PG 65, col. 76). 134  AP “Prologue” (PG 65, col. 73). 135  The AP’s compiler may have in front of him the passage from the LH where Palladius notes that people wrote “at various times” (κατὰ διαφόρους καιροὺς; Palladius, LH “Prologue” 1 [9.1]) sometimes for good purposes and sometimes for evil, because the compiler also calls out the incomplete texts produced “at various times” (κατὰ διαφόρους καιροὺς; AP “Prologue” [PG 65, col. 73]). 132 

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be (and likely already were) monks. They are also texts that preserve the memories (words and deeds) of previous generations in order to teach the current generation of would-be practitioners. Two (the HMA and LH) purport to be at least partial eye-witness accounts to the monastic life, which is an important source claim and veracity claim for the authors to make.136 The AP, on the other hand, relies primarily on books and the memories of others in order to substantiate the text. It is truly a second-hand account. All three texts also argue a point in addition to teaching a monastic politeia. The HMA argues for Evagrius’s theological acceptability, the LH argues for a monasticism that does not destroy the institutional church, and the AP’s compiler (I contend) suggests that the monastic life is best lived in retreat from the mainstream church. Who, then, is the audience of the AP? The audience is at the very least those monks in Palestine who needed to hear their ascetic elders proclaim the virtues (along with the difficulties) of the monastic life, and who needed a manual for ascetic living. A manual on ascetic living, however, contains more than just prescriptions for eating and drinking. Monastic texts, like many other kinds of texts, used their platforms to argue viewpoints that the authors thought the readers needed to embrace – clerical obedience in the Life of Antony, Evagrian mysticism in the HMA, and institutional cohesion in the LH. The AP is no different: compiled for monks, it demonstrates the compiler’s view of the best way to live the monastic life, including in relation to the broader Christian community. There were earlier texts that taught the monastic life (as evidenced both by a reliance on earlier material and by the compiler mentioning in the prologue that he has read earlier books on the monks137 ) but the compiler ultimately deemed these texts incomplete. If the compiler had access to the HMA (not unlikely since it was written, like the AP, in Palestine138) and/or Palladius’s LH (also not unlikely, as Palladius was Evagrius’s disciple, who 136  T. Urbainczyk, Theodoret of Cyrrhus: The Bishop and the Holy Man, Ann Arbor, MI, pp. 58–59. See also Frank, Memory of the Eyes, for an important study on how “seeing” was important not just for the travelers, but also for readers of travelogues. 137  AP “Prologue” (PG 65, cols 73–76). 138  HMA “Prologue” 2 ; Cain, Greek Historia monachorum, pp. 33–38.

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was in turn a disciple of Macarius of Egypt139), the probability of which is higher given the correspondences between the two and the AP, then the compiler suggests that the earlier monastic manuals were incomplete. He does not fault them for that, especially because their intentions were pure, but he will offer the fullest record. He advocates a philosophical-ascetic Christian life independent from the overreach and concerns of the institutional church. He writes in the immediate aftermath of the upheaval over the Christological definition, hoping to preserve the monastic unity that he viewed as starting in Egypt and continuing in Palestine. 5. Conclusion: Reading the AP The AP’s compiler selects sayings for his historical context in late fifth-century Palestine, remembering the Christological controversies and (perhaps) anticipating the oncoming second Origenist controversy. The compiler asserts monastic autonomy from ecclesiastical interference (the kind of interference that had marred Egyptian and Palestinian monasticism in the fourth and fifth centuries) via two methods. First, the compiler uses stories to argue tacitly for monastic autonomy and a semi-indifferent attitude toward clerics – not fully anti-clerical, but quietly suspicious of ecclesiastics. The compiler participates in a tradition of using texts to assert the presence or absence of a connection between monks and ecclesiastical authorities. Chapter two examines a selection of late antique texts to demonstrate that stories about monks and clerics often aimed to show interdependence or independence between the two systems. Chapter three explores how an assertion of autonomy appears in the AP. The regulation of the ascetic life is more properly the concern of monks, according to the AP and other monastic texts, not the concern of institutional authorities. Second, the compiler replaces dependence on ecclesiastics – an organizational structure for which authors and texts frequently argued, as shown in chapter two – with reliance on a system of thought that had permeated classical and late antiquity. This system was the transformative process of taking care of oneself. 139 

Harmless, Mystics, pp. 137–40.

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Self-care existed in philosophical and religious systems throughout classical and late antiquity, placing the monks in a long tradition of active (ascetic) philosophers who trained themselves in the continual operation of self-reformation. By establishing the self-care system as normative for Christian monasticism, the compiler replaces reliance on bishops and priests with reliance on one’s ascetic better in the monastic system of self-care training and education. By placing the philosophical system of self-care in the mouths of authoritative figures, the compiler uses the genre of apophthegmata to undercut the authority of ecclesiastics who had, in part, divided monasticism in previous generations. Chapter four outlines self-care in philosophical thought, while chapter five details its contours in the AP. Instead of a single line of authority among Christian communities in the eastern Mediterranean, the AP situates monks as an autonomous group that regulates its own life and cares for its own concerns, often including liturgical concerns administered by an ascetic priest from within the community. Sentiments stated and unstated shape their readers, and no text exists without a context. By demonstrating not just how an apophthegmata speaks but that an apophthegmata speaks, we start to hear the voice of the fifth-century compiler in the words of his literary production. These words argue for the primacy of the monastic self-care system over monastic affairs.

SECTION I: Texts and Church Authority Section one (chapters two and three) argues that late antique Christian authors use texts to substantiate tacit or overt assertions of a person or office’s authority in the Christian hierarchy. Generally, authors use their texts to construct characters that map roughly onto real people, then make those characters speak or perform other actions that implicitly support the author’s opinion about who should hold authority over the text’s readers. Athanasius’s construction of Antony provides a prime example of this approach to textually asserted authority. Chapter two explores these authorial creations in Christian late antiquity, primarily in Egypt, but with examples from the wider Mediterranean world that demonstrate the ubiquity of texts that assert claims of authority. Chapter three contextualizes the Apophthegmata Patrum within this literary setting and demonstrates that it also participates in tacit assertions regarding authority within the Christian system.

CHAPTER 2: Asserted Authority in Late Antique Christian Literature Tensions between bishops and laity, clergy and monks, and political authorities and religious figures fill late antique Christian history. As the small Jewish Jesus Movement grew into a differentiated religious system with imperial patronage, different parties asserted different ideas about who could say what to whom, and when they could say it. This chapter explores the texts of late antique lower Egypt to illustrate that arguments over authority frequently surfaced in the fourth and fifth centuries, then confirm this claim with texts from other regions. These arguments over authority often find their way into texts that ostensibly serve other purposes. Other scholars have commented on or explored the complex and often adversarial relationship between monks and ecclesiastics, including the ways in which bishops tried to exert control over certain Christian groups with a variety of coercive means (including literary) with varying degrees of success.1 James Goehring 1  C.  Haas, Alexandria in Late Antiquity: Topography and Social Conflict, 1997, Baltimore, 2006, pp.  258–67; R.  Bagnall, Egypt in Late Antiquity, Princeton, 1993, pp.  294–95; G.  E. Demacopoulos, Five Models of Spiritual Direction in the Early Church, Notre Dame, 2007, pp.  15–17; S.  J. Davis, The Early Coptic Papacy: The Egyptian Church and Its Leadership in Late Antiquity, New York, 2004, pp. 43–99; P. Rousseau, Ascetics, Authority, and the Church in the Age of Jerome and Cassian, 2nd ed., Notre Dame, 2010, pp. 9–11, 59–67; B.  Daley, “The Ministry of Disciples: Historical Reflections on the Role of Religious Priests,” Theological Studies 48 (1987), pp.  616–17; A.  Sterk, Renouncing the World Yet Leading the Church: The Monk-Bishop in Late Antiquity, Cambridge, MA, 2004, pp.  13–20; A.  Martin, “Les relations entres le monachisme Égyptian et l’institution ecclésiastique au IVème siècle,” in Foundations of Power and Conflicts of Authority in Late-Antique Monasticism, ed.  by A.  Camplani and G.  Filoramo, Leuven, 2007 (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta, 157), pp.  13–46; M.  Forlin Patrucco, “Bishops and Monks in Late Antique Society,” Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum 8  (2005), pp.  332– 45; A.  S. Jacobs, “Matters (Un-)Becoming: Conversions in Epiphanius of Salamis,” Church History 81 (2012), pp. 27–47, esp. pp. 32–37.

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demonstrates that Egyptian monasteries frequently served as safe havens for thinkers defined as schismatic by ecclesiastics.2 Claudia Rapp inverts the problem and instead focuses on the places in which bishops and monks overlapped, and in which monks accepted the authority of bishops. 3 Bishops used letters and canon law to exert control over monks, as illustrated by the festal letters of Athanasius and other Alexandrian bishops, the exegetical letters of Jerome, and the canons of the fourth-century Council of Gangra.4 These texts indicate the distrust with which some episcopal authorities viewed ascetics, and show significant debate over ecclesiastic versus monastic authority. In this chapter, I  primarily utilize a selection of the texts written about Egyptian monks or Egyptian monastic life, and texts written by Egyptian monks themselves.5 Sometimes these categories overlap, as in the case of Cassian, a monk formed in the Egyptian tradition writing about Egyptian monks. These texts cross a variety of genres and purposes, but most display a basic 2  J.  E. Goehring, “Monastic Diversity and Ideological Boundaries in Fourth-Century Christian Egypt,” in Ascetics, Society, and the Desert: Studies in Early Egyptian Monasticism, ed. by J. E. Goehring, Harrisburg, PA, 1999, pp.  196–218. 3  C.  Rapp, Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity: The Nature of Christian Leadership in an Age of Transition, Berkeley, 2005 (Transformation of the Classical Heritage, 37), pp.  16–19,  137–52. Both Claudia Rapp and Andrea Sterk (Sterk, Renouncing the World) approach the question of authority from the ecclesiastical position, and because of that approach they gloss over the complex dynamics of monk-ecclesiastic relations. 4  D.  Brakke, “Canon Formation and Social Conflict in Fourth-Century Egypt: Athanasius of Alexandria’s Thirty-Ninth Festal Letter,” Harvard Theological Review 87 (1994), pp.  395–419; P.  Allen, “The Festal Letters of the Patriarchs of Alexandria: Evidence for Social History in the Fourth and Fifth Centuries,” Phronema 29 (2014), pp.  1–19; A.  Cain, The Letters of Jerome: Asceticism, Biblical Exegesis, and the Construction of Christian Authority in Late Antiquity, New York, 2009; “Canons from the Council of Gangra,” trans. by O.  L. Yarbrough, in Ascetic Behavior in Greco-Roman Antiquity: A Sourcebook, ed. by V. L. Wimbush, Minneapolis, 1990, pp. 448–55. 5  Egypt provides a good selection of texts from the fourth and early fifth centuries, and most late antique texts that address monks primarily focus on Egyptian monks. Egypt also serves as the primary location of most stories in the AP, was the training ground for famous monks outside Egypt, maintained important contacts with Palestine, and even sent monks to Palestine after the raids on Scetis.

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orientation toward the contested power dynamics between monks and ecclesiastics. They fall into three major literary categories: travelogues, ecclesiastical histories, and monastic sources. Travelogues purportedly record the travels of tourists who visited the Egyptian, Palestinian, and Syrian wildernesses to see and speak to famous monks and nuns.6 Cassian’s Conferences might fall into this category, and parts of his Institutes record some of his travels in Egypt and therefore overlap with this category.7 The two most famous travelogues of the Egyptian desert are the anonymous Historia monachorum in Aegypto8 and Palladius’s Lausiac History.9

6  For a study on the experiences of monastic tourists, whom she calls “pilgrims,” see G.  Frank, The Memory of the Eyes: Pilgrims to Living Saints in Christian Late Antiquity, Berkeley, 2000 (Transformation of the Classical Heritage, 30). 7  John Cassian, Conferences, ed. and trans. by E.  Pichery, in Conférences, 3 vols., Paris, 1955–1959 (SC, 42, 54, 64); trans. by B. Ramsey, John Cassian: The Conferences, Mahwah, NJ, 1997 (Ancient Christian Writers, 57). John Cassian, Institutes, ed. and trans. by J.-C. Guy, in Institutions cénobitiques, Paris, 1965 (SC 109); trans. by B.  Ramsey, John Cassian: The Institutes, New York, 2000 (Ancient Christian Writers, 58). For a detailed biography of Cassian and his production of the Institutes and Conferences, see C.  Stewart, Cassian the Monk, New York, 1998, pp.  3–39. Columba Stewart dates the Institutes and the beginning of the Conferences to the early to mid-420s (p.  16). Cassian’s accounts are more highly constructed than other travelogues; on how Cassian intended his readers to respond to reading his work, see S.  D. Driver, John Cassian and the Reading of Egyptian Monastic Culture, New York, 2002 (Studies in Medieval History and Culture, 8). 8  Historia monachorum in Aegypto, ed. by A. J. Festugière, Brussels, 1971 (Subsidia Hagiographica, 53); trans. by N.  Russell, The Lives of the Desert Fathers, Kalamazoo, MI, 1980 (Cistercian Studies, 34). As noted in chapter one, Cuthbert Butler dates the beginning of the journey to 394 (C.  Butler, The Lausiac History of Palladius: A Critical Discussion together with Notes on Early Egyptian Monasticism, 2  vols., Cambridge, 1904 [Texts and Studies, 6], 1, pp.  198–203), and Andrew Cain dates the composition of the text to between 395 and 397 (A.  Cain, The Greek Historia monachorum in Aegypto: Monastic Hagiography in the Late Fourth Century, New York, 2016, pp. 39–40). 9  Palladius, Lausiac History, ed.  by Butler, Lausiac History; trans. by R. T. Meyer, Palladius: The Lausiac History, New York, 1964 (Ancient Christian Writers, 34). Citations are keyed to Meyer’s translation, with the location in Butler’s edition (page and line numbers from volume two) in parentheses. As noted in chapter one, the consensus date for the LH seems to be 420.

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The histories by Socrates,10 Sozomen,11 and Theodoret12 also depict monks and their interactions with church hierarchs. The originator of ecclesiastical histories, Eusebius, records almost nothing about the nascent Christian ascetic movement in Egypt or elsewhere, aside from his mention of Narcissus, bishop of Jerusalem, as an ascetic.13 The three fifth-century historians, however, 10  Socrates, Historia ecclesiastica, ed.  by G.  C. Hansen, trans. by P.  Périchon and P.  Maraval, in Socrate de Constantinople, Histoire ecclésiastique, 4  vols., Paris, 2004–2007 (SC, 477,  493,  505,  506); all translations are mine; hereafter cited as Socrates, HE. Pierre Maraval dates the history to 439/40 and places its composition in Constantinople (P. Maraval, “Introduction,” in Socrates, HE, SC, 477, pp.  9–10). For a careful analysis of both Socrates and Sozomen – individually and related – see P.  Van Nuffelen, Un héritage de paix et de piété: Étude sur les histoires ecclésiastiques de Socrates et de Sozomène, Leuven, 2004 (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta, 142). The earlier treatises on Socrates include a general introduction (T.  Urbainczyk, Socrates of Constantinople: Historian of Church and State, Ann Arbor, MI, 1997) and a longer consideration of Socrates’ life and his historical project (M.  Wallraff, Der Kirchenhistoriker Sokrates: Untersuchungen zu Geschichtsdarstellung, Methode und Person, Göttingen, 1997 [Forschungen zur Kirchen- und Dogmenge­ schichte, 68]). 11  Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica, ed. by J. Bidez and G. C. Hansen, trans. by A.-J.  Festugière and B.  Grillet, in Sozomène, Histoire ecclésiastique, 4 vols., Paris, 1983–2008 (SC, 306, 418, 495, 516); trans. by C. D. Hartnaft, The Ecclesiastical History of Sozomen, 1890, Peabody, MA, 1994 (NPNF2,  2); I  edit Chester Hartnaft’s translations where necessary; hereafter cited as Sozomen, HE. Bernard Grillet dates its completion to between 443 and 448 (B.  Grillet, “Introduction,” in Sozomen, HE, SC, 306, pp.  9–58, with pp.  25–31 for the dating), but Peter Van Nuffelen argues for a date between 439 and 450 (Van Nuffelen, Un héritage de paix, pp. 59–61). 12  Theodoret, Historia ecclesiastica, ed. by L. Parmentier and G. C. Hansen, trans. by P.  Canivet, in Théodoret de Cyr, Histoire ecclésiastique, 2  vols., Paris, 2006–2009 (SC 501,  530); all translations are mine; hereafter cited as Theodoret, HE. Theodoret was the bishop of Cyrrhus in Syria; Annick Martin dates Theodoret’s HE to the end of the 440s, probably around 448 (A.  Martin, “Introduction,” in Theodoret, HE, SC, 501, pp.  29–37). Peter Van Nuffelen argues that it should be dated a year or two later to 449 or 450 (P.  Van Nuffelen, “Review  G. Sabbah, Sozomène  III and A.  Martin e.a., Théodoret de Cyr.  Histoire ecclésiastique. Tome 1,  2006,” Antiquité Tardive 15 [2007], p.  411). While focusing on his exegetical method, useful information on Theodoret and his life appears in J.-N.  Guinot, L’exégèse de Théodoret de Cyr, Paris, 1995 (Théologie historique, 100). 13  Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 6.9 (ed. and trans. by G. Bardy, in Eusebius, Histoire ecclésiastique, 4  vols., Paris, 1952–1960 [SC, 31,  41,  55,  73]).

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write significantly more about monks throughout the Christian Mediterranean in their continuations of Eusebius’s historical project.14 The category of “monastic” texts includes sources that are a product of the Egyptian desert or people associated with it, such as Athanasius. Monastic texts are distinct from travelogues; travelogues provide a sample of desert experiences, whereas monastic texts speak wholly from and to the Egyptian environment. The monastic sources examined in this chapter include Athanasius’s Vita Antonii (his protreptic biography of the monk Antony),15 the letters written by Antony,16 and the letters written by Ammonas.17 Perhaps this lack of information on monks is a function of Christian monasticism’s relative newness when Eusebius composed his history. 14  All three express an intention to write a continuation of Eusebius’s history: Socrates, HE 1.1.1–4; Sozomen, HE 1.1.11–13; Theodoret, HE 1.1.4. For a comparison of how the fifth-century historians used and modified Eusebius’s HE, see G.  F. Chesnut, The First Christian Histories: Eusebius, Socrates, Sozomen, Theodoret, and Evagrius, 2nd ed., Macon, GA, 1986. 15  Athanasius, Vita Antonii, ed. and trans. by G. J. M. Bartelink, Paris, 1994 (SC, 400); trans. by R. C. Gregg, Athanasius: The Life of Antony and the Letter to Marcellinus, Mahwah, NJ, 1980; hereafter cited as VA. For the fourth-century date and a discussion of Athanasius’s authorship, see G.  J.  M. Bartelink, “Introduction,” in Athanasius, VA, SC, 400, pp.  27–35. On Athanasius’s political and theological activity, see both T.  D. Barnes, Athanasius and Constantius: Theology and Politics in the Constantinian Empire, Cambridge, MA, 1993; and D. Brakke, Athanasius and Asceticism, Baltimore, 1998. 16  Antony, Letters, trans. by S. Rubenson, The Letters of St. Antony: Monasticism and the Making of a Saint, Minneapolis, 1995,  196–231. There is no critical edition of Antony’s letters (see Rubenson, Letters, pp.  15–34,  196). Rubenson argues that it is reasonable to believe that Antony wrote these letters (at the very least there is no compelling evidence to dismiss Antony’s authorship, though there is quite a bit of circumstantial evidence for Antony’s authorship) no later than the mid-fourth century (pp. 35–46). 17  Ammonas, Letters, ed.  by M.  Kmosko, “Ammonii eremitae epistulae,” Patrologia Orientalis 10 (1914), pp.  553–639; trans. by D.  J. Chitty, The Letters of Ammonas, rev. by S.  Brock, 1979, Oxford, 1995); I  do not here reproduce the Syriac text (Kmosko) from which Chitty makes his translation. Very little is known about the Ammonas to whom these letters are attributed (S.  Brock, “Introduction,” in Chitty, Letters, p.  iii). Franz Klejna argues that these letters are likely genuinely authored by Ammonas, the disciple of Antony (F.  Klejna, “Antonius und Ammonas: Eine Untersuchung über Herkunft und Eigenart der ältesten Mönchs-briefe,” Zeitschrift für katholische Theologie 62 [1938], pp.  312–20), leading David Brakke to date them to

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These documents exhibit a variety of viewpoints on how ecclesiastics and monks should interact, sometimes intentionally and sometimes unintentionally. The strongest viewpoints are opposites: texts that argue for the total control of bishops and priests over all Christians, including monks, and texts that argue for two analogous, autonomous, non-competing systems of authority. This latter assertion sees mainstream ecclesiastical authority extending no farther than lay Christians, with monks existing in their own system of authority insulated from episcopal interference. Texts can assert one or the other of these arguments with varying degrees of conviction. Another group of texts does not assert either side and seems to sidestep the question. These texts, by eschewing the question of authority, nevertheless make a claim about the nature of the contest between church and monastery. Reading the literary presentations of ecclesiastic and monastic figures and their interactions illuminates how authors approached the debates about authority in late antique Christianity.18 That authors encoded these debates in their writings (either consciously or unconsciously) indicates the depth of this concern in late antiquity. That texts as diverse as biographies, histories, travelogues, and letters all contain tacit arguments about authority (presented sometimes in the constructions of characters) reveals that the question of authority loomed over late antique monasticism. Moreover, that any of these viewpoints needed asserting indicates the contestation of authority in late antique Christianity – one need not repeatedly assert the validity of what already exists as the only viable option. Many of these authors are likely depicting more their hopes for reality than historical realities themselves. Each author hopes, by asserting a viewpoint, that his perspective on ecclesiastical-monastic authority will become normalized. The most probable historical reality is that the relationships between monks and bishops was fluid, depending on the characters involved

between 350 and 375 (D.  Brakke, “The Making of Monastic Demonology: Three Ascetic Teachers on Withdrawal and Resistance,” Church History 70 [2001], p. 32). 18  I do not suggest that my reading is the only ways to approach the texts under consideration. Literary productions are multilayered in any time period, meaning that a single text often makes several points.

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and the prevailing theological and political concerns of that time and place. I divide this chapter into three parts. Part one examines the texts that assert ecclesiastic control over monastics with varying degrees of conviction. Part two explores the texts that assert monastic autonomy from ecclesiastical interference. The final part demonstrates that the texts that either do not address the question or that present both sides equally provide as much information about the nature of debates over authority as those texts that clearly take a side. This chapter closes with a return to the overall question and methodology of reading these texts for problematic interactions by testing this mode of reading on texts from other places in the late antique Mediterranean. 1. Bishops Over Monks The overarching theme of monastic-ecclesiastical relationships is tension – even when discussing points on which monks and ecclesiastics overlap or agree, as Claudia Rapp and Andrea Sterk do, making such a point is necessary only in the context of tension. These points of agreement are remarkable because of the contestation of authority that marks other interactions. An apophthegm recorded by John Cassian embodies this polarization: Quapropter haec est antiquitus patrum permanens nunc usque sententia … omnimodis monachum fugere debere mulieres et episcopos. Neque enim sinit eum, quem semel suae familiaritati deuinxerit, uel quieti cellae ulterius operam dare uel diuinae theoriae per sanctarum rerum intuitum purissimis oculis inhaerere. In this context, here is an old saying of the fathers that is still current …: A  monk must by all means flee from women and bishops. For neither permit him, when once they have bent him to familiarity with themselves, to devote himself any longer to the quiet of his cell or to cling with most pure eyes, through insight into spiritual matters, to divine theoria.19

The political distraction of ecclesiastical affairs and the sexual distraction of women are part of the kenodoxia (“vanity”) that besets monks. Sandwiched between a discussion on finding the 19 

John Cassian, Institutes XI.18.

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source of kenodoxia (XI.17) and determining the cure for kenodoxia (XI.19), the placement of this saying indicates that the desire for ecclesiastical and sexual life causes or stems from vanity. The apophthegm’s equation of ecclesiastical and sexual pursuits indicates an ambivalent attitude toward the institutional church, though this ambivalence may reflect its Egyptian origin instead of Cassian’s own views. Andrea Sterk writes that this admonition is “in no way intended to spurn the church hierarchy but was rather written as a warning to monks who eagerly sought out episcopal office. Nevertheless, these words expressed an important impulse that lay behind the monastic movement, namely, separation from the world.”20 Sterk’s interpretation fairly contextualizes Cassian’s own usage, especially given Cassian’s monastic background and his ecclesiastic ordination.21 Considered in its origin, however Cassian’s unattributed apophthegm about the monastic ideal suggests several facets of the power dynamics between monks and ecclesiastics in Egypt. First, this apophthegm draws a clear distinction between the life of asceticism and the life of mainstream Christianity by placing monks against the two poles of normative Christianity – the family and the church. A  woman in mainstream Christianity has freedom to operate in certain ways respective to men, in particular her husband; such freedom is not present in her interactions with monks, and as such the two areas (normal and ascetic Christianity) should remain separate to avoid confusing the members of each group. Analogously, monks and bishops and monks and mainstream Christians belong to different realms, and the overlap (or interaction) between the groups interferes with the correct operation of the ascetic life. While Cassian’s inclusion of the saying in the Institutes serves one purpose, the apophthegm’s existence reveals a different reality of the Egyptian desert – for some people, monks and bishops constituted two different groups of 20  Sterk, Renouncing the World, p.  13. Claudia Rapp similarly points to the context within Cassian and draws a connection to Evagrius, and comes to the same conclusion as Andrea Sterk regarding its meaning in Cassian (Rapp, Holy Bishops, pp. 138–39). 21  Cassian was ordained by John Chrysostom, received his ascetic training in Egypt, and frequently served as an emissary between Constantinople and Rome (Rousseau, Ascetics, Authority, pp.  169–76).

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people with different concerns and different modes of living. In other words, the categories of monk and bishop, and the concerns of each, are distinct. Second, the fact of this apophthegm’s preservation and the way in which Cassian refers to it indicates that the relationship between monks and bishops was a pressing concern for monks. Cassian designates this apophthegm as an old but relevant saying of the fathers (namely the collected Egyptian fathers in XI.17). As shown in chapter one, it is the nature of an apophthegm to preserve the authoritative words of an authoritative person or people for contexts outside of the saying’s original occasion. The preservation of an apophthegm demonstrates the perceived importance of its message, and the preservation of this specific apophthegm suggests that the relationship between monks and bishops concerned monks even before Cassian’s time in Egypt. Whatever its context in the Institutes, the saying existed before it was passed to and preserved by Cassian, indicating that it held power in the Egyptian monastic context. Monks and bishops formed distinct groups, and monks cared deeply about the relationship between them. As Conrad Leyser notes, Cassian had learned (somewhat unsuccessfully) to avoid ecclesiastical politics, especially involving monks, from Evagrius Ponticus and John Chrysostom. Cassian’s writings therefore contain very little on the affairs and controversies that concerned mainstream Christianity.22 Perhaps because of this reluctance to write about Christian politics, Cassian demurs on addressing the ascetic maxim of avoiding bishops. Or perhaps Cassian, ordained by the bishop John Chrysostom, did not feel it wise to address the avoidance of bishops. It is just as likely, however, that Cassian felt that the maxim did not mean anything more than his limited explanation of it. Regardless, its very presence in Egypt demonstrates that the categories “monk” and “bishop” – as well as the relationship between the two – were important to monks in Egypt. Perhaps these concerns over authority were so central because monks considered themselves, at times, under siege from ecclesi22  C.  Leyser, Authority and Asceticism from Augustine to Gregory the Great, New York, 2000, pp. 35–36.

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astical authorities who attempted to bring them under the local church’s authority. Some sources present a close, hierarchical model in which monks obey bishops fully, and in turn are “promoted” to positions within institutional Christianity.23 Three of the texts under consideration – Athanasius’s Vita Antonii (VA), Socrates’ HE, and Sozomen’s HE – tend toward this viewpoint. a. Athanasius In the VA, Athanasius24 asserts that the Egyptian monk Antony is the church’s loyal supporter, and he advocates that other monks follow Antony’s example.25 The very structure of the “biography” 23  As we will see from the AP and other sources, this kind of promotion was not without problems when the candidate was reluctant or outright refused; these options do not reflect simple humility, but represent real conflict in taking such a position instead of continuing in the monastic life (see P. Norton, Episcopal Elections 250–600: Hierarchy and Popular Will in Late Antiquity, Oxford, 2007, pp.  191–202). Nor was the selection of a monk for episcopal office without problems when they were not already clergy (pp.  50–51). Choosing a monk as a bishop became further problematized by the expectations, in some circles, that bishops meet a certain standard of education and rhetorical training, and serve as effective patrons with either money or connections (J.  Maxwell, “Education, Humility and Choosing Ideal Bishops in Late Antiquity,” in Episcopal Elections in Late Antiquity, ed.  by J.  Leemans, P. Van Nuffelen, S. W. J. Keough, and C. Nicolaye, Berlin, 2011 [Arbei­ ten zur Kirchengeschichte, 119], pp. 449–62). 24  Timothy  D. Barnes argues against Athanasian authorship (Barnes, Athanasius and Constantius, p.  240 n.  64; T.  D. Barnes, “Angels of Light or Mystic Initiate? The Problem of the Life of Antony,” Journal of Theological Studies, n.s., 37 [1986], pp.  353–68). Part of Barnes’ argument is based on René Draguet’s assertion of the primacy of the Syriac Vita (R.  Draguet, La Vie primitive de s. Antoine, 2  vols., Leuven, 1980 [CSCO 417–18]), a claim that David Brakke rejects (D.  Brakke, “The Greek and Syriac Versions of the Life of Antony,” Le Muséon 107 [1994], pp.  29–53; D.  Brakke, “The Authenticity of the Ascetic Athanasiana,” Orientalia n.s. 63 [1994], pp. 18–19 n. 6). The argument for the Greek original and Athanasian authorship is more persuasive. 25  Brakke, Athanasius, pp.  201–65. David Brakke writes that Athanasius’s “picture of the ideal ascetic [Antony] not only promotes a narrative portrayal of Athanasian spirituality; it also promotes Athanasius’ political goal of a Church united under the Alexandrian episcopate… the monk’s life is a pattern to be imitated and, as such, contributes to the formation of the πολιτεία that characterizes the united Church in Athanasius’ view” (p.  203; see also M.  A. Williams, “The Life of Antony and the Domestication of Charismatic Wisdom,” in Charisma and Sacred Biography, ed.  by

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is a veiled protreptic toward ecclesiastic control over monks and monastic institutions. Athanasius claims that his reason for producing the VA is a monastic request for Antony’s biography in order to imitate his way of life and his asceticism.26 Athanasius wants the monks to consider his biography a true, if limited, account of Antony’s life and works, one that can be corroborated with other stories about Antony.27 This goal of “true production toward imitation” is the framing conceit of the VA, appearing in the introduction and repeated in the concluding chapters with reminders scattered at key points.28 The most important insertion of Athanasius’s veracity claim occurs at VA 65.1, where he asserts that while all claims until that point in the VA can be verified by others, those tales will be eclipsed by Antony’s amazing words and deeds in the remaining chapters. David Brakke identifies this distinction as a seam for a section that runs from chapter 65 through chapter 82 and contains material that is largely Athanasian in content and therefore likely Athanasius’s in construction.29 Accepting this division of the VA, chapters 1–64 contain the bulk of information about the life, conduct, and asceticism of Antony; chapters 65–82 mainly address Antony’s orthodoxy and his relationship to the institutional church; and chapters 83–92 recount the final days of Antony’s life (in which Antony conveniently reiterates, in chapters 89 and 91, the pro-Nicene and pro-episcopal viewpoints of chapters 65–82). The following is Athanasius’s M.  A. Williams, Chico, CA, 1982, pp.  23–45). Hermann Dörries wrote the seminal study on the VA, comparing the VA to the sayings of Antony to demonstrate the constructed nature of the VA (H. Dörries, “Die Vita Antonii als Geschichtsquelle,” in Nachrichten der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen: Philologisch-Historische Klasse 14, Göttingen, 1949, pp. 357–410). 26  VA Prooimion 2–3. 27  VA Prooimion 3–4. 28  In the introduction, VA Prooimion 2–4; in the conclusion, VA  93–94. VA  3.3–5 finds Antony himself engaged in the practice of imitation, seeking those who practiced asceticism and learning from them. Also important here is the connection between imitation, memory, and practice: Antony remembered only those things that he could imitate in his ascetic practice. The implication is that monastic readers should also only remember those things that they can imitate in their ascetic practice, namely, Athanasius’s Vita Antonii. 29  Brakke, Athanasius, p. 207.

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argument: You who want to imitate the life of Antony, remember those things that lend themselves easily to your practice of asceticism, namely what I record in this true account of his life (VA Prooimion 2–4,  3.3–5,  93–94; reinforced in VA 65.1). The beginning of your asceticism should match his life and works (VA 1–64), but to advance in the ascetic life (VA 65.1) you should imitate also his orthodoxy and his obedience to the institutional church and its authorities (VA 65–82), the very orthodoxy and obedience that he spent his final breath exhorting others to follow (VA 83–92). While, as Brakke identifies, the bulk of Athanasius’s pro-Nicene and pro-episcopal material appears in chapters 65–82, Athanasius carefully scatters references to Antony’s orthodoxy throughout the other sections. Perhaps Athanasius inserts Nicaea into the text in order to counter the asceticism-oriented content featured in the rest of the work. For instance, Antony’s first speech begins, “‘The scriptures are sufficient for instruction, but it is good for us to encourage each other in the faith, and to encourage each other with the words.’”30 These three elements – the scriptures, the faith, the words – likely refer to parts of institutional, orthodox Christianity. “The scriptures” signifies what was becoming orthodox Christianity’s set, accepted texts and the attendant interpretations of those texts. “The faith” indicates the Nicene definition of orthodoxy and the anathemas. Drawing on the use of ἀλείφειν, which refers literally to anointing and figuratively to encouragement, “the words” implies the Trinitarian formula (at the very least part of liturgical prayers or the Creed), again all in the Nicene vein. Athanasius’s emphasis on the faith and the words of the institutional church stands in opposition to the many references to discipline (askesis) scattered throughout the text. In a text about Antony, the “father” of Egyptian asceticism and monasticism, we should find his discipline mentioned consistently; in the VA, a pattern emerges surrounding it that reveals Athanasius’s purpose in composing the text. Forms of ἀσκέω and ἄσκησις occur 40 times

30  VA  16.4–5. τὰς μὲν γραφὰς ἱκανὰς εἶναι πρὸς διδασκαλίαν, ἡμᾶς δὲ καλὸν παρακαλεῖν ἀλλήλους ἐν τῇ πίστει, καὶ ἀλείφειν ἐν τοῖς λόγοις. Gregg’s translation does not contain the final phrase καὶ ἀλείφειν ἐν τοῖς λόγοις.

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in the VA, primarily in the first section of the text. 31 The concentration in each section reveals Athanasius’s attempt to deemphasize discipline in the narrative. Not counting the introduction, the first and final sections (the non-Athanasian sections) average one occurrence of “discipline” every 53.48 lines; the average concentration in the Athanasian section is less than one-fourth of that at one occurrence every 220.5 lines. 32 Athanasius, by limiting the discussion of discipline in his section, downplays and counter-balances the other sections’ emphasis on the life of askesis. In Antony’s first speech (VA 16–43) – wherein Athanasius portrays Antony opening with words that emphasize the place of the institutional church, speaking in the Nicene rhetoric of scripture, faith, and (likely liturgical) language – the concentration of “discipline” is similar to the non-Athanasian-specific parts of the VA. The average concentration for the speech is one occurrence of “discipline” every 57.58 lines, or one occurrence every 2.33 chapters. 33 Given the emphasis on the ascetic life in this speech – indeed, asceticism seems to be the emphasis of the first and final sections of the VA –Athanasius needs Antony to open his longest VA Pro. 1–3 (3 occur.); 3.1; 3.3; 3.5; 4.1; 5.2; 7.3; 7.8; 7.11; 8.2; 14.2; 15.3; 16.3; 16.7; 18.2; 19.1; 22.3; 24.6; 25.4; 27.4; 30.1; 34.1; 35.1; 38.2; 40.6; 45.1; 46.6; 47.1; 51.1; 61.2; 66.8; 82.2; 84.2; 88.1; 89.4; 91.2; 93.1 (2 occur.). Of the 40 occurrences, three appear in the introduction, nineteen appear in the first section (chapter 1–64), two appear in the second section (chapters 65–82), and six appear in the final section (chapters 83–94). 32  The introduction has 38 lines, making “discipline” appear, on average, in every 12.66 lines, the highest concentration of any section. The first section (chapters 1–64, 1,595 lines long, in which the average length of a chapter is 24.92 lines) averages one occurrence every 55 lines, and the final section (chapters 83–94,  277 lines long, in which the average length of a chapter is 23.08 lines) has an average concentration of one occurrence per 46.16 lines. The Athanasian section (chapters 65–82,  441 lines long, where the average length of a chapter is 24.5 lines), however, has an average of one occurrence of “discipline” every 220.5 lines. Counting by chapters, not lines, produces similar results. The 64 chapters of the first section average an occurrence of “discipline” every 2.20 chapters; the 12 chapters of the final section see “discipline” occurring every two chapters, on average. For the Athanasian section, 18 chapters, the average is an occurrence every 9 chapters. Again, this occurrence is less than one-quarter of the concentration found in the other sections. 33  The speech is 28 books and 691 lines long, with 12 occurrences of “discipline.” 31 

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monologue of the VA by emphasizing that his speech supports the Nicene orthodoxy of the institutional church by drawing attention to those instruments of orthodoxy: the texts (“the scriptures”), the Creed (“the faith”), and the Trinitarian formula and its attendant liturgy (“the words”). The careful references to the scriptures, faith, and words are incongruous with the rest of his speech, and likely represent an attempt to tie Antony more closely to the institutional church. In the final section of the VA, Antony’s dying speeches to his disciples contain specific anti-heretical exhortations. His first death speech largely warns against the heretical Meletians and Arians. 34 Here, Athanasius continues to portray Antony tying orthodoxy to the scriptures and the faith. Moreover, Antony reminds the monks that he himself has taught the scriptures and faith, implying that he is the church’s faithful subordinate. 35 In his opening speech, Athanasius’s Antony addresses the instruments of the institutional church; in his first death speech, Athanasius’s Antony closes with the instruments of the institutional church. Antony’s second death speech opens with an exhortation to asceticism, continuing later with a section on committing to orthodoxy in the face of heretics (especially, again, the Arians), and closes with Antony directing the disbursement of his meager possessions of a sheepskin and cloak (received from Athanasius and returned to him), another sheepskin (to the bishop Serapion), and his hairshirt (shared among his disciples). 36 Brakke connects the disbursement of possessions with Athanasius’s attempt to tie Antony to his episcopacy, and thereby monasticism writ large to the institutional church (or, perhaps more accurately, monks specifically to Athanasius, despite such minor inconveniences as distance). 37 The insertion of both the anti-heretical rhetoric and the placement of most of Antony’s possessions with the bishops serves to strengthen Athanasius’s control VA 89.4–6. VA 89.6. 36  The second death speech is VA 91.2–9. Antony’s exhortation to asceticism appears at 91.2, his encouragement to orthodoxy at 91.4–5, and the dispersion of his belongings at 91.8–9. 37  Brakke, Athanasius, pp. 246–47. Brakke notes that because Athanasius and Serapion possess relics of Antony, the VA and the bishops primarily provide monks access to Antony’s holiness (p. 246). 34  35 

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of the Antony narrative: the father of monasticism was orthodox, obedient to the church’s hierarchy, and left the bishops as his heirs. Whereas Antony’s orthodoxy alone does not prove placid subordination to the ecclesiastical hierarchy (after all, his agreement with the church could be independent and coincidental), his willingness to serve as a mouthpiece for the institution and his eagerness to bequeath his few possessions to its leaders reveal a character more definitively, intentionally, and happily subordinate to episcopal leadership. In the Athanasian section of the VA (65–82), the portrayal of Antony as obedient to the church and under the institutional church’s hierarchy is more explicit. Athanasius writes of Antony, “Though the sort of man he was, he honored the rule of the Church with extreme care, and he wanted every cleric to be held in higher regard than himself. He felt no shame at bowing the head to the bishops and priests; if even a deacon came to him for assistance, he discussed the things that are beneficial, and gave place to him in prayer, not being embarrassed to put himself in a position to learn.”38 Perhaps it is because Athanasius’s Antony was so closely governed by the institutional church and its bishops – especially Athanasius – that he spent so much time in dispute with Arians and sought to convert them, as well as the Meletians and the Manichees. 39 He even argued with Greek philosophers, strangely asserting Nicene orthodoxy (and arguing against Arianism) to the Greeks, who largely would not care about Arian versus Alexandrian theology.40 Antony’s apparent obsession with arguing against heterodoxy is largely confined to chapters 65–82, the Athanasian section, with small references also occurring in his dying speeches. Orthodoxy’s presence at any point in the text creates a portrait of Antony (and thereby monasticism) as obedient to institutional Christianity, an orthodox follower of his orthodox bishop. VA  67.1–2. Τοιοῦτος γὰρ ὤν, τόν τε κανόνα τῆς ἐκκλησίας ὑπερφυῶς ἐτίμα καὶ πάντα κληρικὸν τῇ τιμῇ προηγεῖσθαι ἤθελεν ἑαυτοῦ. Τοῖς μὲν γὰρ ἐπισκόποις καὶ πρεσβυτέροις οὐκ ᾐδεῖτο κλῖναι τὴν κεφαλήν. Διάκονος δὲ εἴ ποτε πρὸς αὐτὸν ὠφελείας χάριν ἀπήντα, τὰ μὲν πρὸς ὠφέλειαν διελέγετο· τὰ δὲ τῆς εὐχῆς αὐτῷ παρεχώρει, οὐκ αἰδούμενος μανθάνειν καὶ αὐτός. 39  VA 68–70. 40  VA 74.4–10. 38 

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The VA argues that Antony was the church’s monk, and that he stood as a part of the church’s power and structure, such that the bishop and clergy of Alexandria governed Antony, who in turn directed the monastic institutions of the Egyptian desert through his example and his teachings. Antony’s orthodox teachings placed monks in active opposition to such groups as the Arians, establishing monks in the oversight of the institutional church. Athanasius uses the VA as a protreptic to convince other monks, especially those at a distance, to follow Antony’s example, including his close ties and obedience to the hierarchical Christian church. That Athanasius must explicitly (and often awkwardly) place such obedience into the mouth and life of the famous Antony suggests that such submission was not in fact universal during the fourth-century composition of Antony’s hagiography.41 b.  Socrates Athanasius’s program to bring monks further under the leadership of the institutional church apparently did not find definitive success, because the fifth-century Christian history composed by Socrates of Constantinople continues to assert the close connection of monks and bishops. Socrates peppers his history with references to monks primarily in Constantinople, Asia Minor, and Egypt, including a wealth of material about monks in lower Egypt that begins with a brief section on Antony.42 He writes that Antony lived during the time of Constantine, went to the desert to fight demons, and performed many miracles. Socrates concludes by writing that he does not need to mention anything further about Antony because Athanasius already wrote his biography. In the final line of this section, Socrates notes that Antony was one among many such men in the desert and uses the word eupho41  Brakke demonstrates that the VA is just one example of Athanasius’s attempt to draw monks closer to the hierarchical church and establish ecclesiastic authority to regulate asceticism, ordain whom they desire, oversee monasteries, and employ monks in doctrinal disputes (Brakke, Athanasius, pp.  80–141). That Athanasius felt compelled to assert his and the church’s authority indicates that the relationships between monks and the wider church were disputed. Athanasius wrote letters and even a monastic biography in order to make and stake his claim in the apparent dispute over authority and power between monks and bishops. 42  Socrates, HE 1.21.

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ria to describe the number.43 His brief section on Antony appears in a purposeful place in book one of the history; Socrates’s first book covers the period from Constantine’s conversion to his death and includes substantial chapters on controversies, heresies, and the conversions of various ethnic groups to Christianity. Antony’s section (1.21) is situated between a chapter on the conversion of the Iberians (1.20) and the continuation of the Arian dispute after Eusebius of Nicomedia’s return from exile (1.23). The chapter immediately following Antony’s addresses Manes and Manichaeism as literary foils to the piety of Egyptian monks.44 The two chapters on Antony and Manes stand as interruptions of the flow of Socrates’s system, which typically portrays orthodoxy’s triumph over heresy and paganism throughout the time of Constantine. Indeed, since Manes lived before Constantine – a fact that Socrates twice highlights 45 – this digression is notable. The conceit for including Manes is Eusebius’s lack of detailed information on him,46 but this explanation does not justify the narrative interruption that these two chapters present. The reason for Socrates’s digression may lie in Athanasius’s presentation of Antony in the VA. If Socrates accepts the VA’s presentation of Antony as a defender against heresy, then his inclusion at this exact point follows the structural argument of Socrates’s first book. The first book adheres to a pattern of historical material (1.2–10), examples of piety (1.11–12), an anachronistic example of schism (1.13a),47 historical material (1.13b–18), examples of piety (1.19–21), an anachronistic example of heresy (1.22), and historical

43  Socrates, HE 1.21. Τοιούτων ἀγαθῶν εὐφορία κατὰ ταὐτὸν ὑπὸ τοὺς χρόνους τοῦ βασιλέως Κωνσταντίνου γεγένηται. The semantic range of εὐφορία covers well-being or abundance in medicine, reproduction, one’s life, and agriculture, as well as the beautiful grace of dancers’ movements. 44  Referencing Matthew 13.15, HE 1.22.1 begins, “But between the good wheat, weeds habitually grow.” Ἀλλὰ μεταξὺ τοῦ χρηστοῦ σίτου εἴωθεν καὶ τὰ ζιζάνια φύεσθαι. 45  Socrates, HE 1.22.1, 1.22.15. 46  Socrates, HE 1.22.2–3. 47  I designate from 1.13.1 to 1.13.11 l.  48 (the anachronistic Novatianist monk Eutychian) as 1.13a, and the remainder (1.13.11 l.  49 to 1.13.12, a long section) as 1.13b. At 1.13.11, Socrates admits that the Eutychian story is chronologically disjointed.

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material (1.23–40).48 From this perspective, the seemingly random inclusion of Antony in 1.21 matches the overarching argument of the first book, that orthodoxy and its adherents will defeat schism, heresy, and their proponents.49 Even though some schismatics may be pious (as in 1.13a), Socrates nevertheless condemns their persuasion as dividing the unity of the Christian church (1.11). Those who embrace or defend orthodoxy (1.11–12 on pious bishops, and 1.19–21 on pious ethnic groups and Antony) stand in the shadow and line of Constantine, the ultimate imperial promoter of the orthodox Christian faith (1.2). In other words, these people are the church’s people. The inclusion of Antony, presented by Athanasius in the VA as the church’s monk, is in Socrates’s view an example of those who hold to the orthodox (that is, Nicene) faith. Antony’s location in the first book provides a lens for approaching Socrates’s discussion of Egyptian monks. He presents Antony and those like him as the pious defenders of orthodoxy, as opposed to the heretic Manes and those who, like him, deny the church and the church’s faith. Socrates highlights the dichotomy between orthodox monasticism and heretics by depicting the monks outside Alexandria as suffering under the physical attacks of Arians,50 which he uses to justify a long, anachronistic section on notable Egyptian monks, with some instances of their interactions with episcopal authorities.51 The examples that Socrates cites, particu48  1.2–10 includes the conversion of Constantine, the Arian controversy in Egypt and its conclusion at Nicaea, and the Novatianist dispute and its conclusion at Nicaea. 1.11–12 tells the story of two pious bishops at Nicaea; 1.13 contains the Novatianist monk Eutychian and the conclusion of the Council of Nicaea; 1.14–18 continues with Constantine and his activities, and the activities of other figures in the Arian controversy. 1.19–20 features the conversion of two different ethnic groups, followed by the lives of Antony and Manes (1.21–22); 1.23–40 closes book one with the return of the deposed Arians and the death of Constantine. 49  Theresa Urbainczyk demonstrates that Socrates’s explicit approach to writing history is to focus on the “battles” within Christianity, similar to the approach of non-Christian historians (Urbainczyk, Socrates of Constantinople, pp.  120–21). His presentation of Antony and the Egyptian monks serves this purpose of demonstrating the fights and victories within mainstream Christianity. 50  Socrates, HE 4.22.6. 51  Socrates, HE 4.23. Socrates recounts a scene, also found in the AP, in which Pambo leaves the desert for Alexandria at the behest of Athanasius

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larly his reproach for the monks who refuse ordination, follow his contention in the first book that the orthodox way – the way of the church and its hierarchs – is the most excellent way. Socrates continues by recounting in more detail the Arian persecution of Egyptian monks and the banishment of Macarius of Alexandria and Macarius of Egypt.52 He then digresses to write about Didymus the Blind, his interactions with Antony, his defense of orthodox Christianity against the Arians, and his defense of Origen.53 Socrates here claims that the monks served as defenders of Christianity, supporting church hierarchs. Defending this claim, in the following chapter about Basil the Great’s and Gregory Nazianzen’s work against the Arians, Socrates asserts that Basil built monasteries after becoming bishop of Caesarea in order to combat Arian heresies.54 Socrates’s monks defended Christianity against Arianism, to the point that the monk-bishop Basil (trained in the monasteries of Egypt) built his own Pontic monasteries to train anti-Arian monks. Although Socrates appears to write that the church and its leaders are sacrosanct, working with subordinate monks to uphold orthodoxy, occasionally he struggles to harmonize the relationship between the groups. In a series of events, Socrates records that the Egyptian monks disputed with Theophilus, the patriarch of Alexandria, and that Theophilus then forcibly ordained one monk to the episcopacy and compelled two others to live the ecclesiastical life with him in Alexandria against their will. He eventually ordered the monks exiled, whereupon they appealed to the

and cries upon seeing an actress (Socrates, HE 4.23.26–27; this story is also recounted nearly word for word in Pambo 4 in the AP [PG 65, col.  369]; n.  2 in chapter one, above, provides the edition citations for the AP). Socrates writes that Evagrius was ordained a deacon by Gregory Nazianzen (Socrates, HE 4.23.34) and quotes extensively from his writings. Toward the end, he cites two examples of monks who fled ordination to the episcopate, Ammonius by self-mutilation and Evagrius by simple evasion (Socrates, HE 4.23.74–76). Interestingly, Socrates places reproach for each monk’s method of refusing ordination in the mouth of the other monk. 52  Socrates, HE 4.24. 53  Socrates, HE 4.25. 54  Socrates, HE 4.26.11–12.

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emperor and the archbishop John Chrysostom.55 In this instance, the historical account requires Socrates to employ condemnatory language for the bishop’s actions. Socrates writes in conclusion, “Because of these things Theophilus was condemned by all,” while also recording that Dioscorus (the monk forcibly ordained a bishop) was given an honorable funeral.56 Theophilus, while a bishop of the church, was condemned for actions that politicized his ecclesiastical position and turned monks against each other.57 Another bishop of Alexandria, Cyril, receives more condemnation from Socrates than his predecessor – and uncle – Theophilus. Socrates compares the two, writing that with Cyril at the helm the see of Alexandria seized more power than before, performing both sacred and secular functions.58 Cyril’s perversion of power culminates during the Christian attacks on Jews, pagans, and government officials that he instigated in Alexandria, ostensibly Socrates, HE 6.7,  6.9; see 6.2 for an account of Theophilus’s opposition to Chrysostom. 56  Socrates, HE 6.17.11. Διὰ ταῦτα μὲν δὴ ἐν καταγνώσει παρὰ πᾶσιν ὁ Θεόφιλος ἦν. 57  There is another possible instance of Theophilus using a monk to further his own goals, in this case a monk-bishop. Socrates records that Theophilus incited Epiphanius, bishop of Cyprus, against John Chrysostom by asking him hold a Cypriot synod condemning Origen and asking Epiphanius to write to Chrysostom to do the same. When Chrysostom ignored Theophilus and Epiphanius and instead focused his attentions on his own see, Theophilus sent Epiphanius to Constantinople to ordain church hierarchs (Socrates, HE 6.10,  12,  14). The AP records seventeen sayings by Bishop Epiphanius, a monk connected with establishments in both Palestine and Egypt (PG 65, cols  161–68). Perhaps Socrates highlights these tensions because of competition between Constantinople and Alexandria; see P. Blaudeau, Alexandrie et Constantinople (451–91): De l’histoire à la géo-ecclésiologie, Rome, 2006 (Bibliothèque des Écoles Françaises d’Athènes et de Rome, 327). While Blaudeau’s primary focus is later than Socrates, these tensions predated the Council of Chalcedon. 58  Socrates, HE 7.7.4. In 7.11.4–5, Socrates condemns Rome for the same excesses of authority, stating that the bishops of Rome and Alexandria seize churches and possessions from even those who hold the same beliefs that they hold, putting personal politics ahead of the unity and theology of the church. Socrates of Constantinople reassures the reader that the bishops of Constantinople do not follow the same evil course as those in Rome and Alexandria (7.11.6). See also P.  Blaudeau, Le Siège de Rome et l’Orient (448–536): Étude géo-ecclésiologique, Rome, 2012 (Collection de l’École Française de Rome, 460). 55 

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as retribution for Jewish attacks on Christians and the governor’s reluctance to punish the Alexandrian Jewish population. Adopting Theophilus’s tactic, Cyril incites the Nitrian monks against the governor, Orestes, and a large contingent enters Alexandria and attacks the governor.59 When the issues between Cyril and Orestes again erupt and result in the killing of the Alexandrian philosopher Hypatia, a friend of Orestes, Socrates strongly rebukes Cyril: “This [matter] brought no small disgrace upon Cyril and the Alexandrian church. For murders and fights, and other similar things, are completely unnatural to the mind of Christ.”60 Cyril, like his uncle Theophilus, puts politics before the church and engages in activity unbecoming to a bishop, even using monks as his own personal army. The two episcopal examples of Theophilus and Cyril modify the relationship between the church and monks that Socrates presents in the first book. Monks, like bishops, are pious defenders of the church’s faith, but only insofar as they act in accordance with “mindfulness toward the things of Christ.”61 Socrates’ condemnation of Ammonius and Evagrius for avoiding consecration to the episcopacy62 derives from his high view of ecclesiastical positions. Those who occupy the bishopric, however, must also act with this mindfulness, otherwise they bring condemnation upon themselves and the sees they hold. By including Theophilus’s disputes with the Tall Brothers, Socrates highlights the consequences of a bishop’s failure to act mindfully – universal condemnation.63 While SocraSocrates, HE 7.13–14. Socrates, HE 7.15.6. Τοῦτο οὐ μικρὸν μῶμον Κυρίλλῳ καὶ τῇ Ἀλεξανδρέων ἐκκλησίᾳ εἰργάσατο. ἀλλότριον γὰρ παντελῶς τῶν φρονούντων τὰ Χριστοῦ φόνοι καὶ μάχαι καὶ τὰ τούτοις παραπλήσια. 61  Socrates, HE 7.15.6. τῶν φρονούντων τὰ Χριστοῦ. On the death of Hypatia as it relates to shifts in late antique education, see E.  J. Watts, City and School in Late Antique Athens and Alexandria, Berkeley, 2006 (Transformation of the Classical Heritage, 41); on Hypatia’s death as a violent act, with an overview of the events, see E.  J. Watts, “The Murder of Hypatia: Acceptable or Unacceptable Violence?,” in Violence in Late Antiquity: Perceptions and Practices, ed.  by H.  A. Drake, et  al., 2006, London, 2016, pp.  333–42; on Hypatia herself, see M.  Dzielska, Hypatia of Alexandria, trans. by F.  Lyra, Cambridge, MA, 1995 (Revealing Antiquity, 8). 62  Socrates, HE 4.23.74–76. 63  Socrates, HE 6.7. 59 

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tes holds an episcopocentric view of the power dynamics between monks and bishops, he recognizes ecclesiastical perversion when it arises. Moreover, in drawing attention to such interchanges he intimates that monks and bishops did not always agree, that sometimes monks worked outside the local ecclesiastical structures (though this straying was only permissible when the bishop was as reprobate as Cyril or Theophilus, and such monks more properly followed orthodoxy), and that bishops tried to exercise extensive control over monastic institutions.64 c.  Sozomen Socrates’ contemporary and fellow historian Sozomen repeats some of the same material, though with substantial additions, edits, and a change in tone.65 In introducing his project, Sozomen indicates that he believes any ecclesiastical history incomplete if it does not include some information about monks and their way of living.66 Sozomen’s presentation of the history of monks, particularly their relationship to bishops, is more ecclesiastically oriented than even Socrates’s; he omits the important incidents surrounding Cyril and his use of Egyptian monks. Monks are the “church’s people,” the lights and defenders of Nicene orthodoxy. In opening his substantial section on the origin and major personalities of monasticism, Sozomen writes, “Those who were engaged in monasticism at that time were not the least in bringing to light the distinguishing mark of the church, and they upheld the Dogma through the virtues of their way of life.”67 In this context, Sozomen writes about the “virtues” of the monastic life and 64  Socrates, though, may struggle to depict the relationship between bishops and monks given his probable sympathies toward Novatianism (see Wallraff, Der Kirchenhistoriker Sokrates, pp.  30–35, 235–57). 65  See Grillet and Sabbah, “Introduction,” in Sozomen, HE, SC, 306, pp.  7–87. Sabbah’s section of the introduction, “Sozomène et Socrate” (pp. 59–87), carefully examines the relationship between the two histories of Sozomen and Socrates. See also P. Van Nuffelen, Un héritage de paix. 66  Sozomen, HE 1.1.18–20. Theresa Urbainczyk notes that Sozomen focuses more on monks and less on bishops than does his contemporary Socrates (Urbainczyk, Socrates of Constantinople, p. 107). 67  Sozomen, HE 1.12.1. Οὐχ ἥκιστα δὲ ἐπισημοτάτην τὴν ἐκκλησίαν ἔδειξαν καὶ τὸ δόγμα ἀνέσχον ταῖς ἀρεταῖς τοῦ βίου οἱ τότε μετιόντες τὴν μοναστικὴν πολιτείαν.

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describes monks’ specific modes of conduct and self-conceptions in more detail, also summarizing the origins of asceticism and monasticism, particularly in Egypt.68 He then devotes a lengthy discussion to Antony and Amoun, recounting their lives and describing their conduct, relating them to his general discussion of ascetic virtues.69 Sozomen ties Antony closely to the bishop Athanasius in book two and presents Antony as the bishop’s fervent supporter. When Athanasius calls, Antony answers. Because of Antony’s reputation for virtue, the reputation of Athanasius – to whom Antony is apparently beholden due to the bishop’s office – increases. What Athanasius said, Antony agreed with; those toward whom Athanasius was ill disposed also gained the ire of the monk.70 Antony, according to Sozomen, even wrote to the emperor in support of Athanasius and himself gained the displeasure of the emperor.71 This depiction of Antony closely parallels the VA, and departs from Antony’s Letters, by presenting the famous monk as the church’s man, eagerly following his bishop. Sozomen continues his presentation of monks as devoted churchmen by writing that Antony and the Egyptian monks, like the bishops Athanasius of Alexandria and Paul of Constantinople, maintained Nicene orthodoxy openly during the Arian controversy.72 He then briefly recounts the lives and virtues of various monks who lived during this time, highlighting that Macarius of Egypt Sozomen, HE 1.12.2–11. Sozomen, HE 1.13 (Antony), 1.14.1–8 (Amoun). In 1.13.1, Sozomen writes that Antony drew the attention of Constantine. 70  Sozomen, HE 2.17.11. “But when, on the death of Alexander, the succession devolved upon him, his reputation was greatly increased, and was sustained by his own private virtues and by the testimony of the monk, Antony the Great. This monk repaired to him when he requested his presence, visited the cities, accompanied him to the churches, and agreed with him in opinion concerning the Godhead. He evinced unlimited friendship towards him, and avoided the society of his enemies and opponents.” Ἐπεὶ δὲ ἐτελεύτησεν Ἀλέξανδρος διάδοχον αὐτὸν καταλιπών, ἔτι μᾶλλον ἐπέδωκεν ἡ περὶ αὐτοῦ δόξα βεβαιουμένη ταῖς οἰκείαις ἀρεταῖς καὶ τῇ μαρτυρίᾳ Ἀντωνίου τοῦ μεγάλου μοναχοῦ. Μετακαλουμένου γὰρ αὐτοῦ ὑπήκουε καὶ ταῖς πόλεσιν ἐφοίτα καὶ εἰς τὰς ἐκκλησίας συνῄει καὶ οἷς ἐδόξαζε περὶ θεοῦ συνεψηφίζετο, καὶ φίλον ἐν πᾶσιν εἶχεν αὐτὸν καὶ τοὺς ἐναντιουμένους ἢ ἀπεχθανομένους αὐτῷ ἀπεστρέφετο. 71  Sozomen, HE 2.31.2–3. 72  Sozomen, HE 3.13.6. 68  69 

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and Macarius of Alexandria are ordained to the priesthood.73 Didy­ mus the Blind likewise defends Nicene orthodoxy, in addition to being praised by Antony and the other Egyptian monks; Antony even enters Alexandria to speak on Athanasius’s behalf.74 During the exile of Athanasius and the accession of an Arian to the see of Alexandria, Sozomen writes that the Egyptian monks openly opposed the heretic. Adding to this description, Sozomen writes, “The opinions of these monks were always adopted by the people, and their testimony was universally received, because they were noted for their virtue and the philosophical tenor of their lives.”75 When Sozomen presents monks as orthodox Nicene Christians who follow the directives of the institutional church – these monks who were highly regarded because of their way of life – then he can tacitly present Nicene, cleric-abiding Christianity as the perfect way of life to his readers. Moreover, he implies that obedience to ecclesiastical authorities allows even non-ascetics a path to virtue, providing laypeople a way to imitate monks without engaging in severe asceticism. In addition to their defense of Christianity, the monks, as presented by Sozomen, were such defenders of Nicene orthodoxy that they received divine foresight into the Arian controversy and were persecuted for their beliefs. According to Sozomen, Antony dreamed about the Arian seizure of churches and the controversy long before it happened.76 After the death of Athanasius, the Arian patriarch of Alexandria used troops to force the monks to accept Arianism under pain of death. When they refused, and the troops turned aside after witnessing a miracle, the Arian bishop arrested the monks and sent them to an island. There the monks converted the pagan inhabitants, proving the superiority of the Nicene church.77 Sozomen later extols the virtues of the more famous Egyptian monks, noting in particular that monks who were also priests, Dioscorus and Eulogius, were exceedingly care-

Sozomen, HE 3.14.1–4. Sozomen, HE 3.15.3–5. 75  Sozomen, HE 4.10.12. ὧν τῇ δόξῃ τὸ πλῆθος εἵπετο καὶ τὰς μαρτυρίας ἀληθεῖς ἡγεῖτο, καθότι ἀρετὴν ἤσκουν καὶ ἐν φιλοσοφίᾳ ὁ βίος αὐτοῖς ἦν. 76  Sozomen, HE 6.5.5–6. 77  Sozomen, HE 6.20. 73  74 

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ful in exercising their ecclesiastical duties.78 In Sozomen’s overall presentation of monks as the church’s subordinate defenders, this placement of the two monk-priests in the text is crucial for understanding how Sozomen saw the relationship between monks and the church. Though these monk-priests are the persecuted defenders of Nicene orthodoxy, they stand firm in their ascetic virtue and in exercising their duties as priests, and are perhaps even more zealous in their defense of orthodox Christianity and the correct ministrations of ecclesiastical office because of their asceticism.79 Sozomen sees them as part of the overall Christian ecclesiastical hierarchy, one additional tool in the church and its leaders’ fight against heresy. Even Sozomen’s understanding of monks as part of the church’s hierarchy cannot stand uncomplicated in the face of strained relationships between monks and ecclesiastics. Like Socrates, Sozomen recounts a version of Ammonius’s refusal of ordination with the threat and act of self-mutilation, though he does not include Socrates’s story of Evagrius’s similar refusal.80 He also must include the contentious relationship between the Egyptian monks and Theophilus of Alexandria, particularly the Tall Brothers (whom Sozomen presents in more and different detail than Socrates), in addition to Theophilus’s opposition to John Chrysostom and suggestion that the monk Isidore should be bishop of Constantinople instead of John Chrysostom.81 Sozomen closes his discussion of monks with a story of Theophilus fleeing Constantinople for Alexandria (after the deposed Chrysostom returned to the capital) in the company of a monk named Isaac, and Theophilus’s attempt to ordain a monk as bishop of Gera in Egypt. The monk, not desiring the ordination, delayed until he died in prayer.82 Theophilus presents an obstacle for Sozomen’s characterization of the relationship between monks and the church. The monks are, and should 78  Sozomen, HE 6.28 (Dioscorus and Eulogius as priests is at 6.28.10–11); 6.30–31. 79  This idea that asceticism benefits their ecclesiastical position is notable in part because the sayings of the AP indicate that asceticism is problematized by holding ecclesiastical office. 80  Sozomen, HE 6.30.3–5. Ammonius was one of the Tall Brothers (6.30.2). 81  Sozomen, HE 8.2.16–19; 8.11–15. 82  Sozomen, HE 8.19.1–7.

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be, functionaries of the church’s defense against heresy, and work under the oversight of their local bishops. The politicizing of the bishopric by Theophilus forces Sozomen to show fractures in this understanding of church-monastery relationships, despite his basic argument for the hierarchical unity of the institutional church, monks and all.83 Both Socrates and Sozomen strive to depict the orthodox, Nicene church as an undivided hierarchy, running from God through the bishops to the priests, monks, and laity. When their desire to construct such a history runs afoul of what appear to be contentious relationships between monks and the institutional church (e.g., refusing ordination, opposing bishops), the historians adjust how they present this idealized relationship. For Socrates, the relationship breaks down when ecclesiastical figures act contrary to the dignity of their office (as with Theophilus and Cyril). Sozomen asserts a closer relationship between monks and bishops, notably in the case of Antony and Athanasius, and he strives to show monks as the church’s subordinates and supporters. This portrait falls apart completely only with Theophilus and his relationship with the monks; Theophilus becomes the object of recrimination on account of his actions not only toward the monks but also toward the rest of the “undivided” orthodox church. Both Socrates’ and Sozomen’s insistent assertions of the close relationship between monks and the church suggests the relationship’s instability in the early fifth century. Writing such strong links into the histories becomes necessary only when the actual links between church and monastery are questioned. By rhetorically presenting the monks as the church’s men, the persecuted defenders of Nicene orthodoxy who follow the mandates of their bishops (insofar as those bishops are pious men), and the leaders of the ignorant masses (a particularly strong link in Sozomen), the historians can foster ideas in the minds of their readers that com83  Part of his project was to unify Hellenistic thought with Christianity, the standard-bearers of which, for Sozomen, were the monks (E.  I. Argov, “A Church Historian in Search of an Identity: Aspects of Early Byzantine Palestine in Sozomen’s Historia Ecclesiastica,” Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum 9 [2006], pp.  377–78). Perhaps he includes the contentious relationships between bishop and monks in Egypt because he, like Socrates, wrote in Constantinople, a city with a complex competitive relationship with Alexandria.

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bat other concepts of the relationships between monks and bishops. Their presentations of the relationship between monks and bishops intimates that the reality of the relationship was a matter of contention in the fifth century. For these two historians, and especially for Socrates, Athanasius’s VA provides them with “firsthand” textual support for their understanding of ecclesiastic-monastic relationships. d.  Bishops Over Monks Athanasius, Socrates, and Sozomen all assert strong links between monks and ecclesiastical hierarchs, such that the monks come under the oversight of the institutional church. The historians Socrates and Sozomen desire to show the church as unified in a straight hierarchy, without any separate power systems.84 The realities of church politics, however, demonstrate that ecclesiastic assertions of power often resulted in monastic rejections of this authority, especially when the bishop in question held ulterior motives for exerting control over monks. Athanasius attempts to place Antony in the structure of institutional Christianity and portrays him as the defender of orthodoxy, beholden to the bishops. Attempting to write such strong links between monks and bishops likely indicates that these links – and their attending issues of power, authority, and control – were live questions in late antique Christianity.

84  As Peter Van Nuffelen notes, lacunae do not always suggest polemical motives; instead, they can reflect space constraints or the historian reading earlier sources for what he wants to emphasize (Van Nuffelen, Un héritage de paix, pp.  313–405). Because writing necessitates choices, however, an author’s choices reveal part of his worldview. Van Nuffelen also argues that ecclesiastical histories, by their very natures, do not explore monks in depth, but instead relegate them to sidelines emphasizing primarily their spirituality (pp.  200–04). This use of monks in historical literature makes sense if the authors also viewed their ancillary subjects (monks) as part of the overall structure of institutional Christianity. Monks do appear in Socrates and Sozomen at key historical and, I  argue, theological points, intended to emphasize their inclusion in the overall affairs of Christianity under the oversight of bishops. Their roles in these types of episodes indicate authorial choices about the monks and prioritize values greater than space-required excision.

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2. Separate Spheres of Authority While Athanasius and the fifth-century historians Socrates and Sozomen assert a unified church that places monks under the oversight of bishops, another group of texts presents the ecclesiastical and monastic worlds as separate spheres of influence with little overlap. These texts include the anonymous Historia monachorum in Aegypto (HMA) and the letters of the monk Ammonas. The author of the HMA and Ammonas argue that monks should hold authority over their own affairs and should be free from external (including ecclesiastical) interference. a. Anonymous, Historia monachorum in Aegypto The HMA demonstrates that relationships between monks and those outside the monastic community were more complex than a simple top-down hierarchical relationship from bishops and priests to monks. Relationships of all sorts between monks and nonmonks in the HMA reveal the ways in which the monastic system was both present and absent from normal life. While monks and monasteries existed physically near cities or other people, their relationships with and conduct toward others suggests that there was at least a fictive removal of the monastic system from other systems. The anonymous author of the HMA begins to paint such a picture of this reversed power structure in the prologue: “For there is no town or village in Egypt and the Thebaid which is not surrounded by hermitages as if by walls. And the people depend on the prayers of the monks as if on God himself.”85 The author portrays the relationship as a one-way dependency. People rely on the monks for divine intercession, and the monks metaphorically wall the cities from ungodly influences. Monks form their own group upon which the citizens depend; no external, human power governs the monks. Throughout the HMA, the narrator presents relationships between monks and ecclesiastical authorities, imperial authorities, and regular citizens. These relationships all show monks relating to outsiders differently than they do to other monks, an indication either that the author viewed this dis85  HMA “Prologue” 10. οὐ γὰρ ἔστι κώμη οὔτε πόλις ἐν Αἰγύπτῳ τε καὶ Θηβαΐδι ἣ οὐχὶ τοῖς μοναστηρίοις καθάπερ τείχεσι περιβέβληται.

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tance as the ideal relationship between monks and non-monks, or that this distance reflected historical reality. In either case, the monks display little or no deference to individuals based solely on ecclesiastical rank.86 The literary structure of the HMA deemphasizes the ecclesiastical position in relation to monks by physically separating monks and monk-priests in the text. While stories of monks open and close the HMA, monk-priests find themselves sandwiched in the middle of the text, losing their agency and serving primarily as vehicles for recounting stories of true monastic piety. The author identifies six monks as monastic priests.87 Of these monk-priests, Copres and Apelles recount several stories about other monks and very little about themselves. In fact, with only one exception, identified storytellers are priests.88 At least five other monks are

86  While the primary focus remains on monastic-ecclesiastical relationships, the HMA’s presentation of the interactions between monks and imperial figures suggests the author’s view that monks exist in a separate sphere. For example, temporal authority did not impress the monk John of Lycopolis, and he granted the requests of officials only when granting those requests revealed the power of the divine or recognized and glorified the piety of a deserving individual. He predicted the future to both Theodosius and an imperial general, and commanded an official to give his son to the monastic life (HMA I.1–2,  10). When asked repeatedly by a tribune if John would see the tribune’s wife, the cloistered monk refused the official’s request until he heard of the wife’s piety (HMA I.4–9). In another of the HMA’s accounts, Macarius of Alexandria and Macarius the Great remain unimpressed by the blessing of a tribune in his finery, asserting that only God may bless the monks; the monks’ words and lives convert the official (HMA XXIII.1–4). These stories reveal that the author of the HMA viewed the relationships between monks and imperial officials as separate and unequal, indicative of either the actual situation in Egypt or the compiler’s desired reality. The relationships are unequal because the authority and power derived from ascetic living and desert piety far exceed the authority and power derived from temporal office, even when the characters in question are identified as pious people. 87  Copres (HMA X.1-XII.16), Apelles (HMA XIII.1–12), Eulogius (HMA XVI.1–4), Sarapion (HMA XVIII.1–3), Dioscorus (HMA XX.1–4), and Piammonas (HMA XXV.1–3). 88  The exception is John of Lycopolis, who tells stories about anonymous monks (HMA I.32–59) as examples in a long discourse on proper asceticism (HMA I.29–63). The presence of stories about other monks from John of Lycopolis may be explained by his lengthy discourse on a single topic in a

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presented as second-hand stories, with the narrator unidentified.89 When the HMA’s author identifies second-hand narrators, they are monk-priests. Most of these examples of anonymous stories about monks appear toward the end of the HMA and suggest that the author structured the work with a larger goal than the ostensible geographic progression. The HMA begins, after the prologue, with a long section about John of Lycopolis, which includes a substantial discourse on ascetic practice, utilizing several anonymous stories. The middle section (II.1-XVIII.1) mainly discusses monks whom the author met, and the final section (XVIII.2-XXVI.1, not including the Epilogue) primarily recounts short, general stories about monks (XVIII.1–3, XX.1–17, XXV.1-XXVI.1) or second-hand stories (XIX.1–12, XXI.1-XXIII.4, and very likely XXIV.1–10). The opening and closing sections stand as discursively different: the beginning focuses more attention on a single monk than any other monk receives in the text, and the closing functions almost as the catch-all of the text, with short accounts about monks in general or second-hand stories about specific characters. Both the opening and closing sections contain stories narrated about other monks, but the stories about monks in the middle section are narrated almost exclusively by monk-priests.90 The author used the monkpriests narratively to transmit knowledge about other monks, and in each case the monk’s ordination as a priest receives mention only in passing. The monk-priests are valuable not for their hierarchical status but for their insight into fellow monks. While the narrator could not ignore the presence of monk-priests in the communities of Egypt, he could alter the reader’s perception of their importance by forcing them into the role of storyteller. Like the HMA’s structure, its contents also deemphasize ecclesiastical authorities, though with an important caveat: monks, style not repeated elsewhere. The discourse requires the stories because asceticism is best elucidated by example. 89  Paphnutius (HMA XIV.1–24), Apollonius the Martyr (HMA XIX.1–12), Macarius the Great (HMA XXI.1–17), Amoun (HMA XXII.1–9), and Macarius of Alexandria (HMA XXIII.1–4). Paul the Simple (HMA XXIV.1–10) may also be second-hand. 90  This role of monk-priests may also be true of the outlier Paphnutius, whose death was apparently recounted by priests (HMA XIV.24).

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while dismissive of ecclesiastical authority, viewed ecclesiastics as fulfilling a necessary role in celebrating the Eucharistic sacrament. Monastic communities esteemed priests and deacons in particular because of their Eucharistic role, but that role did not automatically grant them broader authority among monks. The narrator highlights this tension with an interaction between his group and John of Lycopolis. A  member of the traveling party hides his ordination as a deacon from his fellow monastic tourists only to be discovered by the monk John.91 The story concludes with John rebuking the deacon for the lie, even though the deacon’s motives were pure.92 The discovery occurred when the travelers wished to receive a prayer from the mouth of the monk,93 which they received only after the exchange between John and the secret deacon.94 The deacon desired to keep his ecclesiastical position a secret from everyone, including John, and it was only after the monk rebuked him that he accepted responsibility for his office. As a deacon, he deferred to the spiritual authority of the monk, while the monk recognized the honor that the position bestowed on the deacon. Perhaps John’s recognition of the visiting deacon stems from a fact of the desert: monks, as Christians, participated in the sacramental life of the broader church and therefore needed individuals who could perform the necessary ritual activities associated with HMA I.14. HMA I.15. “But as the brother continued to deny it and tried to remain concealed, the saint reached out through the window, took his hand and kissed it and admonished him, saying, ‘Do not spurn the grace of God, my child, and do not lie by denying the gift of Christ. For a lie is something alien regardless of whether its matter is grave or light. And even if one lies with the intention of attaining some good, it is nevertheless not praiseworthy, for the Saviour said that a lie “cometh of evil.”’ The brother, having been proved wrong, remained silent and accepted his mild rebuke.” τοῦ δὲ συνεχῶς ἀρνουμένου καὶ λαθεῖν πειρωμένου λαβόμενος αὐτοῦ τῆς χειρὸς ἐκ τῆς θυρίδος ἐφίλει καὶ νουθετῶν παρεκάλει λέγων· “Μὴ ἀθέτει τὴν χάριν τοῦ θεοῦ, τέκνον, μηδὲ ψεύσῃ ἀρνούμενος τὴν δωρεὰν τοῦ Χριστοῦ. τὸ γὰρ ψεῦδός ἐστιν ἀλλότριον κἂν ἐπὶ μικρῷ κἂν ἐπὶ μεγάλῳ γένηται πράγματι· κἂν διά τι χρήσιμον γένηται, ὅμως οὐκ ἔστιν ἐπαινετὸν τοῦ σωτῆρος εἰπόντος ὅτι τὸ ψεῦδος ἐκ τοῦ πονηροῦ ἐστιν.” ὁ δὲ ἐλεγχθεὶς ἡσύχασεν καταδεξάμενος τὴν πραεῖαν αὐτοῦ ἐπιτίμησιν. 93  HMA I.13. 94  HMA I.16. 91 

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such moments as the Eucharist. Priests and deacons were fixtures of the desert. The narrator of the HMA records of the monastic establishments of Oxyrhynchus in the Thebaid, “As for the monks, they have their own oratories in each monastery.”95 The narrator describes these oratories as separate from the churches (numbered at a dozen) in which the lay Christians of Oxyrhynchus worshiped.96 Indeed, even small groups of monks are presented celebrating Easter while alone in the mountains,97 or coming down from the mountains to participate in the Eucharist.98 According to the author, the monk Apollo included this visit as part of his ascetic practice.99 Apollo ties participation in the Eucharist and the fasts to two things: scripture (John 6.56 and the timing of HMA V.3. τὰ γὰρ τῶν μοναχῶν εὐκτήρια καθ’ ἕκαστον ἦν μοναστήριον. HMA V.3. 97  HMA VIII.38–41. 98  HMA VIII.50–51. 99  HMA VIII.56–58. “‘Monks, if possible, should communicate daily in the Mysteries of Christ. For he who separates himself from the Mysteries, separates himself from God.  He who receives Communion frequently, receives the Saviour frequently. For the saving voice says, “He that eateth my flesh and drinketh my blood dwelleth in me and I in him.” It is therefore useful for monks to keep the remembrance of the Saviour’s passion in their minds constantly, and to be ready every day, and to prepare themselves in such a way as to be worthy to receive the heavenly Mysteries at any time, because it is thus that we are also granted the forgiveness of sins. The canonical fasts,’ he said, ‘must not be broken except under extreme necessity. For the Saviour was betrayed on a Wednesday and crucified on a Friday. He who does not keep these fast days participates in the betrayal and crucifixion of the Saviour. But if a brother comes to you in need of refreshment and it is a fast day, you shall prepare a table for him alone. However, if he does not wish to eat, do not force him. For we all follow the same teaching.’” Δεῖ, εἰ δυνατόν, τοὺς μοναχοὺς καθ’ ἑκάστην ἡμέραν τῶν μυστηρίων τοῦ Χριστοῦ κοινωνεῖν. ὁ γὰρ μακρύνων ἑαυτὸν ἀπὸ τούτων μακρύνεται ἀπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ· ὁ δὲ συνεχῶς τοῦτο ποιῶν τὸν σωτῆρα συνεχῶς ὑποδέχεται. ἡ γὰρ σωτήριος φωνή φησιν· ὁ ἐσθίων μου τὴν σάρκα καὶ πίνων μου τὸ αἷμα μένει ἐν ἐμοὶ κἀγὼ ἐν αὐτῷ. τοῦτο οὖν συμφέρει τοῖς μοναχοῖς ὑπόμνησιν τοῦ σωτηρίου πάθους συνεχῶς ποιουμένοις [καὶ] καθ’ ἡμέραν ἑτοίμους εἶναι καὶ παρασκευάζειν ἑαυτοὺς τοιούτους, ὡς ἀξίους εἶναι πάντοτε πρὸς τὴν τῶν οὐρανίων μυστηρίων ὑποδοχήν, ἐπειδὴ καὶ ἀφέσεως ἁμαρτιῶν οὕτω καταξιούμεθα. τὰς δὲ καθολικὰς νηστείας, φησί, μὴ ἐξὸν λύειν ἄνευ πάσης ἀνάγκης. ἐν γὰρ τετράδι ὁ σωτὴρ παρεδόθη, ἐν δὲ τῇ παρασκευῇ σταυροῦται· ὁ οὖν ταύτας λύων συνπαραδίδωσι τὸν σωτῆρα καὶ συσταυροῖ. ἀλλ’ ἐὰν ἥκῃ πρὸς ὑμᾶς ἀδελφὸς ἀναπαύσεως δεόμενος νηστείας οὔσης, παραθήσεις αὐτῷ 95 

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the Passion) and monastic tradition (“For we all follow the same teaching”).100 The sacramental life of the Christian is integral to the monk, as it is to the non-monk. According to the narrator, some of the monks of Kellia saw other monks only when they gathered for worship on Saturday and Sunday, isolated to such an extent that those “who die in their cells are often not found for four days, because they do not see each other except at the Synaxis. Some of them, living as they do so far apart from each other, travel three or four miles to the Synaxis.”101 Participation in the liturgical life of Christendom is fundamental to ascetic practice. It is no wonder, then, that priests hold an important position in a text focused on monks, an importance defined by their sacramental function.102 These interactions illustrate that, at least to the author, priests are important to monks insofar as they preside over the Eucharist; however, this priestly honor and importance does not grant priests or other ecclesiastics a position of authority over monastic communities, because monks serve almost all of the other functions, practical and theological, that ecclesiastics serve.

μόνῳ τὴν τράπεζαν. εἰ δὲ μὴ βούληται, μὴ ἀναγκάσῃς· κοινὴν γὰρ ἔχομεν τὴν παράδοσιν. 100  There seems to be an interplay here between the verb κοινωνεῖν in the opening line of the pericope (HMA VIII.56) and the adjective κοινὴν in the closing (HMA VIII.58). The “same (κοινὴν) teaching” refers to the communing (κοινωνεῖν) of the Mysteries in which the monks participate, albeit in their own churches. 101  HMA XX.7–8. πολλοὶ δὲ αὐτῶν πολλάκις καὶ τεταρταῖοι ἐν τοῖς κελλίοις εὑρίσκοντο ἐκ τοῦ μὴ ὁρᾶν ἀλλήλους πλὴν ἐν ταῖς συνάξεσιν. καὶ οἱ μὲν αὐτῶν ἀπὸ τριῶν σημείων καὶ τεσσάρων εἰς τὴν σύναξιν ἤρχοντο. 102  Abba Helle, according to a story told by the priest-monk Copres, miraculously went to fetch a priest from the other side of the Nile after the priest was prevented by a man-eating crocodile from arriving to perform the Eucharistic service (HMA XII.6–9). The priest was awed by the monk but frightened by the crocodile, which Helle used as his ferry across the river, and the priest would not cross to celebrate the Eucharist. Another priestmonk, Apelles, recounted that the devil appeared to the monk John the Hermit in the form of a priest coming with the Eucharist, as the Eucharist was the only food that John ate early in his ascetic career (HMA XIII.4–8; John the Hermit’s relationship with priests also included having a priest bring him supplies for weaving and writing to a priest to inform him of which monastic institutions followed strict and lax rules [HMA XIII.9–10]).

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Like priests, accounts about interactions with bishops are scarce in the HMA. A  bishop appears only once, when the narrator seeks information about the number of monks living near Oxyrhynchus.103 Instead of relying on bishops, monks themselves appear throughout the HMA fulfilling some of the same functions as bishops. Abba Apollo is described as “a new prophet and apostle”104 who serves as “a mediator of peace,”105 similar to the juridical function served by bishops.106 Apollo even dreamed of his dead monastic teacher “seated on a throne beside the apostles … interceding with God for him, entreating him to take him quickly from this life and give him rest with him in heaven.”107 Apollo’s teacher’s asceticism places him on the same celestial level as the apostles, just as the compiler describes Apollo himself as an apostle – a telling appellation given that tradition generally accorded bishops the position associated with the apostles. Another monk, in a story recounted by the priest-monk Copres, receives the same treatment as the apostle Paul and is taken bodily into heaven.108 Besides the apostolic nature of monks themselves, the author also considers the community of monks that arose around Apollo the fulfillment of prophecy, because they lived by the words of the apostle Paul.109 The monks of the HMA hold a place in the mind of the narrator reserved for the prophets and apostles, with the 103  HMA V.6. Interesting here is the use of ἔχω and ὑπό with the accusative case to describe the monks and virgins being under the bishop of Oxyrhynchus. This claim to episcopal authority seems incongruous for the overall tone of the HMA, unless it reflects the thinking of the bishop and not the thinking of the monks themselves. 104  HMA VIII.8. νέος τις προφήτης καὶ ἀπόστολος. 105  HMA VIII.30–31. μεσίτης εἰρήνης (HMA VIII.31). 106  For an overview of the many functions of the bishop, including the bishop’s court, see K.  J. Torjesen, “Clergy and Laity,” in The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies, ed.  by S.  Ashbrook Harvey and D.  G. Hunter, New York, 2010, pp. 389–405. 107  HMA VIII.16–17. σύνθρονον αὐτὸν τῶν ἀποστόλων γενόμενον … καὶ ὡς ἐπρέσβευεν ὑπὲρ αὐτοῦ τὸν θεὸν (HMA VIII.16). 108  HMA X.20–21. Cf. 2 Cor. 12.2–4. Athanasius believed that the passage in 2 Corinthians referred to Paul (Athanasius, Oratio III contra Arianos 47.1–7, at 47.6, ed. by K. Metzler, rev. by K. Savvidis, in Athanasius’ Werke, vol. 1, part 1, Die dogmatischen Schriften, New York, 2000, 305–81). 109  HMA VIII.18–20.

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requisite honor and authority, and as such, the narrator even claims that the monks are the friends of God. The HMA’s compiler often repeats the trope that monks hold a special position in relation to God.  John of Lycopolis teaches that a monk who seeks God and is “granted a partial knowledge of God – for it is not possible for the whole of such knowledge to be received by anyone – also attains to the knowledge of all other things. He sees mysteries, for God shows him them; he foresees what belongs to the future; he contemplates revelations like the saints did; he performs mighty works; he becomes a friend of God, and obtains from God everything he asks.”110 Monks are friends of God and receive special gifts from God because of their lives and practice, including one illiterate monk who received the gift of knowing the entire scripture by heart.111 Copres recounts the story of a confessor-monk, Abba Anouph, who enumerated his own virtues to a group of fellow monks, mirroring John of Lycopolis’s assertions about divine revelations to monks. Because of his virtue, God and the angels meet all of Anouph’s needs, and the monk even receives visions of the demise of Satan and the rewards of deceased Christians.112 The narrator places monks on par with 110  HMA I.27–28. ὁ οὖν γνώσεως θεοῦ ἐκ μέρους καταξιωθείς–τὴν πᾶσαν γὰρ οὐδενὶ δυνατόν ἐστιν ὑποδέξασθαι–τυγχάνει καὶ τῆς τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων γνώσεως καὶ ὁρᾷ μυστήρια θεοῦ δεικνύντος αὐτῷ καὶ προβλέπει τὰ μέλλοντα καὶ θεωρεῖ ἀποκαλύψεις, οἵας οἱ ἅγιοι, καὶ δυνάμεις ἐπιτελεῖ καὶ φίλος γίνεται θεοῦ καὶ πᾶν αἴτημα παρὰ θεοῦ κομίζεται (HMA I.28). 111  HMA II.5. 112  HMA XI.5–7. “From the time when I first confessed the name of Jesus on earth no lie has ever come forth from my mouth. I  have eaten nothing earthly, for an angel has fed me each day with heavenly food. No desire has arisen in my heart for anything except God. There is nothing hidden on earth which God has not made known to me. Light has never ceased to shine on my eyes. I  have not slept in the day, nor have I ceased to seek God at night; but an angel has always been with me, showing me the powers of the world. The light of my understanding has never been extinguished. Everything  I have asked from God  I have received at once. I  have often seen tens of thousands of angels standing before God. I  have seen choirs of the just. I  have seen companies of martyrs. I  have seen armies of monks. I  have seen the work of all those who praise God. I  have seen Satan delivered to the fire. I  have seen his angels handed over to punishment. I  have seen the just filled with joy forever.” Ἐξ οὗ τὸ τοῦ σωτῆρος ὄνομα ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς ὡμολόγησα, οὐ προῆλθε ψεῦδος ἐκ τοῦ στόματός μου. γήϊνον οὐδὲν διαιτήθην τοῦ ἀγγέλου με τρέφο-

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the apostles and believes that they fulfill prophecy, serving some of the functions of bishops. Monks receive special gifts from God and are described as friends of God.  It is no wonder that the narrator records John of Lycopolis warning monks against “the simulation of priestly virtue”113 and references three Nitrian monks who cut off their ears in order to prevent their forced ordination to the episcopacy.114 According to the author of the HMA, monks hold a special place in the Christian world, one that is not easily subsumed into the normal operations of the ecclesiastic hierarchy, and one that defers to priests only because of their sacramental function, not because of their hierarchical position. Similarly, because monks perform some of the same duties as bishops and receive special gifts, they do not need to submit to bishops solely because of bishops’ superior institutional position. Perhaps monks’ very independence accounts for their command to bow down to all visitors, not just those who hold positions of authority in the institutional church.115 The HMA depicts monks as a unique group within the church that receives special gifts from God and fulfills some of the apostolic and mediatorial functions of the bishops. They deserve honor like apostles and prophets,116 but in turn honor those who serve in the sacramental life of the church because of their purpose in consecrating the Eucharist and presiding over the service. Indeed, ντος τὴν οὐράνιον τροφὴν καθ’ ἡμέραν. οὐδενὸς ἑτέρου ἐπιθυμία ἀνῆλθεν εἰς τὴν καρδίαν μου πλὴν τοῦ θεοῦ. οὐδὲ ἀπέκρυψεν ὁ θεός τι τῶν γηΐνων, ὃ οὐκ ἐγνώρισέν μοι. οὐκ ἔληξεν φῶς τοῖς ὀφθαλμοῖς μου. οὐκ ἐν ἡμέρᾳ ὕπνωσα, οὐκ ἐν νυκτὶ ἀνεπαυσάμην τὸν θεὸν ἐκζητῶν, ἀλλ’ ἄγγελός μοι ἀεὶ συμπαρῆν τὰς τοῦ κόσμου δυνάμεις ἐπιδεικνύων. τὸ φῶς τῆς διανοίας μου οὐκ ἐσβέσθη. πᾶν αἴτημα παρὰ τοῦ θεοῦ μου εὐθὺς ἐλάμβανον. εἶδον πολλάκις μυριάδας ἀγγέλων τῷ θεῷ παρεστώσας. εἶδον χοροὺς δικαίων. εἶδον μαρτύρων ἀθροίσματα. εἶδον μοναχῶν πολιτεύματα. εἶδον πάντων τὸ ἔργον τῶν τὸν θεὸν εὐφημούντων. εἶδον τὸν σατανᾶν πυρὶ παραδιδόμενον. εἶδον τοὺς ἀγγέλους αὐτοῦ κολαζομένους. εἶδον τοὺς δικαίους αἰωνίως εὐφραινομένους. The background for the monologue, describing Anouph as a confessor, appears at XI.1–5. 113  HMA I.25. μὴ ἱερατείας ὑπόκρισις. 114  HMA XX.14. 115  HMA VIII.55–56. 116  Andrew Cain also recognizes that the HMA’s anonymous author interpreted scripture to make monks the heirs to the spiritual tradition of the prophets and apostles (Cain, Greek Historia monachorum, pp. 146–81).

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apart from the single mention of a bishop, most other ecclesiastics in the HMA are also themselves monks and are defined primarily by their roles as monks and secondarily by their Eucharistic function. Non-monk priests are defined solely by their function, so they are honored for the duties they perform and not for any honor or authority inherent in their offices. According to the HMA’s anonymous Palestinian author, monks and ecclesiastics function largely in two different spheres, and sometimes serve the same functions as each other in their individual spheres. Their only overlap involves the celebration of the Eucharist, which requires a priest. b.  Ammonas The letters of Ammonas similarly omit bishops and claims to authority by the institutional church. Moreover, Ammonas conceives of a lineage of authority that runs from the divine through the older ascetics into younger monks – a hierarchy that both parallels and stands independent from the institutional church.117 Ammonas’s letters encourage ascetic practitioners to advance in their discipline; the tone recalls the epistles attributed to the apostle John, authority draped in gentle exhortation. Ammonas’s authority derives directly from the divine, because imitation of one’s faithful elders summons the holiness of the elders to the practitioner, and with it access to the divine. The biblical Jacob obeyed his parents and received their holiness, being rewarded with the vision of the ladder to heaven, and the disciples obeyed Jesus, being rewarded with his blessing and protection. Likewise, when monks obey their ascetic betters they are rewarded with the holiness and blessings of their abbas, thereby receiving divine access.118 Ammonas intentionally chooses the examples of Jacob and the disciples. Jacob’s relationship to his parents is genetic, with the attendant implications about authority in ancient Near 117  David Brakke sees a progressive increase in claims to ascetic authority in Ammonas’s letters, which he ties to his changing understanding of the roles that Satan and demons play in Ammonas’s disciples’ lives (Brakke, “Making of Monastic Demonology,” pp.  32–41). Franz Klejna detects in Ammonas’s letters a kind of pre-Evagrian monastic mysticism, which may account for Ammonas’s lack of engagement with ecclesiastical affairs in his letters (Klejna, “Antonius und Ammonas,” pp. 309–48). 118  Ammonas, Letter 7.

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Eastern familial relationships.119 The apostles’ relationship to Jesus is the ultimate spiritual child-parent relationship. Both examples address divine access through claims of vision and protection. Likewise, monastic relationships provide powerful access to the divine through obedience to the abba, both a spiritual father and a surrogate earthly father for the world-denying monk. The monk receives the all-important connection to the divine, the Holy Spirit itself, through obedience to the abba and the life of asceticism.120 Through this connection, Ammonas claims, monks receive special communications from the divine that, like those received by Paul (2 Cor. 12.1–10) or John (Rev. 10.1–4), are too important to be recorded. With this claim, Ammonas both outlines the mechanism of divine access and ties that mechanism, and the monks who receive it, explicitly to the patriarchs (Moses) and prophets (Elijah and Elisha), and implicitly to the apostles (particularly those who enjoyed secret communication from God). Monks received these perks of the monastic life – lived in ascetic obedience to one’s spiritual, ascetic betters121 – regardless of the workings of bishops, priests, deacons, or anyone else in the institutional church. Not only is ecclesiastic authority largely irrelevant to the monastic life, but the ecclesiastical vocation may in fact necessitate the abandonment of ascetic practice, according to Ammonas. In his third letter, Ammonas castigates monks who leave the ascetic life for a purported higher calling, a calling that Ammonas blames on an evil spirit. “In so doing it prompts them to leave their virtuous way of life, and involve themselves in pleasing men, thus destroying their ‘body’, though men reckon that they have gained something. This is why He does not give them the power, 119  The relationship between Jacob and Isaac is significant enough to Ammonas that he cites the relationship again as an example of relationships of spiritual power and authority (Ammonas, Letter 11). 120  Ammonas, Letter 8. 121  Samuel Rubenson sees these letters of Ammonas, alongside Antony’s letters, as examples of master-disciple monastic authority apart from any structured systems, including both the ecclesiastical and regulated monastic systems (S.  Rubenson, “Argument and Authority in Early Monastic Correspondence,” in Foundations of Power and Conflicts of Authority in Late-Antique Monasticism, ed. A. by Camplani and G.  Filaramo, Leuven, 2007 [Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta, 157], 75–87).

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but leaves them empty, because He has not found their body good; and He deprives them of that great sweetness of grace.”122 Perhaps Ammonas was thinking of those monks who allowed themselves to be ordained, either by not stopping forced ordination or by seeking ordination. What most people would see as gain (ascent in the institutional church), Ammonas sees as detrimental to the soul because it feeds the demon of pride in the monk and cuts off access to the divine by ending the bodily ascetic practices that, according to Letter 8, invite the Holy Spirit into the monk. Throughout the letters Ammonas consistently portrays the highest calling as that of the strict ascetic, who receives divine favor and divine access through obedience to his father-monk and through his own obedient ascetic discipline. No bishops or other officials of the institutional church feature in this schema. c.  Separate Spheres These two texts – the HMA and Ammonas’s letters – assert the independence of the monks from the church’s hierarchs. The HMA presents the ecclesiastical and monastic spheres as largely separate, overlapping only in appointments (monks ordained as priests) and necessary function (the Eucharist requires a priest). Otherwise, the two groups exist apart and operate as separate systems within the larger church. In his letters, Ammonas draws explicit ascetic-only links of authority, such that the church and monastery exert no control over each other. Of course, the assertion of monastic autonomy from the institutional church may represent a monastic ideal rather than the actual relationship. Regardless of the assertion’s facticity, the authors’ insistent presentation of this narrative indicates that the monastic-ecclesiastic relationship remained unsettled in late antiquity. 3. Revelatory Ambivalence In a marked difference from the documents already discussed are those texts that appear ambivalent on the issue of authority over monastic institutions. Their authors (Theodoret, Cassian, Palladius, and Antony) do not clearly fall on either side of the issue, 122 

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but generally nuance the relationship between monks and ecclesiastics, and in some cases hint at how and where they believed authority should fall. While not overt, many of these texts contain subtle preferences for one kind of authority or another, sometimes based on what they omit or how they portray interactions. In other instances, the texts reveal less about the author’s own viewpoints and more about the inescapability of the debate over authority in late antiquity. a. Theodoret Theodoret’s Christian history contains more material about Syrian than Egyptian monks and eschews some of the major points of interaction between monks and bishops that his contemporary historians Socrates and Sozomen include. Theodoret omits some materials, and some of his stories present monk-bishop relations differently from the other historians.123 He includes the standard account of Egyptian monks’ persecution and exile by the Arian bishops of Alexandria after the death of Athanasius,124 and he records that the monks had opposed the ordination of Lucius, the Arian bishop, preferring the orthodox bishop Peter.125 Theodoret’s view of monks as defenders of Nicene orthodoxy leads him to recount the story of Moses’s ordination as archpriest of the Saracens and his refusal to allow the Arian bishop of Alexandria to

123  Peter Van Nuffelen notes that Theodoret intentionally rewrote accounts from his sources in order to achieve his particular aims (Van Nuffelen, “Review: Théodoret de Cyr,” pp.  412–15); and indeed, different times and concerns required late antique historians to treat similar material in different ways, reflecting their unique viewpoints (D.  Moreau, “Les actes pontificaux comme sources des historien et des chroniqueurs de l’Antiquité tardive,” in L’historiographie tardo-antique et la transmission des savoirs, ed.  by P.  Blaudeau and P.  Van Nuffelen, Berlin, 2015 [Millennium-Studien zu Kultur und Geschichte des ersten Jahrtausends n. Chr., 55], pp.  23–53). Perhaps Theodoret’s relative ambiguity regarding monks stems both from considerations of the ecclesiastic history genre (as in Socrates and Sozomen; see Van Nuffelen, Un héritage de paix, 200–04) and from his composition of another specifically monastic history. However, his depictions of monks as defenders of Nicene orthodoxy, as this section shows, is revealing in its simplicity when compared to the other two historians. 124  Theodoret, HE 4.21. 125  Theodoret, HE 4.20.2.

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ordain him.126 These stories indicate that Theodoret, like the other historians, views monks as the defenders of orthodox, Nicene Christianity. In this vein, Theodoret recounts portions of a letter from Peter, the orthodox patriarch of Alexandria who was exiled by the emperor Valens in favor of the Arian bishop Lucius. Peter reflects on Lucius’s ordination as a mockery, and derides his festal entry into the city as without ceremony and therefore symbolic of his uncanonical ordination. His procession featured “no bishops, no priests, no deacons, no crowd of laypeople, no monks going before him singing hymns from the scriptures.”127 Because, according to Peter’s understanding of the canons, it is synod, ecclesiastics, and people that determine who holds the episcopacy,128 the lack of these in his procession proves that his ordination was illegitimate. Notably, Peter envisions monks as part of the procession, leading the newly enthroned bishop with songs from the Psalter. At least in Theodoret’s mind (and perhaps even in Peter’s mind), monks partly legitimate the election of a bishop. As defenders and holders of orthodoxy, their seal of approval verifies the canonicity of the process and the Nicene orthodoxy of the elected. This passage depicts a more dynamic relationship between monks and bishops in Egypt than Socrates and Sozomen portray. Monks seal the candidate for the bishopric as orthodox by their presence in the procession. In turn, the bishops in Theodoret’s ecclesiastical history respect monks as somewhat outside the church’s structure. Absent from his history, but present in Socrates and Sozomen, is any mention of Theophilus and his dispute with the Tall Brothers or other monks of Alexandria. Like Socrates, Theodoret does not mention Theophilus using monks to destroy temples in Alexandria, contrary to the presentation of those events in the AP.129 He briefly mentions Antony and highlights his opposition to Arianism,130 and he presents Didymus the 126  Theodoret, HE 4.23. Socrates (HE 4.36) also writes that Moses was the bishop of the Saracens. 127  Theodoret, HE 4.22.10. οὐκ ἐπισκόπων τινές, οὐ πρεσβυτέρων, οὐ διακόνων, οὐ λαῶν πλἠθη, οὐ προῆγον τοῦτον μονάζοντες ὕμνους ἐκ γραφῶν ἀναμέλποντες. 128  Theodoret, HE 4.22.9. 129  Theodoret, HE 5.23; cf. Theophilus the Archbishop 3 (PG 65, col. 200). 130  Theodoret, HE 5.28.

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Blind as another defender of Nicene orthodoxy.131 For Theodoret monks in Egypt defend and mark orthodoxy. He mentions nothing about their strained relations with bishops, showing them only as rejecters of heterodox bishops and approvers of the consecration of orthodox bishops. b.  Cassian We might expect Cassian’s writings to present a clear perspective of late antique Christian authority, but such is not the case. Other than the warning to avoid women and bishops, Cassian writes little about the ecclesiastical hierarchy in his Institutes. He references a saying of Basil of Caesarea, but Basil’s ecclesiastic position receives no emphasis; Cassian includes it because it is an utterance from the mouth of a respected monk about an ascetic matter – greed. It is Basil’s respected asceticism, not his ecclesiastic position, that gives the saying force.132 Likewise, in Cassian’s Conferences, the important aspect of those people identified as ecclesiastics is their asceticism, and even those ecclesiastics make few appearances. The bishop Archebius, a former monk, takes Cassian and his traveling companions to visit monks in the far east of Egypt, specifically to the monk Chaeremon, with whom Cassian holds three conferences.133 Cassian describes this monk-bishop as claiming that “he had been admitted to this office as one who was unfit for it, and he would complain that he had been expelled from the anchorite life as unworthy, because he had remained in it for thirty-seven years and was utterly unable to achieve the purity demanded by such a profession.”134 Cassian’s Archebius regards the duties of the bishopric as rudimentary compared to the ascetic demands of the monastic life. Cassian also describes their ecclesiastic tour guide taking “his staff and scrip, as is there

Theodoret, HE 5.30. Cassian, Inst. VII.19. 133  Cassian, Conf. XI.1–4. 134  Cassian, Conf. XI.2. Non enim tamquam idoneum se ad istud officium testabatur adscitum, sed ut indignum ab illa anachoreseos disciplina querebatur expulsum, eo quod triginta et septem annis in eadem conmoratus ad puritatem tantae professionis nequaquam peruenire potuisset. 131 

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the custom for all monks starting on a journey.”135 Instead of taking the marks of his ordination, Archebius returns to his monastic roots and turns himself into a guide for ascetic pilgrims. Cassian’s view on authority, as it regards monks and bishops, is perhaps best summarized by a comment from Abba Moses, the first monk in the Conferences. Moses claimed that the teaching of the elders in word and example, as defined by their ascetic lives, should be the metric by which the true monk judges his own actions.136 The authority of the men marked by Cassian as bishops and priests stems from their asceticism and their maintenance of ascetic and monastic traditions, not by their ecclesiastical positions.137 Cassian’s accounts of his time in Egypt yield some vital details about the tensions between monks and ecclesiastics. His disinterest in encouraging deference to the church’s hierarchy in the Institutes, strengthened by his inclusion of the monastic warning against bishops, suggests tension between monks and church hier135  Cassian, Conf. XI.3. Sumpto itaque baculo et pera, ut illic cunctis uiam ingredientibus monachis moris est. 136  Cassian, Conf. II.11. “In this way, therefore, we shall very easily be able to attain to the knowledge of true discretion. Thus, following in the footsteps of the elders, we shall presume neither to do anything new nor to come to any decisions based on our own judgment, but we shall proceed in all things just as their tradition and upright life inform us. Whoever has been thoroughly instructed in this manner will not only attain to the perfect ordering of discretion but will also remain absolutely safe from all the snares of the enemy. For by no other vice does the devil draw and lead a monk to so sudden a death as when he persuades him to neglect the counsels of the elders and to trust in his own judgment and his own understanding.” “Hoc igitur modo ad scientiam discretionis uerae peruenire facillime poterimus, ut seniorum uestigia subsequentes neque agere quicquam noui neque discernere nostro iudicio praesumamus, sed quemadmodum nos uel illorum traditio uel uitae proditas informarit, in omnibus gradiamur. Qua institutione firmatus non modo ad perfectam discretionis rationem quisque perueniet, uerum etiam a cunctis insidiis inimici tutissimus permanebit. Nullo namque alio uitio tam praecipitem diabolus monachum pertrahit ac perducit ad mortem, quam cum eum neglectis consiliis seniorum suo iudicio persuaserit definitionique confidere.” 137  Cassian used the authority of the Egyptian ascetic life to argue the superiority of his monastic program over the asceticism of other regions, including Palestine and his own Gaul (R.  J. Goodrich, Contextualizing Cassian: Aristocrats, Asceticism, and Reformation in Fifth-Century Gaul, Oxford, 2007, pp. 117–50).

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archs in Egypt. Because Cassian himself practiced as a monk and was also ordained a clergyman, and because Cassian’s dedications in the Conferences are partially to ecclesiastics,138 this omission is striking. The lacuna may reflect Cassian’s ascetic training in Egypt, or it may reflect an attempt to mirror the viewpoints of Egyptian monks. In either case, Cassian’s writings illustrate Egyptian indifference toward ecclesiastics and their presumed authority in the Egyptian monastic structure. Perhaps even more interesting are Cassian’s bishop-monks: he references them as bishops in order to provide their backgrounds, but he roots the basis of their authority in the ascetic life.139 c.  Palladius Another monastic travelogue, Palladius’s Lausiac History, also exhibits nuance toward the monastic-ecclesiastic relationship and portrays monks and ecclesiastics as holding each other in mutual respect. Although Palladius’s monastic system requires ecclesiastic figures for their sacramental functions, the ecclesiastical system also requires people to fill necessary ecclesiastical roles – people frequently drawn from monastic communities in Egypt. Palladius occasionally refers to monks as priests,140 or as worthy of 138  See the prefaces in the Conferences before each of the three sections I–X, XI–XVII, and XVIII–XXIV, as well as a reminder of the ecclesiastical dedication for the first section in IX.1. 139  Cassian’s taciturn presentation of the relationship between monks and bishops seems intentional, as Columba Stewart notes concerning Cassian’s style: “Therefore, although the great Egyptian monks to whom Cassian attributes the Conferences were historical figures, he uses them and the literary structure he creates for them as a monastic allegory designed to lead his readers to true doctrine and traditional monasticism. By presenting his own theological synthesis as their teaching, Cassian uses the Egyptian monks as validating authorities. The Egyptian guise also permitted him to teach controversial ideas without directly engaging in polemics. He advances his theological arguments in the Institutes and Conferences without naming his opponents or even admitting that his views are partisan” (Stewart, Cassian the Monk, p. 28). 140  Μακάριος, ὁ πρεσβύτερος (Palladius, LH 6.5 [23.8]), Ὠριγένει τῷ πρεσβυτἐπῷ (10.6 [31.11]), Μακαρίῳ τῷ Ἀλεξανδρεῖ, πρεσβυτέρῳ ὄντι τῶν λεγομένων Κελλίων (18.1 [47.22–23]), Μακάριος … ἦν … πρεσβύτερος (18.25 [56.3–4]), Κρόνιός … ὁ πρεσβύτερος τῆς Νιτρίας (21.1 [63.19]), Δωρόθεος … πρεσβύτερος (58.2 [151.17]).

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the priesthood and performing the function of priests.141 In one instance, a monk refuses ordination to the priesthood; in another story, Palladius writes about the monk Ammonius, who mutilated himself and threatened further mutilation rather than be appointed as a bishop.142 In other instances, Palladius indicates that monks are deacons143 and even a bishop,144 and the Lausiac History mentions churches associated with monastic institutions in Egypt, particularly Nitria.145 It is in these churches that priests perform the sacraments, a significant element in both the monastic life and the accounts of the Lausiac History.146 The Eucharist is the single function that, in Palladius’s view, could not fall to non-ecclesias141  Κατηξιώθη δὲ καὶ ἱερωσύνης (Palladius, LH 17.2 [44.2–3]), ἠξιώθη πρεσβυτερίου (47.2 [136.19]), πρεσβυτερίου ἠξιωμένος (48.1 [142.14–15]), ἠξιώθη πρεσβυτερίου (49.2 [144.1]), πρεσβυτερίου … ἠξιωμένος καὶ λειτουργῶν τοῖς ἀδελφοῖς (58.2 [151.18–19]). 142  Palladius, LH 68.1; 11.1–3. In the Ammonius story, the bishop Timotheus tries to force Ammonius’s ordination, leading Ammonius to claim that he would rather cut out his tongue – making him unable to fulfill his role as a priest or bishop – than become a bishop. 143  Εὐάγριον τὸν ἀοίδιμον διάκονον (Palladius, LH 38.1 [116.6]), Ἐφραὶμ τὸν διάκονον (40.1 [126.1]). 144  Διοσκόρου τοῦ ἐπισκόπου (Palladius, LH 10.1 [29.16]). 145  Palladius, LH 7.3,  5; 12.1; 38.12. The first section mentions Isidore as Ἰσιδώρῳ πρεσβυτέρῳ ξενοδόχῳ ὄντι τῆς Ἀλεξανδρέων ἐκκλησίας (1.1 [15.9– 10]), which Meyer translates as “Isidore the elder, guestmaster of the church of Alexandria.” Given that Palladius seems to use πρεσβύτερος to indicate an ecclesiastic position, Isidore here may be a priest of the Alexandrian church. It is also possible that πρεσβύτερος here functions as a sign of respect for Isidore. 146  Macarius of Egypt told a woman who had been turned into an animal by a love interest that she was susceptible to the transformation because she had not attended the Eucharist (Palladius, LH 17.6–9 [44.28–46.8]). In Palladius’s view, the Eucharist could prevent the damage done by pagan magicians, highlighting the importance of the institution. The Eucharist was the monk Heron’s primary sustenance (26.2 [81.12–15]). Continued participation in the Eucharist was important enough to monastic communities that even nuns had male ecclesiastics enter their establishments to perform the service of the Eucharist (33 [96.6–97.20]). The story’s location in ch. 33 partly serves to show the importance of the Eucharist. A group of nuns who failed to combat malicious slander that led to two suicides were ordered cloistered by the visiting priest, who refused to administer the Eucharist to them for seven years (33.4 [97.16–20]).

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tic monks. Ordination and participation in the hierarchical church are requirements for consecrating the sacrament of the Eucharist, such that even the most secure monastic communities – those of nuns – required priests to visit. While the Eucharist required priestly administration, the holiness of monks could circumvent even that function by summoning an alternative minister. Palladius recounts a story of the monk Macarius, who saw his fellow monk Mark receive the Eucharist from the hands of an angel.147 The reader is left to wonder whether Mark received the same Eucharistic elements as the rest of the monastic congregation or instead received the angelic ministration of a unique Eucharist. In either case, the special grace shown to Mark derived from his externally identifiable holiness of character.148 Ascetic holiness, however, was difficult to assess, and a monk’s assessments of his own piety could lead him astray. For example, the monk Valens thought that his ascetic piety exempted him from reliance on the Eucharist. His arrogance culminated in being fooled into worshiping the Antichrist, then telling his fellow monks that, having just seen Christ (really the Antichrist), he had no need of the Eucharist.149 Another monk, Abramius, 147  Palladius, LH 18.25 (56.3–10). “This holy Macarius told me this also, for he was a priest: ‘I had noticed that at the time of the distribution of the Mysteries I never gave the Sacrament to Mark the ascetic, but rather an angel administered to him from the altar. I  saw only the wrist of the minister’s hand.’ This Mark was a young man who knew by heart the Old and the New Testaments; he was as gentle as can be and most reserved.” Οὗτος ἡμῖν ὁ ἅγιος Μακάριος διηγήσατο, ἦν γὰρ πρεσβύτερος, ὅτι Ἐπεσημηνάμην κατὰ τὸν καιρὸν τῆς διαδόσεως τῶν μυστηρίων ὅτι Μάρκῳ τῷ ἀσκητῇ οὐδέποτε ἔδωκα ἐγὼ προσφοράν, ἀλλὰ ἄγγελος αὐτῷ ἐπεδίδου ἐκ τοῦ θυσιαστηρίου· μόνον δὲ τὸν ἀστράγαλον ἐθεώρουν τῆς χειρὸς τοῦ διδόντος. Μάρκος δὲ οὗτος νεώτερος ἦν, παλαιὰν καὶ καινὴν γραφὴν ἀποστηθίζων, πραῢς καθ’ ὑπερβολήν, σώφρων εἰ καί τις ἄλλος. 148  And because Mark’s asceticism involved memorizing the whole of scripture. 149  Palladius, LH 25.1–5 (79.1–80.15). Heron, referenced above, is accused of falling into the same attitude and actions later in his life (26.2 [81.9–11]); the monk Ptolemy is accused of similar dismissals of the Eucharist (27.2 [83.4–7]). It is the denial of the efficacy of the Eucharist that, for Palladius, marks the downfall of ascetic practitioners. Continued participation in the Mysteries provides Palladius a litmus test for orthodoxy and heresy.

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believed that he had received ordination from Christ; his fellow monks blamed this mistaken notion on both conceit and an overly zealous asceticism.150 These three incidents indicate a precedent (at least in Palladius’s thought, perhaps reflecting monastic thought more broadly) for divine interventions trumping ecclesiastic functionaries. That Palladius writes that monks could conceive of cases, albeit mistakenly, in which they did not require formal ordination to participate in the Mysteries suggests a delicate relationship between monks and ecclesiastics. Moreover, that Palladius would recount how one ordained monk saw his function being performed by a celestial minister indicates that there was room in late antique thought for ecclesiastic roles being filled by non-ecclesiastic practitioners. Palladius’s monks usually required priests to fulfill necessary sacramental functions, and people desired their bishops and priests to be holy people (monks were the desired candidates for ordination in the Lausiac History); however, ordination to ecclesiastic roles was reserved for those who wished such – the position of priest or bishop was not necessarily superior for a monk. Palladius understood monks as a group that needed ecclesiastics, but who saw no necessary gain in taking such a role upon themselves. Indeed, in the case of Ammonius, to become a bishop was a worse fate than being mute for the rest of his life.151 Personal mutilation become preferable to ordination. The Lausiac History indicates a mutual esteem between ecclesiastics and monks, but this mutual respect does not necessarily imply episcopal control over monks; the exact opposite seems to be the case.152 Despite the respect Palladius, LH 53 (145.9–17). The repeated trope of monks refusing ordination has been interpreted as both a realistic representation of monastic ideas (e.g., Rousseau, Ascetics, Authority, pp.  62–67, esp. p.  64; Norton, Episcopal Elections, pp.  191–202) and as a literary trope intended to reflect the monastic virtue of humility in the candidate for ordination (e.g., G.  Gould, “Lay Christians, Bishops, and Clergy in the Apophthegmata Patrum,” Studia Patristica 25 [1993], 400–04). The arguments of Rousseau and Norton for the trope as a reflection of historical realities are convincing and match the evidence more fully. 152  There seems to be no difference between ecclesiastics and other people to the ascetics of the LH. Isidore knew and traveled with the bishops Athanasius and Demetrius, and he also knew senior imperial officials (Palladius, 150  151 

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monks and nuns feel for their bishops and priests, a special relationship existed between the divine and the monk that trumped the church-monastery relationship. A complex picture of the relationship between monks and ecclesiastics emerges from the pages of the Lausiac History. The groups held each other in mutual respect, but each side used that respect to try to influence the other side. Indeed, monks used their positions in the Mediterranean world to try to exercise control even over imperial politics,153 and Macarius of Alexandria used his holiness and healing power to convince a priest to renounce his ordination.154 In addition, the mining of monastic communities for ecclesiastic hierarchs certainly steered the institutional church toward a more monk-friendly system. Although bishops and priests exerted influence over monastic communities and behaviors, sometimes through their position as Eucharistic ministers, monastic thought included other Eucharistic ministers who transcended traditional roles and hierarchies. Monks could receive divine ordination and angels could serve priestly functions for especially pious monks. Palladius presents complex dynamics between monks and ecclesiastics and hints at the debates over who holds authority in monastic communities. Perhaps the most revealing hint of the disputes comes from the prologue, where Palladius immediately denigrates other texts in

LH 1.4 [16.6–9]). Didymus the Blind received a divine message about the death of Emperor Julian, which he was told to recount to Athanasius (4.4 [20.13–20]). Another unnamed monk lived with the bishop of Ancyra; interestingly, Palladius remarks that this monk preferred to remain unordained (68.1 [163.25–29]). The nun Magna, who also lived in Ancyra, was both honored by bishops and honored bishops herself by providing them with money for pilgrimages (67.1–2 [163.10–24]). Palladius writes that two other nuns, Olympias and Candida, honored bishops (56.2 [150.7–10], 57.1 [150.13–16]). The sister of the monk Pior used the local bishop’s influence to convince Pior to see her (39.1 [123.4–12]). Palladius’s ascetics largely treated bishops in the same way that the bishops treated them. 153  See John of Lycopolis’s predictions to Theodosius (Palladius, LH 35.2 [100.16–101.3]). These predictions lead Palladius to write, “So his fame as a virtuous man spread” (Τούτο ἐξῆλθε φήμη πολλὴ ὡς ἐναρέτου; 35.2 [101.2–3]). 154  Palladius, LH 18.19–21 (54.3–21). Palladius presents this story as firsthand, and notes that the priest’s hypocrisy in being both a sinner and an ecclesiastic functionary caused his severe illness.

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his opening lines for their opposition to the institutional church.155 This criticism is sandwiched between his dedicatory letter to Lausus, lauding teaching the ascetic politeia of virtue, and his description of the places he visited and the virtues of the people he saw, especially compared to the pagan philosophers of old.156 In the middle of describing the purpose of his book and the monastic way of life, Palladius takes the time to attack texts and authors that do not fully support the “catholic church” (καθολικῆς ἐκκλησίας).157 This attack likely indicates that Palladius is aware of texts – monastic texts, it would seem from the context – that attack the authority of the institutional church, which he seems to desire to protect. Perhaps, in hinting at debates over leadership, he tips his hand (and the LH) more into an advocacy for ecclesiastical oversight of monastic affairs. Given the overall complexities of the depictions in the text, however, that stance is not certain, and his writing on authority is filled with hints and ambiguities. d.  Antony Another text that is ambivalent on the question of ecclesiastical control over monastic communities appears within the monastic system – the letters of the monk Antony. Antony’s letters offer scant evidence for the interactions of monks and bishops.158 They primarily exhort monks to avoid sin, reminding them of their asceticism and its attendant difficulties.159 Antony also develops Palladius, LH “Prologue” 1 (9.1–10). Palladius, LH “Letter to Lausus” (6.3–7.21); LH “Prologue” 2–16 (9.10–15.4). 157  Palladius, LH “Prologue” 1 (9.9). Demetrios Katos argues that Palladius is, in part, arguing against anti-Origenist influences and individuals, such as Jerome, in the LH; Palladius wants to demonstrate the legitimacy of the Evagrian and Origenist ideals through appealing to the lives and conduct of monks (D.  Katos, Palladius of Helenopolis: The Origenist Advocate, Oxford, 2011). 158  As noted above, Samuel Rubenson links the lack of ecclesiastical concerns in the letters of both Antony and Ammonas to an emphasis on masterdisciple ascetic training (Rubenson, “Argument and Authority”). 159  For Samuel Rubenson, that the letters of Antony and Ammonas (along with two letters of Macarius of Egypt) are preoccupied with ascetic and scriptural authority, and that they exclude ecclesiastical authority, is telling for the monastic mindset of the letters’ authors – authority derives from ascetic masters who use biblical illustrations to place themselves in the same author155 

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a metaphysics of asceticism that outlines the links between body and soul and between the earthly and the divine. In 4.17–18, Antony mentions Arius and some of the specifics of Arianism, but he does not mention ecclesiastical politics or the place of bishops and other church officials in combating Arianism. The solution to Arianism, according to Antony, is self-knowledge.160 It is revealing that, for Antony, self-knowledge – a major motivator of Greco-Roman asceticism – combats the heresy of Arianism, and could even have prevented the very beginnings of Arius’s heterodox thinking. Anthony does not direct monks to their bishops in order to explicate the doctrinal complexities of understanding the divine. Instead, Antony tells monks to know themselves, and through knowing themselves to know God.  Presumably, through knowing God they will know the true nature of the divine. Correct heresy-combating doctrine is not taught by the church. It is perceived through the right-thinking of the self-knowing monk. To ensconce the letters of Antony in the debates about the relationship between monks and bishops or priests is not without problems. His omission of the church’s hierarchs does not necessitate his opposition to monastic integration into ecclesiastical structures. Nevertheless, it is significant that a major opportunity for asserting ecclesiastical authority over monks – in the Arian dispute – finds no mention of the institutional church, and instead shows Antony giving monks license to operate in their own ways itative tradition as Jesus and his disciples or Paul and the recipients of his letters (Rubenson, “Argument and Authority,” pp. 75–87). 160  Antony, Letters 4.15–16,  18. “Truly, my beloved, I  write to you as to wise men, who are able to know themselves. He who knows himself knows God, he who knows God must worship him as proper. My beloved in the Lord, know yourselves! Those who know themselves know their time, and those who know their time are able to stand upright without being moved by shifty tongues. [Here, 17–18a, Antony gives his short account of Arius and Arianism.] If he had known himself, his tongue would not have spoken about what he did not know. It is, however, manifest, that he did not know himself.” Lance Jenott and Elaine Pagels compare the emphasis on self-knowledge in Antony’s letters to a codex from Nag Hammadi, concluding that both participated in a form of spirituality and pedagogy that ecclesiastical authors, such as Athanasius, found troubling in content and canon (L.  Jenott and E.  Pagels, “Antony’s Letters and Nag Hammadi Codex  I: Sources of Religious Conflict in Fourth-Century Egypt,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 18 [2010], pp. 557–89).

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under the direction of divine knowledge through self-knowledge. Indeed, this link between the divine and the monk is so strong that, for Antony, it runs unmediated from God to monk and provides the monk with direct knowledge of Godself through the reflection of God in the faithfully practicing monk. Although this Antony does not directly combat church authority, he does not appeal to it and instead suggests that the monks need only God – a far cry from the Antony of the VA. e. Revelatory Ambivalence These authors nuance the question of authority over monks, indicating that while some people considered it a major issue (and therefore asserted one side or the other textually) others found it uncompelling, or were not in a secure enough position to advocate explicitly for one side or the other. Theodoret provides little evidence for this contentious relationship, but he does present Egyptian monks as the pattern for orthodoxy. If monks approve of a bishop, then that bishop is a truly orthodox Christian; if monks reject a bishop, then his doctrine and life are suspect. Cassian implies a monastic indifference toward ecclesiastics and their attempts to exert control over monastic systems. Palladius troubles the discussion by describing individuals in one sphere attempting to influence the other sphere, sometimes successfully, and by indicating space in monastic thought for Eucharistic ministers other than the traditionally ordained priests. This separate ministry is crucial because of the Eucharist’s paramount importance for Palladius; obviating the need for interaction between ecclesiastics and monks in this area could create a final separation between the spheres. Antony’s letters present nothing explicit on authority in monasticism, but his emphasis on the mystical union of monks with God may indicate a preference toward the independence of the monastic sphere. 4. A  Common Trope In addition to Lower Egypt, texts throughout other parts of the late antique Mediterranean assert one or another model of authority. These works include the Greek Life of Pachomius (possibly from the fifth century) with a section on the respect Pacho-

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mius gave to bishops,161 and the fourth-century Pachomian Regu­ lae with instructions on discipline during worship (the purview of elder monks), who holds respect during the worship service (senior monks), who has charge of instructing the monks and over monastic affairs (their abbots and elders), and education in the monastery.162 In one set of rules regarding visitors, the monasteries are to receive all, but to give the most honor to ecclesiastics and monks, and treat both as if they were monks.163 A summative statement of the Pachomian way of life emphasizes obedience to the monastic authorities and their teachings.164 Another text from the complicated world of Pachomian monasticism, the Letter of Abba Ammon, contains examples of the pro-ecclesiastic viewpoint espoused by the text’s author, particularly a recounted dream that identifies “true” Christianity as allied with the Alexandrian episcopacy.165 These disputes also surface in Palestine and Asia Minor. Already cited are examples of Jerome and the proceedings of the Council of Gangra attempting to exert control over monks.166 We may also look to Syria, where Theodoret’s Religious History provides at least three examples of complicated relationships between monks and ecclesiastics. In one instance, a monk’s asceticism and 161  First Greek Life of Pachomius 30–31 (ed.  by F.  Halkin, in Sancti Pachomii Vitae Graecae, Brussels, 1932 [Subsidia Hagiographica, 19]; trans. by A.  Veilleux, in Pachomian Koinonia, vol.  1, The Life of Saint Pachomius and His Disciples, Kalamazoo, MI, 1980 [Cistercian Studies, 45]). 162  Rules of Pachomius Pr. 8, 11, 16, 18, 20, 23, 138–42 (ed. by A. Boon, in Pachomiana Latina, Leuven, 1932 [Bibliothèque de la Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 7]; trans. by A.  Veilleux, Pachomian Koinonia, vol.  2, Pachomian Chronicles and Rules, Kalamazoo, MI, 1981 [Cistercian Studies, 46]). 163  Rules Pr. 51–52. 164  Rules Inst. 18. 165  Ammon, Letter 1–2,  11–13,  28–36 (ed. and trans. by J.  E. Goehring, The Letter of Ammon and Pachomian Monasticism, New York, 1986 [Patristische Texte und Studien, 27]). The interactions between Pachomius, his monasteries, and the broader church are complex, with attempts by ecclesiastics to control monastic affairs; see Goehring, Letter of Ammon, pp.  103–22; and P.  Rousseau, Pachomius: The Making of a Community in Fourth-Century Egypt, Berkeley, 1999 (The Transformation of the Classical Heritage, 6), pp. 105–18, 149–73. These tensions may account for the varied views asserted in Pachomian literature. 166  See above, n. 4.

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reputation lead to receiving an ecclesiastic position – his monastic way of life gives him respect from the laity, which the church wanted to utilize. Another story finds a monk whose politeia gained the respect of marauders, who gave such respect to no one else (highlighted here are churches and ecclesiastics), and whom church leaders feared might be taken captive by the marauders and held for ransom. Theodoret also tells of a monk who practices the severe asceticism of living in an open-air cell not tall enough to stand upright in, but who slightly tempers his extreme asceticism at the encouragement of a bishop.167 These vignettes suggest a text that glimpses the complex dynamics of church-monastery relations, dynamics that were at work throughout the Mediterranean and led to textual assertions regarding authority. Theresa Urbainczyk argues that the stories from the Religious History, however, indicate an overall deferential attitude toward ecclesiastics in the text.168 In the western Mediterranean, the Roman bishop Gregory  I asserted repeatedly that ascetic accomplishment was required to attain to ecclesiastical positions, mixing together the two realms

Theodoret, Religious History 3.5–6,  10.5–6,  27.2–4 (ed.  by P.  Canivet and A.  Leroy-Molinghen, in Histoire des moines de Syrie: Histoire Philothée, 2  vols., Paris, 1977–1979 [SC, 234,  257]; trans. by R.  M. Price, A  History of the Monks of Syria, Kalamazoo, MI, 1985 [Cistercian Studies, 88]). For other examples of later church-monastery dynamics, see A.  Vööbus, History of Asceticism in the Syrian Orient: A Contribution to the History of the Culture in the Near East, 3  vols., Leuven, 1958–88 (CSCO 184,  197,  500), 2, pp.  316– 414. Sidney Griffith argues that early Syrian asceticism (pre-fourth century) saw a closer relationship between monks (or possibly proto-monks) and the mainstream churches (S.  Griffith, “Asceticism in the Church of Syria: The Hermeneutics of Early Syrian Monasticism,” in Asceticism, ed. by V. L. Wimbush and R. Valantasis, 1998, New York, 2002, pp. 220–45). 168  T.  Urbainczyk, Theodoret of Cyrrhus: The Bishop and the Holy Man, Ann Arbor, MI, 2002, pp.  115–29. She summarizes: “Rather than operating outside the sphere of the church, we see the ascetics as deferential to the hierarchy and considering themselves unworthy to join it” (p.  129). One of the unique aspects of Theodoret’s Religious History is his own place in the text, a place that makes him the authority on monks and their relationship to the broader church (pp. 52–64, 130–42). Ultimately, she argues, Theodoret uses his Religious History to argue that monks “are the foot-soldiers who fight the bishops’ battles” (pp.  146–47), in particular the battles of Theodoret (pp.  143–47). 167 

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of Christian life (though not without some opposition).169 Moreover, textual assertions regarding authority are not isolated to disputes between monks and ecclesiastics. A  prime example is Cyprian, bishop of Carthage, who used letters and treatises to assert the unity of the local and worldwide Christian community.170 Texts were the primary means to assert views on authority both overtly and tacitly, and how figures of authority are portrayed in texts evinces the debates over authority in Christian late antiquity. Texts about monks are no different: if the dynamics of monks and bishops are complicated by clerical ambivalence or outright anti-clericalism, the author likely views monastic authority as paramount. If, as in Gregory the Great or Athanasius, the bishops seem to hold ultimate authority, even if those bishops are drawn from the ascetic ranks, then the author views ecclesiastical authority as paramount. This idea is not isolated to Egypt, and is not isolated to church-monastery affairs. It is a universal question in Christian late antiquity: who can tell whom what to do? 5. Conclusion: A Live Question Travelogues, histories, and monastic sources suggest debates in late antiquity about the relationship between monks and bishops in Egypt. Taken together, the texts present a muddled view of the relationship between monks and ecclesiastical authorities in Egypt. Some sources separate the two groups (the HMA and Ammonas), while others strongly assert hierarchical links traveling from God through bishops to monks (Socrates, Sozomen, and Athanasius). Still other sources (Cassian, Palladius, Theodoret, and Antony) remain ambivalent and avoid any concrete stance on the relationship. This textual ambiguity represents a variety of viewpoints on the relationships between the institutional church and the monastery. For bishops, and the sources that represent their views, monks fall squarely under the control of their local bishops and priests, and the movement of monks into the presbytery or episcopacy is a promotion in the church’s hierarchy. For independent monks, and the sources that represent their views, 169  170 

Demacopoulos, Five Models of Spiritual Direction, pp. 127–64. J. P. Burns, Cyprian the Bishop, New York, 2002, pp. 156–65.

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the undivided church operates in two spheres – institutional and monastic – that overlap only in certain areas. In this viewpoint, ordination is often a demotion that reflects a loss of ascetic autonomy. Between these two sides exist those for whom the complexities of this question are too difficult for simple parsing; these parties hide their own views carefully, present both sides, or attempt to sidestep the issue entirely through silence. The variety of approaches to ecclesiastic-monastic relationships – especially regarding power dynamics between monks and bishops – reveals a hotly disputed topic during the centuries of monastic flourishing in Egypt. This competing evidence precludes asserting, as Derwas Chitty does, that at such places as Nitria, “The monastic community was fitted into the parochial system of the diocese, with its own priests and clergy.”171 Nor can we claim, as Andrea Sterk does, that, “Early monasticism in Egypt was marked by an ambivalent relationship between monks and the bearers of church office.”172 Instead, the textual evidence indicates that the “fit” of the monastery with the cathedral was questioned in Egypt, with each side presenting events, characters, and arguments to support its claims about the nature of power and authority in church-monastery interactions.173 Authority asserted textually suggests an authority questioned, and authority questioned indicates parties for whom its existence was paramount. The very appearance of assertions about authority and control in texts about Egyptian monks reveals a contended ecclesiasticmonastic relationship. Applying this principle to the AP, the majority of sayings included by the compiler come from the Egyptian 171  D.  J. Chitty, The Desert a City: An Introduction to the Study of Egyptian and Palestinian Monasticism under the Christian Empire, 1966, Crestwood, NY, 1999, p.  11. They had their own clergy, but not necessarily fully integrated into the institutional system. 172  Sterk, Renouncing the World, p. 13. 173  Peter Van Nuffelen demonstrates that there remained the categorical possibility of open debates in late antiquity, in addition to written debates, over topics of vital interest to Christianity, and that persuasion was central to much of late antique literature and scripted speech (P.  Van Nuffelen, “The End of Open Competition? Religious Disputations in Late Antiquity,” in Religion and Competition in Antiquity, ed.  by D.  Engels and P.  Van Nuffelen, Brussels, 2014 [Collection Latomus, 343], pp. 149–72).

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context of disputed authority. The compiler actively incorporates sayings concerning contested authority into his own context. Because writing an apophthegmata requires intentional selection and editing, the compiler chooses those sayings most instructive to his setting – and for him, this includes instruction in autonomous ascetic living.

CHAPTER 3: Authority in the A pophthe gmata Patrvm As the church became a stronger institutional force, monks – particularly in Egypt – resisted ecclesiastical interference in their governance.1 This chapter examines the AP to uncover its tacit arguments about how institutional and monastic authority should function. The first part of this chapter examines the compiler’s construction of the relationship between monks and ecclesiastics and uncovers his bias against ecclesiastic interference in monastic affairs. The AP’s compiler believes that monks should exist in one sphere of Christian power and authority, while ecclesiastics should exist in another. Despite occasional overlaps, the AP’s compiler suggests that the two spheres should operate largely independently. This first part of chapter three examines four key lines of evidence: the AP’s presentation of Antony in contrast with Athanasius’s Antony; the relationships between monks and bishops; the relationships between monks and priests; and the portrayal of ecclesiastic monks. In all four evidentiary lines, the AP’s compiler intentionally presents monks and ecclesiastics as separate – and sometimes opposed – groups.

Claudia Rapp writes: “The literary products of early monasticism give the impression of an uneasy relationship between the desert fathers and the clergy that was continually renegotiated, depending on the historical circumstances and on the players involved” (C. Rapp, Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity: The Nature of Christian Leadership in an Age of Transition, Berkeley, 2005 [Transformation of the Classical Heritage, 37], p. 103). She then argues that realities are more complex, indicating a general “ambivalent monastic attitude toward ecclesiastical office” (pp. 103–52, quote on p. 105). While this ambivalence is certainly present in many instances, it is also evident from the sources examined here and in the preceding chapter that there were moments of real conflict, and this real conflicted is represented in the AP’s production. Conflict over authority between ascetics and non-ascetics was not a new phenomenon in the late antique world and occurred in the non-Christian world before the rise of Christian monasticism (see J. A. Francis, Subversive Virtue: Asceticism and Authority in the Second-Century Pagan World, University Park, PA, 1995). 1 

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Part one opens with Antony. Authors often bolster claims for or against the right to hold power by presenting authoritative figures in ways that support their arguments, as Athanasius paints Antony as the church’s eager supporter in the VA. Because Antony figures prominently in both the VA and AP, and because some of his letters survive, an examination of his depiction in each illuminates the divergent goals of his composers. The VA presents Antony as the institutional church’s subordinate and supporter, whereas the Letters present a murkier relationship. The AP’s presentation of Antony will help locate the text within the separate-spheres category and provide a starting point for understanding how the AP presents the relationship between monks and ecclesiastics.2 Next, part one assesses both the relationships between monks and ecclesiastics and the presentation of ecclesiastic monks in the AP. The compiler of the AP portrays monks and ecclesiastics as separate groups in terms of power and authority, though figures in those groups sometimes overlap. Moreover, each group holds a measure of respect for the other based on their mutual asceticism, and monks respect the mediatorial position that priests hold in the celebration of the Eucharist. This respect, however, does not 2  This comparative work is not novel. Hermann Dörries pioneered the comparative line of research on Athanasian and Antonian literature (H. Dörries, “Die Vita Antonii als Geschichtsquelle,” in Nachrichten der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen: Philologisch-Historische Klasse 14, Göttingen, 1949, pp. 357–410), and it was subsequently considered by Michael A. Williams (M. A. Williams, “The Life of Antony and the Domestication of Charismatic Wisdom,” in Charisma and Sacred Biography, ed. by M. A. Williams, Chico, CA, 1982, pp. 23–45), Samuel Rubenson (S. Rubenson, The Letters of St. Antony: Monasticism and the Making of a Saint, Minneapolis, 1995, pp. 35–191), and David Brakke (D. Brakke, Athanasius and Asceticism, Baltimore, 1998). Unlike these earlier studies, my examination focuses on how the compiler of the AP uses a presentation of Antony to shape his readers’ understanding of the relationships between monks and ecclesiastics. The compiler’s view of Antony, as found in the sayings that he selects for preservation in the AP, speaks directly to his view of authority. Another example of constructing a text in order to present a particular viewpoint on asceticism and authority comes from Jerome. He collected a seemingly random group of letters in order to present the argument that he has lived an authentic ascetic experience and therefore holds charismatic authority – authority specifically in the pro-Nicene vein (A. Cain, The Letters of Jerome: Asceticism, Biblical Exegesis, and the Construction of Christian Authority in Late Antiquity, New York, 2009, pp. 13–33).

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grant any authority to ecclesiastics based on their position in the institutional church; instead, monks view seasoned and able ascetics as authoritative and worthy of wielding power in the monastic sphere. In the second part of this chapter, I examine other texts with a Palestinian provenance to ensure that this reading of the AP is not just a relic of the sayings’ origins in Egypt. The contents, literary conceits, context in Palestine, and the constructed nature of the genre all suggest a purpose in the AP’s composition beyond simply preserving stories and directing monks in the ascetic life. 1. Monks and Ecclesiastics in the AP We open, as the AP does, with the monk Antony. Two Antonys appeared in chapter two – Athanasius’s Antony in the VA and the Antony reconstructable from his surviving letters – and from those we get two divergent views of the famous monk. Athanasius’s Antony is the church’s monk, whereas the Letters emphasize the special direct relationship monks have with God. While other scholars have observed this discrepancy, no one has examined what these differences indicate about viewpoints on monastic and ecclesiastical power dynamics. In his work on Athanasian politics, David Brakke identifies two ways that Athanasius presents Antony in order to advance his “political agenda” of bringing monks into a closer connection with the institutional church: Athanasius depicts Antony as closely related to the church, and he undermines any personal authority that Antony may have had. These two modes of presenting Antony in the VA find six expressions: obedience to clergy, an alliance with Athanasius, ecclesiastical ascetic origins, ambivalence toward imperial power, unwillingness to serve the function of patron, and a lack of learning and attack on philosophy. 3 With these specific presentations of Antony in the VA absent in the AP, the AP suggests a different relationship between monks and priests. The AP tacitly argues against a political alliance between the monastery and cathedral and the implied reliance of the monastery on the cathedral. 3 

Brakke, Athanasius, p. 245.

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This reading of Antony in the AP parallels the compiler’s presentation of the relationship between monks and ecclesiastics, and his portrayal of monk-clerics. All of these depictions reveal the compiler’s ambivalence toward ecclesiastical power and his argument for monastic autonomy. a. Antony Three of Athanasius’s goals in constructing the VA include asserting Antony’s clerical obedience, his Athanasian alliance, and his ecclesiastical asceticism. By locating Antony’s ascetic origins in the church and showing his obedience to ecclesiastics, particularly the bishop of Alexandria, Athanasius can construct an Antony who is closely aligned with the church’s hierarchy (and with Athanasius in particular). I group these three constructs together because they do not appear in the Antony of the AP. Nowhere in his thirty-eight sayings does the AP’s Antony explicitly interact with members of the clergy.4 Perhaps more importantly to the comparison between the VA’s Antony and the AP’s Antony, Athanasius never appears in the AP’s Antony sayings. Antony in the AP does not travel to Alexandria; his only physical environments are the desert and the monastic institutions therein. A single reference to Alexandria finds Antony learning of a physician whose asceticism equals Antony’s and “daily sings the Trisagion with the angels.”5 Antony’s supposedly obedient relationship to ecclesiastics, especially Athanasius, is absent from the AP. Although Antony’s asceticism in the VA is church-centered, his asceticism in the AP is revelation-centered. In the VA, Antony’s decision to become a monk and his decision to give away his fortune are both in the context of the church and hearing scripture in

Paris, BNF, MSS Fonds Coislin, 126 adds to Antony 22, but this addition likewise contains nothing about ecclesiastics or an ecclesiastical context (J.-C.  Guy, Recherches sur la tradition grecque des Apophthegmata Patrum, Brussels, 1962 [Subsidia Hagiographica, 36], p. 19). 5  Antony 24 (PG 65, col. 84); n. 2 in chapter one, above, provides the edition citations for the AP. Τῷ ἀββᾷ Ἀντωνίῳ ἀπεκαλύφθη ἐν τῇ ἐρήμῳ, ὅτι Ἐν τῇ πόλει ἐστί τις ὅμοιός σοι, ἰατρὸς τὴν ἐπιστήμην, τὴν περισσείαν αὐτοῦ διδοὺς τοῖς χρείαν ἔχουσι, καὶ πᾶσαν τὴν ἡμέραν τὸ Τρισάγιον ψάλλων μετὰ τῶν ἀγγέλων. 4 

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worship.6 The Antony of the VA finds the call to asceticism in an ecclesiastical context, and Athanasius thereby ties Antony tightly to the institutional church from the very beginning of his ascetic career. Several of the AP’s apophthegms contradict this conception of Antony. In the first saying of the AP, Antony finds himself lagging in the ascetic life and prays for guidance (his prayer includes the almost poetic question πῶς σωθῶ;), which he receives as a vision of an angel repeating cycles of work and prayer, saying to him, Οὕτως ποίει, καὶ σώζῃ, “Do this, and be saved.”7 The maintenance of Antony’s ascetic life comes from divine revelation. Indeed, its position opening the Antony section, and the entire AP, suggests that divine revelation and imitation constitute the origin of the ascetic life. This divine revelation is unmediated, operating without ecclesiastical interpretations or exhortations. For another monk, it is the words of Antony and the direction of mindfulness (toward God, scripture, and the maintenance of one’s physical location) that please God.8 This monk does not find his asceticism in an ecclesiastical environment, but in the imitation and words of the abba. Furthermore, the location and environment of the AP’s asceticism form a matter of life and death, as Antony illustrates with a fish-out-of-water analogy that teaches monks to remain in their cells as much as possible.9 Just as a fish dies when it spends too long in the air, so also the monk dies spiritually when he spends too long outside his cell. The origin of asceticism is the life of imitation, either through divine revelation or through following an ascetic better, and the location of asceticism is the environment of the monk. The location is the monk’s choosing, and is not tied to presence in or the presumed authority of the institutional church. The AP yields no or contrary evidence for these three Athanasian presentations of Antony – his clerical obedience, his Athanasian alliance, and his ecclesiastic asceticism. The AP’s Antony 6  Brakke, Athanasius, pp. 245–46; Athanasius, Vita Antonii 2–3 (ed. and trans. by G. J. M. Bartelink, Paris, 1994 [SC, 400]; trans. by R. C. Gregg, Athanasius: The Life of Antony and the Letter to Marcellinus, Mahwah, NJ, 1980). 7  Antony 1 (PG 65, col. 76). 8  Antony 3 (PG 65, col. 76). 9  Antony 10 (PG 65, col. 77).

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does not interact with any ecclesiastics, including Athanasius, and the origin and location of his asceticism lie in the imitation of the divine in the environment of the desert. This portrait more closely matches the Antony found in the letters attributed to him, who encourages monks in and philosophizes on the ascetic life, finding little interest in entering into the theological debates of late antiquity. The VA’s Antony experiences the same ambivalence toward imperial officials as his biographer,10 but the AP’s Antony diverges from this presentation. In the AP’s single saying that portrays Antony interacting with imperial officials, the emperor Constantius asks Antony to visit Constantinople. Considering this request, Antony asks Abba Paul, called his disciple in the apophthegm, for advice. Paul replies, “If you go, you will be called ‘Anthony’; but if you do not go, ‘Abba Anthony.’”11 In true apophthegmatic form, the short saying forms the climax and reveals the message. If Antony went to Constantinople, and thereby submitted to imperial power, he would lose his authority as an abba in the face of the imperial power structure. Remaining among the monks, Antony retains his status and authority as an abba. These two systems of power and authority – ascetic and imperial – constitute separate spheres. The monk loses his status as a leader when moving into the imperial sphere. This saying indicates more than ambivalence for the imperial power structure and system. The advice from Abba Paul betrays hostility to the imperial power structure, because moving between the spheres would strip Antony of his identity, power, and authority as an abba. To go to Constantinople at the behest of Constantius would do violence to Antony’s self-conception and his position as a leader in the AP. This saying presents a clear rejection of authorities who attempt to change or subjugate the ascetic sphere of power and its leaders. The Antony of the AP must disengage from systems that threaten the power and authority of the ascetic system. Presumably this resistance would also apply to systems other than the imperial one specifically mentioned, a radical, hidBrakke, Athanasius, pp. 247–48. Antony 31 (PG 65, col.  85). Ἐὰν ἀπέλθῃς, Ἀντώνιος λέγῃ· εἰ δὲ μὴ ἀπέλθῃς, ἀββᾶς Ἀντώνιος. 10  11 

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den warning against any person or group that would interfere with the ascetic and monastic life. The implied, subversive discourse is that overlapping spheres of power and authority lead to a loss of identity and should be opposed. In the VA, Antony’s authority and abilities result primarily from his relationship to the divine, such that Antony is not an authority figure in himself but only as an imitation of Christ. This depiction creates an Antony that Athanasius can use in his ecclesiastical-political ambitions.12 By writing Antony as a retiring and reclusive monk – the ascetic curmudgeon – Athanasius subsumes the ascetic sphere into his own ecclesiastical system. Antony’s unwilling patronage, however, does not appear in the AP. The AP’s Antony is a leader who holds fame and authority in his own right, unlike the VA’s ecclesiastic Antony. Eleven of the AP’s thirty-eight sayings explicitly mention monks visiting Antony, often to receive instruction.13 Another four apophthegms portray Antony teaching monks (who did not necessarily travel to see him),14 and three further sayings place Antony in the company of other monks.15 In almost half of the apophthegms, the saying explicitly situates Antony alongside other monks. More than a third of the sayings (fifteen) attributed to Antony are decontextualized and have only simple opening phrases.16 Of the remaining five sayings, two address perceptions of Antony,17 and three find

12  Brakke, Athanasius, pp. 248–53. “By portraying Antony as reluctant to be a leading figure in human society and his fame as the result of God’s work alone, Athanasius is able both to acknowledge the prestige and authority of monks like Antony and Paphnutius and to criticize this new monastic role. At the same time Athanasius keeps Antony firmly placed within the wider Christian community by making his virtuous example the reason for his fame” (p. 253). 13  Antony 12 (PG 65, col. 77), 14–15 (PG 65, col. 80), 17–21 (PG 65, cols 80–84), 26–27 (PG 65, col. 84), 29 (PG 65, col. 85). 14  Antony 3–4 (PG 65, cols 76–77), 6 (PG 65, col. 77), 16 (PG 65, col. 80). 15  Antony 13 (PG 65, cols 77–80), 31 (PG 65, col. 85), 34 (PG 65, cols 85–88). 16  Εἶπε πάλιν: Antony 8–11 (PG 65, col. 77), 23 (PG 65, col. 84), 36–38 (PG 65, col.  88). Εἶπεν ὁ ἀββᾶς Ἀντώνιος: Antony 7 (PG 65, col. 77), 22 (PG 65, col. 84), 25 (PG 65, col. 84), 32 (PG 65, col. 85), 35 (PG 65, col.  88). Ὁ αὐτὸς εἶπεν/εἶπε: Antony 5 (PG 65, col. 77), 33 (PG 65, col. 85). 17  Antony 28 (PG 65, cols 84–85), 30 (PG 65, col. 85).

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Antony alone.18 Looking at just the twenty-one contextualized sayings, Antony appears with monks six times more often than he appears alone. Perhaps the nature of apophthegmata necessitates Antony’s apparent sociability, because sayings need an audience in order to be preserved. Alternatively, the compiler may want to show the wide reach of the great monk. A further explanation lies in historical reality; maybe Antony was not Athanasius’s retiring, unwilling leader in monastic affairs. Parsing these possibilities requires a careful examination of the portrayal of Antony in the AP, which depicts him as an authoritative teacher of individual salvation and asceticism, a hierarch in communal monasticism, and a leader who holds a special connection with the divine. The AP’s first characterization, that Antony is a teacher of individual salvation and individual asceticism, emerges from the myriad stories of monks visiting him and the requests that monks make of him. As a teacher of individual salvation he answers questions about what monks should do to please God or what they should do to be saved.19 One of the monks asking for Antony’s help is Pambo, 20 who has fourteen sayings of his own in the AP. Other monks ask him to gloss scripture, interpret visions, and pray for them.21 The AP also presents Antony as giving advice and teaching unbidden. When one monk tells Antony how the monk kept some of his worldly goods instead of giving everything to the poor, Antony sends him into the street of a nearby village covered in raw meat. Wild animals injure the monk trying to tear the meat from his body, and Antony uses this injury to show the monk that his incomplete renunciation allows demons to tear his soul.22 Through this painful teaching, Antony guides his fellow monk to the most complete path for his individual salvation. In another saying, Antony teaches the famous Poimen, whose sayings form the largest single portion of the AP.23 When visited by Antony 1–2 (PG 65, col. 76), 24 (PG 65, col. 84). Antony 3 (Τί φυλάξας τῷ Θεῷ εὐαρεστήσω; PG 65, col.  76), 6 (Τί ποιήσω; PG 65, col. 77), 19 (πῶς σωθῶμεν; PG 65, col. 81). 20  Antony 6 (PG 65, col. 77). 21  Antony 26 (PG 65, col. 84), 12 (PG 65, col. 77), 16 (PG 65, col. 80). 22  Antony 20 (PG 65, col. 81). The background for this story recalls Ananias and Sapphira in Acts 5.1–11. 23  Antony 4 (PG 65, col. 77). 18  19 

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another group of monks, Antony tests their humility by asking them to interpret a passage from scripture.24 Antony even modifies his asceticism by joking with monks less advanced in discipline, saying that he must drop to their level to keep from breaking them with his more advanced practices.25 These stories and sayings illustrate Antony’s teaching of individual salvation and individual asceticism, both unbidden and when asked. Antony’s authority as a teacher of asceticism extends even to those monks whom the AP’s compiler considers ascetic heroes. For the compiler of the AP, Antony was not unwilling in his individual patronage. One story finds Antony asking a fellow monk why, when he makes yearly trips to see Antony, he never asks Antony anything but allows his fellow travelers to do all of the talking.26 Antony-as-patron encourages his subordinate to speak more assertively. As an authority in individual asceticism, Antony is also a leader in communal asceticism, the AP’s second characterization of him. One apophthegm finds a monk cast from his community after succumbing to temptation. The monk goes to Antony and lives near him for a time, after which Antony sends the monk back to his monastery. His monastic brethren refuse to accept him, so he returns to Antony for guidance. Antony sends him back a second time, but with a short parable to give to his fellow monks. They read the parable and realize that Antony has sent the monk back to the monastery, at which point they welcome his return.27 Antony’s authority extended to a monastery outside his immediate sphere of influence, and his patronage of the contrite monk is the vehicle for the monk’s readmission into the community. In another story, one monk is falsely accused of sin and leaves his community to seek the guidance of Antony. His fellow monks follow him in order to prompt his repentance and return him to his place in the monastery. They find the monk in the company of Antony and Paphnutius, who act as a kind of ascetic court, hearing the charges from the accusing monks and the defense of the accused monk.

Antony 17 (PG 65, col. 80). Antony 13 (PG 65, col. 77–80). 26  Antony 27 (PG 65, col. 84). The monk answers that seeing Antony is enough for him. 27  Antony 21 (PG 65, cols 81–84). 24  25 

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After weighing both sides, Paphnutius tells a parable that reveals to the accusing monks that their strategy of “helping” the accused monk is in fact detrimental to their goals. Antony confirms Paphnutius’s judgment by calling him a “real man, able to take care of and save souls,” presumably in contrast to the accusing monks; the accusing monks realize their error, and all the visiting monks return to their monastery together.28 Paphnutius’s authority allows him to chastise the accusing monks, but Antony’s authority confirms the judgment and effects change within the monastic community. In addition to holding authority in monastic establishments, Antony directs the placement of monastic cells outside of Nitria. Antony visits Amoun at Nitria, and Amoun asks for Antony’s advice on where he should allow monks to build solitary cells. Antony selects a place far enough from Nitria that the monks who wish to live apart can do so, but close enough that they can travel to see the Nitrian monks.29 This apophthegm about the foundation of Kellia, combined with the two apophthegms about Antony’s guidance of monastic affairs, indicates that the compiler of the AP considered Antony a significant influence in cenobitic monasticism. The advice he gives to Amoun and the judgments he gives about monks rightly and wrongly accused of sin indicate that his authority extended beyond personal salvation and asceticism. Antony was an authoritative patron with the power to direct monastic affairs. The source of Antony’s power, both in individual salvation and in monastic direction, originates partly in his special connection to the divine, even when this divine connection is not immediately evident. While this divine connection is not the sole source of his authority, it does feature prominently in the apophthegms about Antony and is the third characterization of Antony in the AP. The first story about Antony – and the very first story in the AP – depicts Antony struggling in the ascetic life. He asks God for help and God sends an angel to show Antony how to adhere to the

28  Antony 29 (PG 65, col.  85). Ἰδοὺ ἄνθρωπος ἀληθινὸς, δυνάμενος θεραπεῦσαι καὶ σῶσαι ψυχάς. 29  Antony 34 (PG 65, cols 85–88).

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rigors of asceticism. 30 Antony requires divine help to maintain his early asceticism, and his connection with the divine is so strong that an angel descends and Antony hears the voice of God. Interestingly, Antony’s divine connection here benefits only Antony directly. 31 Although this solipsistic connection is only one facet of Antony’s relationship with God, several apophthegms fall into this category. In one instance, an unnamed monk asks God to allow the monk to see all of the great men of the desert, only to find that Antony is not among them. When he asks God why he did not see Antony, God responds that it is because Antony is wherever God is. 32 The apophthegm reveals Antony’s superlative piety. Antony’s divine connection gives him constant audience with God, which he uses both for himself and for the edification of others. One of the appellations used for Antony, according to the AP, was pneumatophoros, which the AP describes as a state that allows Antony to see everything that happens in the present or will happen in the future. 33 While the AP does not reveal how he used this gift, the apophthegm does record Antony’s reticence in discussions of his being pneumatophoros. 34 Perhaps he only used his gifts of farsight and foresight secretly, as he does elsewhere with another aspect of his divine connection, receiving divine assistance in interpreting scripture. A group of monks, among them the future bishop Ammonas, comes to ask Antony’s interpretation of a difficult section in Leviticus. 35 Antony excuses himself from their comAntony 1 (PG 65, col. 76). It benefits other monks indirectly, however, by allowing Antony to advance in asceticism and thereby become a leader in the movement. 32  Antony 28 (PG 65, cols 84–85). Also interesting is that this unnamed monk, like Antony, has a divine connection that allows him to ask God directly for favors and guidance. 33  Antony 30 (PG 65, col. 85). 34  Antony 30 (PG 65, col. 85). ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἤθελε λαλεῖν διὰ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους. 35  Ammonas is a disciple of Antony (Ammonas 8 [PG 65, col. 121]; Antony 18 [PG 65, col. 81]) and is identified as ὁ ἐπίσκοπος Ἀμμωνᾶς in Ammonas 10 (PG 65, col. 121). François Nau indicates that this Ammonas is the same as the Ammonas of the letters and includes the sayings from the AP in his collection of Ammonian texts (F. Nau, “Ammonas, successeur de Saint Antoine: Textes grecs et syriaques,” Patrologia Orientalis 11 [1915], pp. 391–504; see especially his introductory material [pp. 393–401], including a biography [pp. 393–95]). Franz Klejna considers the relationship between Ammonas’s 30  31 

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pany and, secretly followed by Ammonas, goes into the desert and asks God to send Moses down to explain the passage to him. The saying records the account of Ammonas, who said that he heard a voice speaking with Antony but could not understand what it said. 36 Antony receives divine assistance in interpreting scripture for his fellow monks, but he does so secretly. Antony elsewhere uses passages of scripture in his teachings, 37 indicating that he considers the texts authoritative. Monks, however, consider Antony’s interpretations of scripture authoritative, and he tacitly uses his divine connection to provide that interpretation. Part of Antony’s power, then, derives from his connection with the divine, but his ultimate power is his own, even when the compiler uses the divine connection to bolster Antony’s authority. On occasion, this divine connection benefits Antony only, though it indirectly benefits other monks by giving Antony special gifts to perform his oft-imitated asceticism. The AP’s Antony is a monk who is authoritative in individual asceticism, holds sway over cenobitic monasticism, and has a special connection with the divine, granting him some of the specialized gifts that partly imbue him with authority. This presentation of Antony does not describe a monk whose prestige derives only from the work of the divine, as is the case with Athanasius’s Antony. 38 The AP’s Antony is not an unwilling patron, retiring from the public gaze and loathe to guide anyone in the ascetic life. Indeed, in the case of the monk cast from his cenobium, Antony’s direction of the monk to return twice and Antony’s letter to the monastery directly involve him in the monastic institution. The high percentage of Antony’s teaching apophthegms suggest that

and Antony’s letters, and the kinds of teachings they contain (F. Klejna, “Antonius und Ammonas: Eine Untersuchung über Herkunft und Eigenart der ältesten Mönchs-briefe,” Zeitschrift für katholische Theologie 62 [1938]: 309–48). See also a more recent discussion and contextualization of Ammonas in B. McNary-Zak, “Introduction,” in B. McNary-Zak, Useful Servanthood: A Study of Spiritual Formation in the Writings of Abba Ammonas, Collegeville, MN, 2010 (Cistercian Studies, 224), 3–113. 36  Antony 26 (PG 65, col. 84). 37  Antony 19 (PG 65, col. 81), 22 (PG 65, col. 84), 37 (PG 65, col. 88). 38  Brakke, Athanasius, 253.

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the AP’s compiler considered Antony a willing and active leader in all aspects of asceticism and monasticism. As with Antony’s opaque relationship to the institutional church in the AP, the AP’s Antony reveals nothing about his own learning or his view on philosophy. Athanasius’s Antony is openly antagonistic toward philosophy, 39 and the VA claims that Antony was uneducated.40 Neither of those characterizations feature in the AP; the AP’s Antony is at least erudite enough to memorize and quote scripture, read a letter from the emperor, and write to a monastery.41 This literate Antony would seem to accord with the opening of the VA, in which Athanasius describes Antony as wealthy and holding some measure of education (though Athanasius’s Antony dislikes his education, preferring instead a life of contemplative leisure).42 Athanasius depicts Antony inconsistently in the VA by portraying him as both educated and illiterate. An Antony with some education, at least enough to read and write, aligns with the Antony of the Letters and the AP’s Antony. Also contrary to the VA, the AP’s Antony is not openly hostile to philosophy. He never mentions philosophy, never interacts with philosophers, and does not teach anything explicitly anti-philosophical. An educated, wealthy Antony would not lack exposure to philosophical literature. In fact, at least one of his sayings exhibits familiarity with such philosophical concepts as the soul and appetites moving the body.43 In any case, the AP’s Antony does not appear uneducated and never openly engages philosophy, either positively or negatively. This discrepancy demonstrates an interesting difference between the Antonys of the AP and the VA. 39  VA  72–80 (Antony argues with Greek philosophers). Arthur Urbano writes that Athanasius wanted to deny a place to Greek philosophy and education, employed by the philosophical Christians of Alexandria, by creating a new Christian philosopher in the anti-Greek figure of Antony (A. Urbano, “‘Read It Also to the Gentiles’: The Displacement and Recasting of the Philosopher in the Vita Antonii,” Church History 77 [2008], pp. 877–914). 40  VA  1.2 (Antony did not like learning), 72.1 and 73.1 (Antony was unlearned). 41  Quote scripture: Antony 19 (PG 65, col. 81), 22 (PG 65, col. 84). Read: Antony 31 (PG 65, col. 85). Write: Antony 21 (PG 65, col. 81–84). 42  VA 1. 43  Antony 22 (PG 65, col. 84). It is also possible that the compiler placed the philosophical saying in Antony’s mouth.

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In the VA, the uneducated and anti-philosophical Antony attaches himself closely to the church (and, specifically, to the bishop of Alexandria) and actively engages in theological disputes. The AP’s Antony is educated enough to read and write, and may have learned how to write from copying philosophy or Greek literature,44 but he is not portrayed by the AP’s compiler as interested in the conflicts of the broader Christian community. As a pattern for other monks, Athanasius’s Antony needs the church because of his lack of education, whereas the compiler of the AP shows Antony as educated and therefore self-sufficient. The AP presents an alternative view of Antony to that of the VA in each of the categories of comparison – clerical obedience, alliance with Athanasius, ecclesiastically centered asceticism, ambivalence to the empire, unwillingness to patronize others, and anti-philosophical inclinations. The Antony of the AP looks unlike the Antony of the VA and aligns much more closely with the Antony of the Letters. A teacher of asceticism, Antony holds a handful of techniques as necessary for living a life of salvation, and the goal of these techniques is maintaining uninterrupted asceticism. In one instance, he tells an anonymous monk that salvation lies in three things: keeping God before the monk’s eyes, paying attention to scripture, and remaining in one’s cell.45 These three techniques correspond to the practice, authority, and place of asceticism – the monk should practice his asceticism with his mind toward God, learning his practice through the examples of other monks (like Antony, whom the monk asked for help) and the words of scripture, and maintaining his practice in his own space: the cell of the monk. The cell is the most important space for Antony; it is the locus and focal point of beginning and continued ascetic practice. It is the monastic cell where a monk lives For an overview of education in late antiquity, see H. Marrou, A  History of Education in Antiquity, trans. by G. Lamb, Madison, WI, 1956; and R.  Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt, Princeton, 2001. For some examples, while later than Antony, of monks using non-Christian texts to learn writing, see items 611–15 (practice pieces copying Homer and Menander) of the “Greek Ostraca and Papyri,” ed. and trans. by H. G. Evelyn White, in The Monastery of Epiphanius at Thebes, part 2, 1926, New York, 1973, pp. 135, 320. 45  Antony 3 (PG 65, col. 76). 44 

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and perfects his uninterrupted ascetic path.46 The cell is where the monk maintains contact with God and his attention on the scriptures. The AP’s Antony and the VA’s Antony diverge strongly on their images of the cell. An examination of the AP’s Antony compared to Athanasius’s Antony indicates that the AP implicitly argues for the separation of the monastic and ecclesiastical spheres. Antony is not the church’s man and instead holds power and authority on his own and in his own (ascetic, monastic) environment. The rest of the AP also presents ecclesiastics and monks as members of separate systems in the way the compiler portrays bishops, priests, and deacons; the relationship between ecclesiastics and monks; and the role of ecclesiastic monks. These considerations suggest that the AP’s compiler wanted to deemphasize the positions and authority of ecclesiastical figures and emphasize the monk as holding ultimate power and authority in the monastic realm. b.  Bishops, Priests, Deacons, and Monks The AP’s compiler consistently diminishes or elides the role of ecclesiastic hierarchs.47 Of the one hundred thirty figures whose sayings appear in the AP, eight are archbishops or bishops, nine

Antony 10 (PG 65, col. 77). I part with Graham Gould’s conclusions on the nature of monks and ecclesiastics in the AP; he oversimplifies in his appropriation of a historical narrative from the sayings (G. Gould, “Lay Christians, Bishops, and Clergy in the Apophthegmata Patrum,” Studia Patristica 25 [1993], pp. 396–404, quote on p. 396: “It will become evident that their [the Desert Fathers’] views were far more nuanced than the attitude of protest against institutional Christianity which is still often seen as one of the main characteristics of early monasticism.”). He elides some of the more difficult interactions, and fails to see the constructions of those actions as part of the compiler’s creation of an argument from the sayings. Gould does temper this view somewhat in his book on monastic relationships, pointing out that the paucity of sayings featuring monks and ecclesiastics may indicate that the compiler was more interested in the internal workings of monasticism than its relationship to the broader church (G. Gould, The Desert Fathers on Monastic Community, Oxford, 1993, p. 14). Gould’s conclusion is similar to Claudia Rapp’s conclusion regarding the monastic view of ecclesiastical authorities writ large (Rapp, Holy Bishops, pp. 137–52). To Rapp’s point, while the big-picture view may have been more ambiguous, the AP’s compiler presented ecclesiastics more polemically. 46  47 

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are priests, and one is a deacon.48 All of these ecclesiastic figures Bishops: Ammonas (PG 65, cols 120–24), Apphy (PG 65, col. 133), Basil the Great (PG 65, col. 137), Epiphanius Bishop of Cyprus (PG 65, cols 161–68), Theophilus the Archbishop (PG 65, cols 197–201), Motius (PG 65, col. 300), Netras (PG 65, col. 311), and Spyridon (PG 65, cols 417–20). Priests: Benjamin (PG 65, cols 144–45), Eulogius the Priest (PG 65, cols 169–72), Isidore (PG 65, cols 220–21), Isaac Priest of Kellia (PG 65, cols 224–28), Isidore the Priest (PG 65, cols 233–36), Moses (PG 65, cols 281–89), Matoes (PG 65, cols 289–93), Peter of Dios (PG 65, col. 385), Timothy (PG 65, col. 429). Deacon: Theodore of Pherme (PG 65, cols 188–96). While there are 131 headings, the anonymous Roman Abba (PG 65, col. 385) is almost certainly Arsenius (Arsenius 36 [PG 65, cols 101–04] is nearly identical in relevant points to the Roman Abba’s apophthegm). I do not dispute that there were priests among the monks and that some bishops were taken from the monastic ranks, though I am not entirely convinced of Philip Rousseau’s perfectly straightforward reading of some of the apophthegms to show that ecclesiastical monks stood somewhat apart from the rest of their ascetic peers (P. Rousseau, Ascetics, Authority, and the Church in the Age of Jerome and Cassian, 2nd ed., Notre Dame, 2010, pp. 62–64; his short warning on the slippery identification of “presbyters” in the literary sources is well taken [p. 62]). What I do contest is how the AP’s compiler intends these figures to be read. Brian Daley gives a brief overview of the role of the monk-priest in late antique monasticism (his article covers early through modern Christianity) in B. Daley, “The Ministry of Disciples: Historical Reflections on the Role of Religious Priests,” Theological Studies 48 (1987), pp. 607, 615–18. Daley cites Macarius of Egypt 2 (PG 65, cols 260–61) to claim that Pambo was a priest (Daley, “Ministry,” p. 617 n. 36; Derwas Chitty uses the same apophthegm to make the same argument about Pambo in D. J. Chitty, The Desert a City: An Introduction to the Study of Egyptian and Palestinian Monasticism under the Christian Empire, 1966, Crestwood, NY, 1999, pp. 31, 44 n. 132), but nothing in the Pambo sayings indicates his status as a priest. Moreover, Palladius’s account of Melenia the Elder following the monks of Nitria into exile in Palestine identifies a number of monks (Pambo included) who were exiled and adds that a dozen priests and bishops went with them – Pambo is listed, but not among the (anonymous) dozen priests and bishops (Palladius, Lausiac History 46.2–3 [ed. by C. Butler, The Lausiac History of Palladius: A Critical Discussion together with Notes on Early Egyptian Monasticism, 2 vols., Cambridge, 1904 [Texts and Studies, 6]; trans. by R. T. Meyer, Palladius: The Lausiac History, New York, 1964 (Ancient Christian Writers, 34)]; LH 10.1–8, the section on Pambo, does not mention him as a priest). As further evidence, the phrase used in Macarius of Egypt 2 that indicates Pambo’s priesthood to Daley and Chitty, τὴν προσφορὰν τοῦ ἀββᾶ Παμβώ, is ambiguous enough that it could refer to a Eucharist consecrated by Pambo or a Eucharist in memory of Pambo (for a summary of the early development of such memorial Eucharists from the martyr cults, see M. E. Johnson, “The Apostolic Tradition,” in The Oxford History of Christian Worship, ed. by G. Wainwright and K. B. Wes48 

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are ascetic practitioners, and their embrace of the ecclesiastical life ranges from open acceptance to barely subdued hostility.49 Interestingly, those figures who embrace their ecclesiastical positions occasionally find themselves in contention with non-ecclesiastical monks, and the AP readily emphasizes these conflicts and the cases in which monks refuse ordination. Many of the ecclesiastical monks in the AP actively resist their ordinations. The single deacon mentioned in the AP, Theodore of Pherme, refused to perform the duties of his ordained office and died never having served actively as a deacon. 50 Matoes and an unnamed monk are also forcibly ordained, in this instance to the priesthood, and likewise refuse to serve as priests despite their ordination.51 Matoes even mocks the unnamed bishop who forcibly ordained them by saying that ordination is for “blameless” (ἀμέμπτων)52 individuals, implying that the coercion on the bishterfield Tucker, New York, 2006, pp. 59–60, 62–66; Johnson includes a quotation from the Martyrdom of Polycarp that supports the idea of memorial Eucharists from an early date). The word προσφορά occurs nine other times in the AP, but never with this kind of construction: Isaac Priest of Kellia 6 (PG 65, col.  225; here τὴν σποδὸν τοῦ θυμιατηρίου τῆς προσφορᾶς, on Isaac eating these ashes with his bread); Isaac of Thebes 2 (PG 65, col. 241; appearing twice in this saying as τῆς ἁγίας προσφορᾶς, on Isaac leaving the Eucharistic service quickly to return to his cell); Macarius of Egypt 26 (PG 65, col. 273; in which Macarius tells Antony that there is no προσφορά in Scetis), 33 (PG 65, cols 273–77; on the two anonymous monks receiving the προσφορά in church silently); Matoes 9 (PG 65, cols 292–93; on the Eucharist that the two forcibly ordained monks refuse to consecrate [the word appears twice at the end of this saying]); Mark the Egyptian 1 (PG 65, col. 304; here τὴν ἁγίαν προσφοράν, on the Eucharist brought to Mark by the local priest); Sisoes 8 (PG 65, col. 393; referring to a Eucharist on Antony’s mountain). The Sisoes 8 citation seems to support the idea that Macarius was celebrating a Eucharist in Nitria memorializing Pambo after his death. Based on the evidence from Palladius and the use of προσφορά in the AP (especially Sisoes 8), and the evidence for early memorial Eucharists, I disagree with Daley and Chitty, and leave Pambo off my list of monk-priests in the AP. 49  Occasionally, hostility toward monk-bishops came from the other bishops arguing that they did not look or act like bishops or that they were not qualified candidates (C. Leyser, Authority and Asceticism from Augustine to Gregory the Great, New York, 2000, pp. 33–35). 50  Theodore of Pherme 25 (PG 65, col. 193). 51  Matoes 9 (PG 65, cols 292–93). 52  Matoes 9 (PG 65, col. 293).

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op’s part places blame on him and thereby calls his own position in the church into question. Another monk, Isaac Priest of Kellia, attempts to flee from ordination, not wishing to serve in that office; this avoidance is not simply rhetorical humility on Isaac’s part, but more likely represents his wish to remain unfettered and able to practice his asceticism fully. 53 The AP views ordination as an impediment to ascetic practice. In all of these cases, monks do not desire ordination and, when it is forced on them, they refuse to serve in their ecclesiastical capacities. The monks may resist it partly because ordination and subsequent service in the institutional church removes or substantially alters their ability to practice asceticism, in the view of the AP’s compiler. Had the compiler included only those moments of refused ordination, we could assume that such reticence stemmed from the Christian ascetic virtue of humility. That the compiler carefully notes instances in which monks refuse to serve even after ordination, however, symbolizes more than the rhetoric or virtue of humility. Some monks, as presented in the AP, are not willing participants in the ecclesiastic life. Even those who willingly serve as priests and bishops find themselves occasionally regretting their decisions, because they force changes in lifestyle. Monks lament the changes to their asceticism that they view as attendant with their ordination. For Apphy, becoming a bishop signifies the loss of his close connection with the divine and therefore his inability to practice the same level of asceticism that he attained before his ordination. 54 Monks defined themselves by their ascetic lifestyle, so losing the ability to practice his pre-ordination asceticism diminishes something of Apphy’s monkhood. Even more important is the loss of divine connection. Like Antony’s special connection with the divine, Apphy the monk revels in his closeness to divinity; Apphy the bishop mourns the loss of this connection. In an opposite case, Netras’s ordination to the episcopacy requires a shift from less severe to more severe asceticism. To counteract his new ecclesiastical role, Netras must practice even more rigorously.55 Even when the alteration necessitates a 53  54  55 

Isaac Priest of Kellia 1 (PG 65, col. 224). Apphy 1 (PG 65, col. 133). Netras 1 (PG 65, col. 311).

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more severe asceticism the ordination remains lamentable because it is not the monk who makes the change but the new situation that requires it.56 These examples of attempted, forced, reluctant, and regretted ordination indicate that the compiler of the AP considered ecclesiastical office inferior to the trained life of the monk. Monks in the AP have no incentive for attaining ecclesiastical office, and monks who accept their ordination regret the decision because of its negative effects on their ascetic practice. Outside of these stories, the AP presents a variety of encounters between monks and ecclesiastics. Sometimes, the groups interact exclusively on the monks’ terms or inside the parameters defined by their common asceticism. In other instances, there is substantial tension between the two groups, with monks chastising ecclesiastics for their assertion (attempted or successful) of authority. The AP’s compiler never indicates that monks viewed bishops or priests as holding special power or authority in monastic communities, outside of their roles in consecrating the Eucharist. Moreover, his presentation of the eighteen ecclesiastic monks demonstrates that their presence in the AP depends primarily on their asceticism, not on their positions in the institutional church. Using these two characterizations of ecclesiastics (the interaction between monks and ecclesiastics and the portrayal of ecclesiastic monks), the compiler of the AP tacitly argues against ecclesiastical authority over monastic systems. Monks and ecclesiastical hierarchs here occupy separate spheres.57 56  Claudia Rapp’s point that ordination was accepted readily in the monastic communities is well taken in some instances, though she carefully points to moments in which monks refused or lamented their ordination, including in the AP. For Rapp, refusal is a function of humility on the candidate-monk’s part (Rapp, Holy Bishops, pp. 137–47). Within the context of the AP, however, the evidence is largely negative toward ordination and ecclesiastics, indicating that the compiler’s view of ecclesiastics was less ambivalent than the monastic consensus. Philip Rousseau and Peter Norton find this ordination-as-negative interpretation in other monastic literature and view it as reality, not just a trope or function of humility (P. Rousseau, Ascetics, Authority, and the Church in the Age of Jerome and Cassian, 2nd ed., Notre Dame, 2004, pp. 62–67, esp. p. 64; P. Norton, Episcopal Elections 250–600: Hierarchy and Popular Will in Late Antiquity, Oxford, 2007, pp. 191–202) 57  While this separation was not always the monastic consensus, some of the tensions found in the texts examined in chapter two reflect that, at points, this relationship was a real concern. Indeed, as Andrea Sterk notes,

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The most fraught relationships in the AP are those between bishops and monks, despite the occurrences of monks and bishops visiting each other and requesting guidance or assistance from each other. The compiler of the AP does not portray monks as deferential to bishops. Instead, the relationships in the AP indicate that the compiler considered bishops and church politics as interfering in the life of the monk, though bishops who were ascetics proved their utility as teachers of asceticism. Monks and bishops travel to visit each other with varied results, as monks do not always choose to receive their episcopal visitors. Twice Archbishop Theophilus desires to visit the monk Arsenius. Arsenius receives Theophilus the first time, and Theophilus and his companion (an archon) ask Arsenius to speak to them about the ascetic life. Arsenius asks if they will put his words into practice, and after receiving an affirmative answer Arsenius tells the archbishop and archon that they should leave him alone, saying, “If you hear that Arsenius is in a certain place, do not approach that place.”58 The archbishop then attempts to visit the monk again to ask for his guidance, only to have the monk tell him that he wishes to be left alone. This subsequent apophthegm also finds Theophilus sending someone ahead of him to ask the monk if he will receive Theophilus. Arsenius says that he would theoretically receive Theophilus, but that by receiving Theophilus he becomes obligated to receive everyone and would rather leave the area. 59 Arsenius feels no special obligation to the archbishop; by receiving the monk-bishop model advocated by Basil and embraced by Gregory of Nazianzus was difficult for Gregory to replicate in his own life (A. Sterk, Renouncing the World Yet Leading the Church: The Monk-Bishop in Late Antiquity, Cambridge, MA, 2004, pp. 119–40). Sterk identifies the Roman political model (contemplative philosopher melded with political career) as part of the possible motivation for Gregory’s embrace of the monk-bishop model. As George Demacopoulos has demonstrated, attaining this model was difficult even for the philosopher-politician-bishop par excellence, Gregory the Great (G. Demacopoulos, Gregory the Great: Ascetic, Pastor, and First Man of Rome, Notre Dame, 2015). Continued textual assertions linking and denying ecclesiastic and monastic connections suggest that this monastery-cathedral link was, at least at points, contested. 58  Arsenius 7 (PG 65, col.  89). Ὅπου ἐὰν ἀκούσητε Ἀρσένιον, μὴ πλησιάσητε. 59  Arsenius 8 (PG 65, col. 89).

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him he sets a precedent for receiving any visitor. A visit from the archbishop is no different than a visit from any other person – Arsenius would receive all visitors with the same reluctant hospitality. Earlier in life, Arsenius refused to see Archbishop Timothy and his retinue after a long journey because of the same fear. He later receives them after moving closer to Alexandria and apologizes for troubling them, explaining that he performed a severe asceticism while asking God to ensure their safe return to Alexandria.60 Arsenius’s relationship to the prelates of Alexandria is the same as his relationship to any other visitor or potential visitor. Status as a bishop does not necessitate that Arsenius receive him more readily, nor does it signify that he rejects him as an ecclesiastic specifically. Every other story of a bishop visiting a monk finds the monk accepting the visit, though not without problems. A bishop, called Abba Adelphius in the text, and his companions visit Sisoes and his disciple. After spending the night there, Sisoes prepares an early meal for the bishop and his companions but is interrupted by other monks coming to visit Sisoes. Sisoes directs his disciple to feed the departing bishop and his companions. Bishop Adelphius, saying he fears that feeding them will spread a rumor about Sisoes eating on a fast day, argues that he should not be fed; Sisoes does so anyway. The visiting monks, seeing the food, chastise Bishop Adelphius because eating with the departing visitors will require Sisoes to perform a severe asceticism later. Adelphius is humbled both by Sisoes’ willingness to break the fast because of the visitors, including himself, and because Sisoes does not care how others regard him. He cares only about God’s assessment, seeking divine approval via hospitality to the visiting bishop and monks.61 It is divine opinion, rather than episcopal authority, that causes Sisoes to break his fast. The bishop is chastened and learns to honor divine opinions above human ones. 60  Arsenius 34 (PG 65, col. 101). One could argue that Arsenius’s severe asceticism on behalf of the archbishop indicates a subordinate status to the bishop. Instead, it is more likely that Arsenius performs his asceticism because his reluctance to receive visitors puts would-be visitors in danger if their return keeps them traveling late. His asceticism facilitates the safe return of all visitors, not just the patriarch of Alexandria. 61  Sisoes 15 (PG 65, cols 396–97).

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Another apophthegm finds Archbishop Theophilus visiting the monastic establishment at Scetis, where the monks ask Pambo to teach Theophilus. Pambo refuses, saying, “If he is not benefited by my silence, neither will he be benefited by my speech.”62 The bishop’s visit does not change Pambo’s behavior. Nothing special about Theophilus’s office drives Pambo to speak, and he spurns his fellow monks’ request because, for Pambo, silence is just as instructive in asceticism as his speech. The sayings of the AP find Theophilus frequently in the company of monks, and often asking them for advice on performing asceticism.63 Occasionally, visiting bishops render services to the monks or use the visit to gain an advantage for themselves. Basil, bishop of Caesarea, uses a trip to a monastery as an occasion to find a candidate for ordination to assist him, asking the abbot to find Basil the most obedient monk in the monastery.64 This saying differs from others, because the climactic place of the apophthegm portrays Basil conducting the monk to the bishop’s residence διὰ τὴν ὑπακοὴν αὐτοῦ, “because of his obedience.” The monk’s obedience is highlighted, and the monk’s obedience means that he is ordained and taken from the monastery. The intended interpretation of this second-hand story is ambiguous;65 the compiler presents no moralizing of the bishop’s actions or the obedience of the monk, no indication of how the monk recounting the story or the compiler viewed the saying. Basil leverages his position as

62  Theophilus the Archbishop 2 (PG 65, col.  197). Εἰ οὐκ ὠφελεῖται ἐν τῇ σιωπῇ μου, οὐδὲ ἐν τῷ λόγῳ μου ὠφεληθῆναι ἔχει. Silence was a monastic virtue. For most of the scholarship on Theophilus, see N. Russell, Theo­ philus of Alexandria, New York, 2007; and K. Banev, Theophilus of Alexandria and the First Origenist Controversy: Rhetoric and Power, New York, 2015. Krastu Banev’s approach to the apophthegms surrounding Theophilus does not consider the entirety of the compiler’s message of monastic autonomy. His reading of monastic literature, moreover, does not adequately account for subversive anti-clericalism in the texts. 63  Theophilus the Archbishop 1 (PG 65, col. 197). 64  Basil the Great 1 (PG 65, col. 137). Basil is a well-researched figure in early Christianity; for more on his life and theology, see P. Rousseau, Basil of Caesarea, Berkeley, 1994 (Transformation of the Classical Heritage, 20); and S. Hildebrand, Basil of Caesarea, Grand Rapids, MI, 2014. 65  Ἔλεγέ τις τῶν γερόντων (Basil the Great 1 [PG 65, col. 137]).

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an esteemed ascetic to receive the obedience of another monk, in order to gain advantage in obtaining a candidate for ordination. In another saying, a visiting bishop does not gain advantage for himself but instead gains advantage for another monk. Bishop Ammonas visits a monastic community that is preparing to exile a monk who has received a woman in his cell. The monks ask Ammonas to join them, but the errant monk finds out that the rest of the monks are coming and hides the woman in a barrel in his cell. Upon entering the cell, Ammonas realizes where the woman is and sits on the barrel and tells the rest of the monks to search for the woman. After they fail to find the woman, Ammonas chastises the community and sends them out of the cell. As he leaves, Ammonas tips his hand by warning the sinful monk to guard himself.66 Ammonas helps the errant monk by granting him the mercy and the opportunity to consider his sin. Ammonas’s worthiness, however, does not derive from his ecclesiastical position; rather, the compiler esteems him for his ability to discern the mind of a monk, a gift that God also gives to another monk in the AP.67 During episcopal visits to monasteries, monks often resist bishops, and their occasional support of bishops is not related to bishops’ ecclesiastical positions. This dynamic also molds monks’ visits to bishops and requests for episcopal advice, even when a bishop corrects a monk. The bishop Epiphanius of Cyprus twice receives visits from monks, one his teacher and another an abbot, and both times he corrects their asceticism.68 His authority is not as an ecclesiastic but as an advanced practitioner of asceticism. The AP places the archbishop Theophilus in the reverse situation, with his ascetic practice and treatment of monks repudiated. Theophilus asks the monks to come to Alexandria and help him destroy temples, but invites them to dine with him beforehand. Unknown 66  Ammonas 10 (PG 65, cols 121–24). The exhortation to guard oneself served as part of the call to self-care. 67  Paul the Simple 1 (PG 65, cols 381–85). 68  Epiphanius Bishop of Cyprus 3–4 (PG 65, col. 164). Epiphanius, bishop of Salamis, Cyprus, has received scholarly treatment only recently: see Y. R. Kim, Epiphanius of Cyprus: Imagining an Orthodox World, Ann Arbor, MI, 2015; and A. S. Jacobs, Epiphanius of Cyprus: A Cultural Biography of Late Antiquity, Berkeley, 2016 (Christianity in Late Antiquity, 2).

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to the monks, the meal includes meat, which the monks believe to be vegetables. Discovering the meat, the monks refuse to eat any more.69 Theophilus violates the monks’ asceticism, and the monks’ asceticism trumps the practice of the Alexandrian archbishop. The archbishop’s table cannot entice the monks to change their practice, even for a moment. The mutual teaching and requests of monks and bishops runs throughout the AP. Theophilus, at the behest of a high-ranking woman from Rome, goes to Arsenius to ask him if he will receive the woman, though Theophilus hides the woman’s gender from Arsenius. Arsenius refuses the archbishop’s request.70 Amma Theodora asks Theophilus for his interpretation of a passage from Colossians. Theophilus interprets the passage through their mutual asceticism, showing how the Pauline text applies to the monastic life.71 The saying does not speak to the source of Theophilus’s authority in the eyes of Theodora, but his interpretation indicates that his teaching on asceticism was considered profitable by the AP’s compiler. Like other monks who sometimes advance and sometimes fail in their asceticism, Theophilus advances (as with Theodora) and fails (as with the monks at his table) in ascetic practice and ascetic teaching. The AP’s compiler repeats the theme of monks teaching bishops, alongside bishops teaching monks. The bishop Ammonas’s pastoral dealings with a young woman who had conceived an illegitimate child stem directly from his ascetic training under Antony.72 In this apophthegm, training received from an older monk becomes the impetus for a monkturned-bishop’s actions. In the context of monasticism, a bishop’s position alone is insufficient to correct a misguided monk. Daniel recounts the story of a monk who believed that Melchizedek was the son of God. Archbishop Cyril, wanting to correct him, encourages the monk to ask God about Melchizedek’s identity in order to settle a nonexistent debate. The monk asks God, who shows the monk that Melchizedek was just a man, and the monk reports this information to 69  70  71  72 

Theophilus the Archbishop 3 (PG 65, col. 200). Arsenius 28 (PG 65, cols 96–97). Theodora 1 (PG 65, col. 201). Ammonas 8 (PG 65, col. 121).

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Cyril.73 Cyril, through cleverness (σοφίᾳ), teaches the simplistic monk, because the bishop’s authority is not such that he can, in the monastic community, directly proclaim doctrinal orthodoxy. The bishop defers to the monk’s gift, letting God correct the monk instead of trying to exert influence himself.74 Although an ecclesiastic’s position itself did not guarantee authority in monastic communities, monks’ position in the Christian community was authoritative enough that heretics courted them and tried to convince them of heretical positions. A group of heretics visits Poimen and tries to turn him against the archbishop of Alexandria; he refuses to listen to them, but he does feed them before sending them away.75 Gelasius refuses to side with the Nestorians and is not fooled by the Nestorian Theodosius’s lies about the outcome of Chalcedon. When Theodosius seizes the newly autonomous see of Jerusalem from Bishop Juvenal, he tries again to obtain Gelasius’s support for himself and Gelasius’s condemnation of Juvenal, because Theodosius recognizes Gelasius’s power over the populace’s beliefs. Gelasius maintains his support of Juvenal, even when threatened with death by the Nestorians.76 Both of these stories indicate that the compiler considered monks authoritative bearers and markers of orthodoxy. This point would have been important in the post-Chalcedonian context of the AP’s compilation, when monks and monasteries found themselves divided over the council’s outcome. For example, the compiler Daniel 8 (PG 65, col. 160). This saying seems out of character with Cyril’s otherwise heavy-handed approach to theological, ecclesiastical, and political affairs (see N. Russell, Cyril of Alexandria, New York, 2000, pp. 1–63). In at least one other instance, Cyril claims that bishops hold authority over monasteries and vehemently denounces theological teaching in monasteries (J. A. McGuckin, “Cyril of Alexandria: Bishop and Pastor,” in The Theology of St. Cyril of Alexandria: A Critical Appreciation, ed. by T. G. Weinandy and D. A. Keating, New York, 2003, pp. 211–22; John McGuckin repeatedly refers to the scholae in Egyptian monasticism that Cyril holds in opposition to the theological teaching of the Alexandrian episcopacy [pp. 213, 215, 217–18], leading Cyril to paint himself repeatedly as a theological schoolmaster because his episcopal authority held much less sway in monastic communities than it did in cities [p. 221]). 75  Poimen 78 (PG 65, col. 341). 76  Gelasius 4 (PG 65, cols 149–52). 73  74 

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includes a story from Phocas, a Palestinian monk who trained in Scetis, about an Egyptian monk named James who could not decide between the pro-Chalcedonian and the anti-Chalcedonian factions in Kellia.77 While the conclusion, given by a vision of Jesus as a child, favors the pro-Chalcedonian church and monks, both sides appear in the saying as deeply concerned for the future of Christianity. Though the anti-Chalcedonians are clearly wrong (as evinced by the vision of Jesus telling James to stay with the Chalcedonians), the saying denigrates neither group, but instead depicts them existing side-by-side in Kellia. The pro-Chalcedonian sayings of Gelasius and Phocas may represent the compiler’s own theology; they certainly represent the compiler’s view that even when broad Christian disputes enter the monasteries, are best solved by monks.78 The compiler of the AP carefully selected the interactions between monks and bishops that he included in his text. Bishops frequently visited monks, monks occasionally visited bishops, and each side made requests of the other that were not necessarily granted. Monks taught and corrected bishops, and bishops taught and corrected monks, but always because of their mutual asceticism and not because of any authority that bishops held over monks. When a monk holds incorrect doctrine, it is God who must correct the monk and not the bishop. When heretical characters need support, they seek authoritative monks who are the markers of orthodoxy. Monks are not overly deferential to bishops, and they are certainly not presented as under the authority and control of the institutional church.79 Phocas 1 (PG 65, cols 432–33). On the Origenist debates, however, the compiler is less clear. He includes a saying that rejects Origenism (Lot 1 [PG 65, cols 253–56]) and a saying that accepts both Origenism and anti-Origenism (Sopatrus 1 [PG 65, col. 413]). Moreover, he includes sayings from monks sympathetic to Origen’s teachings (Evagrius, Cassian, Basil the Great, and Gregory Nazianzen; and possibly Dioscorus, if he is the same Dioscorus of the Tall Brothers) and monks strongly opposed to Origenism (Epiphanius, Theophilus, and Lot). 79  Two further stories require brief mention. Pambo 4 (PG 65, col. 369) uses a request by Athanasius as the conceit for bringing Pambo to Alexandria, where he is shamed by an actress because her devotion to her arts is greater than Pambo’s devotion to his. (Actresses were frequently also prostitutes, and even those who did not sell sex were classed as prostitutes because 77  78 

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The relationship between monks and priests is more fluid, but exhibits some of the same antagonistic features as the relationship between monks and bishops. The priest’s function in the Eucharist defines his primary place alongside a monk’s ascetic practice. Monks respected the role that priests played, and they respected priests who were ascetics; the AP also depicts priests serving monks beyond the Eucharistic ministry. These three functions of the priest (Eucharistic, ascetic, ministerial) represent the positive interactions between monks and priests. Other apophthegms indicate slippages in the relationship, with monks and priests finding themselves at odds with each other. Examining each of these aspects of the relationship between monks and priests reveals that the compiler of the AP viewed priests as necessary and honorable because of their Eucharistic and general ministries, and because monastic priests were also ascetics themselves. That said, the compiler also carefully recounts stories in which monks and priests come into conflict, especially when those situations involve a priest’s hubris. The AP’s compiler relates two miracles that occur in conjunction with the Eucharist or Eucharistic minister. Abba Daniel tells a story of a monk who disbelieved that the Eucharistic elements were Christ’s body and blood. His fellow monks tell him to pray about it, and at the next celebration of the Eucharist the monks see the actions of the priest over the Eucharistic elements mirrored by an angel over the body of a child – each act of consecration happens above the priest’s head, with an angel preparing a divine Eucharist of the body and blood of a child.80 The connection between the priest as minister of the Eucharist and the divine their acting was equated with seduction; see D. R. French, “Maintaining Boundaries: The Status of Actresses in Early Christian Society,” Vigiliae Christianae 52 [1998], pp. 293–318.) Athanasius’s request has little to do with the point of the apophthegm. In Isidore 8 (PG 65, col. 221), Isidore visits Theophilus in Alexandria. When the monks ask him what is happening in the city, they are taught by his asceticism about guarding what their eyes might see. This saying relates more to asceticism than to Isidore’s visit to Theophilus, and in any case Isidore visiting Theophilus could be as simple as a priest visiting the local bishop. 80  Daniel 7 (PG 65, cols 156–60). The disbelieving monk receives the Eucharist as a piece of the child’s bloody flesh, at which point he renounces his disbelief.

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before whom the priest ministers is strong in the presentation of the AP’s compiler. According to the only apophthegm to bear his name, Mark the Egyptian lived as an anchorite for three decades and received the Eucharist from a priest every week. Satan tries to tempt Mark by sending a demon-possessed man to speak evil of the priest; Mark turns away the slanderous accusations by quoting scripture. When the priest next comes to him, God allows Mark to see hidden moments of the Eucharistic service: as the priest starts his preparations, God sends an angel to lay hands on the priest and purify him with divine fire so that the priest can minister before the divine.81 The priest’s role as Eucharistic minister allows him to receive special attention from the divine, similar to the unique relationship between monks and the divine that the AP’s compiler asserts. Monks respect the role that priests play in the Eucharistic ministry, and they respect priests for their connection to God through the Eucharist. As other apophthegms clarify, however, this respect does not necessitate priestly authority over monks. Instead of defining priests as authoritative figures in Christian monasticism, the compiler of the AP primarily portrays them as servants, even apart from their service in consecrating the Eucharist. The monks of Scetis send their priest to Arsenius to bring him to the liturgy, a priest provides for Arsenius’s needs using gifts to the church, and that same priest ministers to Arsenius when he is ill.82 A story about John the Short finds a priest serving drinks at a monastic meal.83 A priest may serve as the penultimate witness when a monk tries to reconcile himself to someone.84 Abba Pior refuses his wages for three years of harvest work and instead directs that the wages be given to the priest in the local church, presumably for the service of the church and the maintenance of the poor – the priest here serves the community through the work of the monk Pior.85 These apophthegms reveal

Mark the Egyptian 1 (PG 65, col. 304). Arsenius 16 (PG 65, col. 92); Abba of Rome 1 (PG 65, cols 385–89) and Arsenius 36 (PG 65, cols 101–04). 83  John the Short 7 (PG 65, col. 205). 84  Poimen 156 (PG 65, col. 360). 85  Pior 1 (PG 65, col. 373). 81 

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that, in addition to their ministry in the Eucharist, priests served the monks in a variety of other ways. Priests provide for monks’ physical needs, function as witnesses, complete a monk’s charity work by receiving the wages of a monk – all part of the general ministerial function of priests. Most importantly in the AP, priests serve as teachers and students of asceticism, a role greater than their general ministry and equal to or greater than their mediating role in the Eucharist. In the AP, many priests are also ascetic practitioners who teach asceticism to monks or learn their asceticism from monks. In one apophthegm, a priest rebukes monks eating in a church for ceasing the ascetic practice of constant prayer in exchange for talking while they eat.86 The priest berates them for their lack of asceticism, noting especially one monk who did not fail in his prayers, even while eating. Poimen remembers Isidore, the priest of Scetis, as a teacher of asceticism, and the priest Timothy recounts what he learned from Poimen.87 Isidore’s authority as a teacher derives from his ascetic practice in a monastic context (as does Poimen’s authority), not from Isidore’s ecclesiastical position. This example of a non-ecclesiastic monk (Poimen) teaching a monk-priest (Timothy) is not unique. An unnamed priest of Nitria goes to Abba Pambo to seek advice on how the Nitrian monks should practice asceticism,88 and Eulogius the priest learns advanced ascetic practice from the monk Joseph.89 Benjamin, a priest at Kellia, finds himself shamed in his ascetic practice by the old monks of Scetis, and another priest of Kellia, Isaac, recounts teachings from his monastic guides, some of whom were not ecclesiastics.90 Monk-priests sometimes received their ascetic training mediated through divine revelation, as did Antony.91 The aforementioned Isaiah 4 (PG 65, col. 181). Poimen 44 (PG 65, col. 332); Timothy 1 (PG 65, col. 429). 88  Pambo 11 (PG 65, col. 372). 89  Eulogius 1 (PG 65, cols 169–72). 90  Benjamin 1–2 (PG 65, col. 144); Isaac Priest of Kellia 2 (PG 65, col. 224). Note that one of Isaac’s teachers is Theodore of Pherme, who was ordained to be a deacon for Scetis but refused to serve (Theodore of Pherme 25 [PG 65, col. 193]). 91  Antony 1–2 (PG 65, col. 76), 14 (PG 65, col. 80), 26 (PG 65, col. 84), 30 (PG 65, col. 85). 86  87 

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Isidore receives divine revelation showing him a young monk’s severe asceticism; this revelation teaches Isidore about perfection in practice and allows him to teach his fellow monks.92 A unique situation causes the priest Moses to break the ascetic directive of the superiors at Scetis in order to fulfill the divine directive of hospitality.93 The respect accorded to Moses rests on his discernment in ascetic practice. These apophthegms indicate that priests, who serve the monks or are monks themselves, command respect because of their asceticism, alongside their mediating position with the divine in the Eucharistic ministry. This mutual ascetic respect does not eliminate conflict between monks and bishops. Abba Poimen does not violate his ascetic practice of silence because of a visit from a delegation of local priests, despite other monks wishing him to do so.94 The monk Nicon is falsely accused of raping a girl, and the charges lead the local priests to beat him and attempt to drive him away.95 Some of the presentations of priests in the AP, such as in the story about Abba Nicon, portray the priests as haughty arbiters of morality without foundation for their judgments. In Nicon’s case, they believed the lies of another against the piety of the monk. In another case, a monk who has committed an unrecorded sin is removed from the church by a priest; Bessarion, reminding the priest and those present that everyone is a sinner, leaves with the offending monk.96 Another priest, hearing about the ascetic foibles of a group of monks, removes the monastic habit from them. He reconsiders later and visits Poimen, who reminds the priest that everyone sins; the priest repents and reclothes the monks.97 The AP’s compiler carefully demonstrates that priests, like monks and the laity, are not above sinful behavior. The compiler even records an apophthegm in which a monk is falsely accused of murder, and Abba Milesius must question the dead man to find the real Carion 2 (PG 65, cols 249–52). Moses 5 (PG 65, col. 284). 94  Poimen 3 (PG 65, col. 317). 95  Nicon 1 (PG 65, col. 309). 96  Bessarion 7 (PG 65, col. 141). 97  Poimen 11 (PG 65, cols 324–25). It is unclear why the priest believes that he has the authority to defrock the monks, or whether the monks accepted his authority. 92 

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killer – the priest of the local church killed the man and framed the monk by planting the body in the monastery.98 While monks and priests accorded each other some measure of mutual respect, their interactions were far from an idealized hierarchical model. The compiler selects stories that show monks falsely accused or mistreated by priests, thereby highlighting difficulties in the relationship. Monks and priests, as presented in the AP, show mutual respect based on shared asceticism and the priest’s role in the Eucharist. Monks and priests teach each other ascetic techniques, and monks honor priests who properly serve their function as Eucharistic ministers. The compiler, though, deliberately depicts priests serving monks outside of the Eucharist, and he demonstrates that the relationship could be strained by the arrogance of some priests who act as arbiters of sin and punishment. c.  Ecclesiastic Monks Monk-ecclesiastics in the AP experience an ambivalent, sometimes uneasy, relationship with other monks, similar to non-monastic ecclesiastics. The AP’s compiler identifies eighteen characters explicitly as ecclesiastics either in the sayings or in the headings.99 The vast majority of these figures appear primarily as ascetics and only secondarily as ecclesiastics – their apophthegms portray them as teachers of asceticism, with authority that derives from their ascetic practice. Most sayings by or about ecclesiastical monks address aspects of monastic life, including generalized ascetic practice, the interpretation of scripture, and Christian living. These topics have minimal relevance to the character’s position as an ecclesiastic, and any such mention is usuMilesius 1 (PG 65, col. 297). Gregory Nazianzen, headlined in the text as Gregory the Theologian (Περὶ τοῦ ἀββᾶ Γρηγορίου τοῦ θεολόγου; PG 65, col. 145), has his own section with two apophthegms. He is not identified as an ecclesiastic, though, in the text. Even presuming that the readers of the AP knew that Gregory was a bishop, his presence in the AP is minimal (two short apophthegms) and his sayings address life as a Christian generally (Gregory the Theologian 1 [PG 65, col. 145]) or as an ascetic specifically (Gregory the Theologian 2 [PG 65, col. 145]). Because he is not explicitly identified as an ecclesiastic in the text, and because nothing in his sayings contradict the thesis of this section, I do not include him in this examination of ecclesiastic-monks in the AP. 98 

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ally incidental. Of the 137 apophthegms under the headings of the eighteen ecclesiastics in the AP, 86 percent (118 apophthegms) primarily concern living as a Christian monk.100 The presentation of monk-bishops, monk-priests, and monk-deacons in the AP emphasizes their ascetic training. While this emphasis may be a function of genre,101 the intentional actions of the compiler in the presentations of these ecclesiastical monks, in addition to his presentation of the relationships between monks and ecclesiastics, suggests a bias against ecclesiastical control of monks. The nineteen non-asceticism-focused apophthegms of ecclesiastic-monks reveal the compiler’s bias against ecclesiastical authority over monastic systems. Most of these apophthegms can be grouped into three categories: stories about the changes that ordination brings or the lack of desire for ordination; stories that portray monks and ecclesiastic-monks teaching or correcting each other; and stories about ecclesiastic-monks who perform miracles. In the first category, Apphy and Netras resent the changes to their asceticism that ordination to the episcopacy causes; Matoes and Theodore of Pherme refuse to serve in their ecclesiastic capacities after being ordained as a priest and a deacon respectively; and Isaac priest of Kellia flees his ordination before capitulating.102 For Apphy and Netras, the changes to their ascetic practice are lamentable. Theodore’s refusal to serve stems from his inability to Ammonas 1–9 (PG 65, cols 120–21), 11 (PG 65, col. 124); Benjamin 1–5 (PG 65, cols 144–45); Epiphanius Bishop of Cyprus 5–17 (PG 65, cols 164– 68); Eulogius 1 (PG 65, cols 169–72); Theodore of Pherme 1–24 (PG 65, cols 188–93), 26–29 (PG 65, cols 193–96); Theophilus the Archbishop 4–5 (PG 65, cols 200–01); Isidore 1–9 and S1 (PG 65, cols 220–21; Guy, Recherches, pp. 24–25; the supplemental saying appears in most manuscripts); Isaac Priest of Kellia 2–12 (PG 65, cols 224–28); Isidore the Priest 1–7 (PG 65, cols 233– 36); Moses 1–7 (PG 65, cols 281–85), 9–18 (PG 65, cols 285–89; Moses 14–18 appear under a different heading, “Seven Instructions of Abba Moses to Abba Poimen,” in most manuscripts [Guy, Recherches, p. 27]); Matoes 1–8 (PG 65, cols 289–92), 10–13 (PG 65, col. 293); Motius 1–2 (PG 65, col. 300). 101  A function of genre either because the sayings preserved orally were those that the monks considered the most useful (i.e., apophthegms concerning the ascetic life) or because the text was a manual that taught ascetic living with the examples of esteemed monks. 102  Apphy 1 (PG 65, col. 133); Netras 1 (PG 65, col. 311); Matoes 9 (PG 65, cols 292–93); Theodore of Pherme 25 (PG 65, col. 193); Isaac Priest of Kellia 1 (PG 65, col. 224). 100 

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perform the kind of severe asceticism that ministering before the divine would require. Matoes’ refusal to perform the ministry of the priesthood finds roots in his forced ordination and his unwillingness to serve. Isaac of Kellia flees only until he interprets a sign as God’s exhortation to serve in the priesthood. These five characters avoid or lament their ordination, mainly because of its detrimental effect on the primary ascetic duty of the monk. In the second category, ecclesiastics (Ammonas and Epiphanius103) teach monks better ascetic practices, and ecclesiastics (Theophilus and Timothy104) learn both ascetic and pastoral practices from monks. That the teachers and the taught in this category are primarily bishops105 is significant. The ecclesiastical status of the individual does not correspond to his position as a teacher of asceticism. The old men of the desert, be they ecclesiastical or non-ecclesiastical monks, are the best teachers of asceticism. Even the archbishop of Alexandria, Theophilus, is not above instruction by his ascetic betters. Indeed, ascetic practice and devotion to God undergird the apophthegms about Abba Spyridon’s miracles that constitute the third category.106 Both of the miracles that he performs serve the physical needs of other people: in the first instance he teaches salvation to thieves, then gives them a ram; in the second instance he raises the spirit of his dead daughter to find a deposit left with her by another person. The AP’s compiler emphasizes these miracles and Spyridon’s devotion in these apophthegms; his status as a bishop is incidental and given only as the conceit for the first story (even as a bishop, his humility was such that he remained a shepherd). The final category rests on the same bias as the other two categories: ecclesiastical monks are not honored for their 103  Ammonas 10 (PG 65, cols 121–24); Epiphanius Bishop of Cyprus 3–4 (PG 65, col. 164). 104  Theophilus the Archbishop 1–3 (PG 65, cols 197–200); Timothy 1 (PG 65, col. 429). 105  The only exception to the bishops as teachers or learners is Timothy, a priest, learning pastoral care from Poimen (Timothy 1 [PG 65, col. 429]). 106  Spyridon 1–2 (PG 65, cols 417–20). On Spyridon, the fourth-century bishop of Trimithus, Cyprus, see the accounts of his life (three anonymous, one by Bishop Theodorus of Paphos) in P. van den Ven, La légende de S. Spyridon, évêque de Trimithonte, Leuven, 1953 (Bibliothèque du Muséon, 33).

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ecclesiastical position but are honored because of their character and way of life. By portraying ecclesiastic monks in this way, the compiler of the AP tacitly indicates that authority does not rest in ecclesiastical office, but in the ascetic life followed by devoted monks. The remaining non-asceticism-focused apophthegms generally follow this pattern of portraying ecclesiastical monks as ascetics foremost. The story of Basil the Great finding his next priest from among monks emphasizes the ascetic virtue of obedience.107 Peter of Dios’s refusal to pray before the altar even though he is a priest represents ascetic humility.108 Abba Moses, a priest, encounters a governmental official on the road traveling to see him but keeps his identity secret. When the official asks for the cell of the monk Moses, Moses disparages himself to the official, who returns to the church and tells its priests the story. When the priests hear the official’s story and his description of the monk, they explain to the official that it was Abba Moses himself who spoke to the official, and that Moses dissuaded the official from visiting in order to practice the ascetic ideal of retreat.109 The non-asceticism-focused sayings of the ecclesiastic monks emphasize ascetic practice: ordination changes asceticism; monks and ecclesiastics teach asceticism equally; miracles correlate to divine devotion and not ecclesiastical position; and ecclesiastical monks perform their ascetic duties even to the exclusion of ecclesiastical duties. Overall even ecclesiastical monks are monks foremost. Their ecclesiastical status is either incidental or a hindrance to their asceticism, and their authority derives from their ascetic practices and not their positions as bishops or priests.

Basil the Great 1 (PG 65, col. 137). Peter of Dios 1 (PG 65, col. 385). 109  Moses 8 (PG 65, col. 285). The two final apophthegms (Epiphanius Bishop of Cyprus 1–2 [PG 65, cols 161–64]) portray Epiphanius relating stories about the archbishops Athanasius and Theophilus and their dealings with the Alexandrian Serapium: Athanasius predicts the death of Emperor Julian after a challenge from worshipers there, and Theophilus takes over the temple while a crowd at the hippodrome mocks Jesus with chants. These stories illustrate the triumph of Christianity over paganism and have little to do with the relationships between monks and ecclesiastics or the portrayal of ecclesiastics in the AP. 107 

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d.  Monks, Ecclesiastics, and Authority Bishops and priests, and one deacon, appear throughout the AP. Sometimes these figures are monks themselves. The interactions between ecclesiastics and the non-ecclesiastic monks who constitute the majority of the figures in the AP reveal how the compiler viewed ecclesiastical-monastic relations. The primary relationship between the two groups was mutual asceticism, and under the guise of shared practice the two groups respected each other and taught each other. In addition, priests garnered monastic respect by ministering to monastic communities, both through the Eucharist and through service. Monk-priests found themselves between the two worlds, owing obedience to their bishops while functioning in a sphere that maintained its autonomy of power and authority. The AP’s compiler also presents slippages in the relationship. Monks viewed ordination as detrimental to their asceticism, and that change caused some monks to avoid the office or refuse to serve after ordination. In other instances, the compiler of the AP presents bishops and priests as interfering figures who violate monks’ practices or attempt to control monks or monastic institutions; some priests are even depicted as arrogant or impious in their attempts to control monasticism. The AP’s compiler clearly argues for the autonomy of monastic institutions – while some overlap is necessary (some bishops come from monasteries, some priests serve the Eucharist to monks), the authority and power of each sphere should stay confined to that sphere. The AP divests bishops, priests, and deacons of authority in or power over monastic communities, at least insofar as concerns their ecclesiastical positions. Monks in the AP respect ecclesiastics for their asceticism or their piety, but they show no deference to their ecclesiastical offices. Each group teaches and helps the other, but the compiler constructs the characters of ecclesiastics such that they appear as secondary players in the drama of the desert. The compiler’s primary concerns are ascetic, and his main characters are monks. Authority and power reside with righteous teachers of asceticism, regardless of their ecclesiastic standing. A monk and bishop-monk held equal authority in monastic communities, as long as their asceticism was equal. Because of this concept, the Antony of the AP can exclaim, “A great pillar of the church just

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fell!”, and mean that a young monk had just committed a sin.110 The AP’s pillars of the church – the authoritative figures of Christianity – are monks. 2. Authority in Palestine The AP is not the only text of Palestinian provenance to question or complicate the domains of ecclesiastical and monastic authority. Examples from some of the later monastic vitae also suggest competition for authority. Three of these include Cyril of Scythopolis’s Lives of the Monks of Palestine (of which the lives of Euthymius and Sabas are the longest and most important),111 the anonymous Life of Chariton,112 and some of the writings of Dorotheos of Gaza.113 These sources demonstrate that authority was debated in the Palestinian context in which the AP was collected, Antony 14 (PG 65, col. 80). Μέγας στύλος τῆς Ἐκκλησίας ἄρτι ἔπεσεν. Cyril of Scythopolis, Lives of the Monks of Palestine, ed. by E. Schwartz, in Kyrillos von Skythopolis, Leipzig, 1939 (Texte und Untersuchungen zur Ge­schichte der altchristlichen Literatur, 49.2); trans. by R. M. Price, Lives of the Monks of Palestine, Kalamazoo, MI, 1991 (Cistercian Studies, 114). On Cyril’s life and his hagiographical project, including the sources Cyril accessed, see B.  Flusin, Miracle et histoire dans l’œuvre de Cyrille de Scythopolis, Paris, 1983; for an exploration of Cyril’s work in the context of the second Origenist controversy, see D. I. Hombergen, The Second Origenist Controversy: A  New Perspective on Cyril of Scythopolis’ Monastic Biographies as Historical Sources for Sixth-Century Origenism, Rome, 2001 (Studia Anselmiana, 132). 112  Life of Chariton, ed. by G. Garitte, in “La Vie prémétaphrastique de s. Chariton,” Bulletin de l’Institut historique Belge de Rome 21 (1941), pp. 5–50; trans. by L. Di Segni, “The Life of Chariton,” in Ascetic Behavior in GrecoRoman Antiquity: A Sourcebook, ed. V.  L. Wimbush, Minneapolis, 1990, pp. 393–421. 113  Dorotheos of Gaza, Instructions, ed. by L. Regnault and J. de Préville, in Oeuvres Spirituelles, Paris, 1963 (SC, 92); trans. by E. P. Wheeler, Discourses and Sayings, Kalamazoo, MI, 1977 (Cistercian Studies, 33). On Dorotheos’s educational system mimicking, in many regards, classical philosophical education to teach monks how to achieve union with the divine by attaining virtue, see J. R. Stenger, “What does it Mean to Call the Monasteries of Gaza a ‘School’? A Reassessment of Dorotheus’ Intellectual Identity,” Vigiliae Christianae 71 (2017), pp. 59–84. Kyle A. Schenkewitz reads Dorotheos’s emphasis on the ascetic attainment of virtue through the lens of Dorotheos’s understanding of sickness and healing, making Dorotheos’s approach novel in Gazan monasticism (K. A. Schenkewitz, Dorotheos of Gaza 110  111 

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and some of the relevant passages from the AP appear in these texts. In short, contested authority pervaded the Palestinian monastic context and likely drove the AP’s production. In writing about his ascetic predecessors and contemporaries, Cyril of Scythopolis reveals a desire to unify the disparate realms of Christianity – church (attached to politics) and monastery – into one integrated Christian community, uniting cathedral, coenobium, and Constantinople.114 In his life of Euthymius, Cyril links education to monks (though monks in the cathedral), and he links ascetic attainment to ordination in ecclesiastical positions – like Antony, Euthymius begins his ascetic practice in the church, leading to his reluctant ordination as a priest.115 Euthymius, however, is a philomonachos, and viewing both his ordination and his episcopal charge to oversee regional monasteries as inimical to leading a virtuous life, he abdicates and flees to the desert near Jerusalem.116 His example for living the life of virtue, according to Euthymius’s disciples, was the Egyptian monk Arsenius, of AP fame, allowing Euthymius to receive great spiritual gifts by imitating Arsenius.117 Though ordained, Euthymius flees his ecclesiastical duties in favor of a life imitating Arsenius, a monk connected to Scetis – from which Poimen fled to Palestine. Cyril carefully presents Euthymius as fully orthodox, according to the ecclesiastical definition – he opposed Origenism, Arianism, Nestorianism, and all the other theological definitions that did not follow the findings of the first four ecumenical councils.118 In fact, Euthymius tells an episcopal attendee of the Council of Ephesus to follow carefully the doctrinal statements of Cyril of Alexandria when deciding the Christological controversy.119 The monk Euthymius judges orthodoxy for the Palestinian bishops, though and the Discourse of Healing in Gazan Monasticism, New York, 2016 [American University Studies, Series 7, Theology and Religion, 357]). 114  J.  Binns, Ascetics and Ambassadors of Christ: The Monasteries of Palestine 314–631, New York, 1994, pp. 36–40. 115  Cyril of Scythopolis, Lives 11.9–13.17. 116  Cyril of Scythopolis, Lives 13.17–14.2. 117  Cyril of Scythopolis, Lives 34. 118  Cyril of Scythopolis, Lives 39.18–41.3. 119  Cyril of Scythopolis, Lives 32.6–33.31, with the statement at 32.25– 33.6.

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his own marker of orthodoxy was the Egyptian bishop of Alexandria. Cyril of Scythopolis further writes about Euthymius in the immediate aftermath of the Council of Chalcedon. Euthymius supports the Chalcedonian definition, but is caught in the ensuing infighting between the supporters of Theodosius (the anti-Chalcedonian bishop who seized the episcopacy of Jerusalem) and Juvenal (the pro-Chalcedonian original bishop of Jerusalem).120 He argues for the findings of the council, in part, because it affirms the teachings of Cyril of Alexandria. Euthymius persuaded some, but not all, of the monks near him to follow Chalcedon, and himself decided to leave the vicinity of Jerusalem for two years to get away from the anti-Chalcedonian bishop Theodosius.121 Cyril of Scythopolis presents Euthymius as a pious defender of Christianity, and for Cyril’s Euthymius the bishop of Alexandria serves as the ultimate marker of orthodoxy. Euthymius’s relationship to episcopal power is more complex than Cyril’s narrative indicates at first. Despite his close connection to bishops in Cyril’s Lives, Euthymius refuses a visit from the successor of Juvenal, Anastasius, in a story almost identical to Abba Arsenius’s in the AP.122 Anastasius eventually meets with Euthymius at the funeral of another early leader of the Palestinian monastic community, Theoctistus. The monk and bishop exchange polite requests, resulting in Anastasius recognizing the priority of the monk over monastic affairs by stating that Euthymius should appoint Theoctistus’s successor.123 Even the ordering of the requests indicates something about power dynamics. The bishop asks for Euthymius’s continued support and for his advice, whereas Euthymius follows with a request for the bishop’s prayers – he does not say that he will advise the bishop, and does not ask for the bishop’s advice. Anastasius then asks for prayers from the monk, and Euthymius asks the bishop to oversee the monastery, now leaderless after the death of Theoctistus. The bishop refuses

120  In the AP, see Gelasius 4 for another monk caught in the Chalcedonian struggles (PG 65, cols 149–52). 121  Cyril of Scythopolis, Lives 41.4–45.5. 122  Cyril of Scythopolis, Lives 51.22–52.18; Arsenius 8 (PG 65, col. 89). 123  Cyril of Scythopolis, Lives 54.11–55.19.

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and acknowledges Euthymius’s oversight in this matter; then the bishop leaves. The story is rife with unspoken tension. The bishop surprises Euthymius while he is mourning his longtime friend Theoctistus. The requests take on the qualities of a passive-aggressive struggle, with the unsaid revealing more than the words themselves. Euthymius does not match the bishop’s request for advice, instead asking for his prayers, and raises the stakes by bringing up the camel in the room – with the centers of episcopal and monastic power around Jerusalem standing here together, who will decide on the successor to the monastic establishment previously overseen by Theoctistus? This strange exchange may reflect what actually happened, or may be a reconstruction by Cyril of Scythopolis; in either case, there is a tension between the two loci of power, resolved when the bishop acknowledges Euthymius’s preeminence over monastic concerns. Some stories from Euthymius’s life indicate an unwillingness to engage bishops or Euthymius’s own ecclesiastical duties – he flees after his ordination; he supports Chalcedon but withdraws rather than continue to fight over the correct bishop; and he distances himself from another bishop of Jerusalem. Perhaps his reluctance to engage in ecclesiastical affairs is why Cyril of Scythopolis writes so strongly that Euthymius used Cyril of Alexandria to argue for supporting Chalcedon. The details of his life and some of his speeches (perhaps constructed by Cyril to tie Euthymius more closely to the episcopacy of Jerusalem) seem at odds. Cyril of Scythopolis similarly presents Sabas, the famous Palestinian monk and a disciple of both Theoctistus and Euthymius, as a monk with a complex relationship to the Palestinian clergy.124 After Sabas founds his own monastery, the Great Lavra, some monks attempt to seize control from Sabas by attacking his character, education, and lack of ordination before the bishop of Jerusalem. The bishop and his clerics rebuff the dissatisfied monks,

In addition to the literary evidence from Cyril of Scythopolis, Joseph Patrich has uncovered a substantial amount of archaeological evidence for Sabas, his peers, and successors (J. Patrich, Sabas, Leader of Palestinian Monasticism: A Comparative Study in Eastern Monasticism, Fourth to Seventh Centuries, Washington, DC, 1995 [Dumbarton Oaks Studies, 32]). 124 

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and ordain Sabas, ostensibly to quell further dissent.125 Sabas appears only as an object in this entire pericope. We do not hear his voice, we are not told his thoughts, and know only the actions of others on or toward Sabas. Sabas is ordained in an ambush by the bishop, who asks him to come to Jerusalem under false pretenses. Ordination by ambush, while not entirely uncommon, was not preferred, and Sabas’s voice on this matter is silenced by the account. Perhaps because his life presents fewer obstacles to tying monks to bishops, Cyril does not need to construct speeches for Sabas, as Cyril did for Euthymius. In another account, the dying bishop of Jerusalem, Sallustius, ordains Sabas and another monk, Theodosius, as archimandrites over the monasteries and monks of Palestine at the urging of the collected monks.126 Again, as with his ordination to the priesthood, Cyril silences Sabas’s voice – we do not know his thoughts, words, or reactions to being placed in this position by the bishop. Perhaps his silence is unsurprising because, unlike Euthymius, Sabas in the Lives of the Monks of Palestine speaks only rarely. The stories about him primarily recount his actions, and what others did to him or said about him. When he occasionally speaks, he defends orthodox doctrine at the urging of the bishop of Jerusalem. The Council of Chalcedon had failed to unite Christianity and had instead splintered Christianity into the pro- and anti-Chalcedonian factions, with most of Egypt following the anti-Chalcedonian sentiment. The emperor had attempted to reconcile the eastern bishops by rejecting Chalcedon and deposing pro-Chalcedonian bishops, but had failed because of unanticipated episcopal alliances. One such alliance included the bishop Elias of Jerusalem, who fell from favor with the emperor, and who sent Sabas and other monks to help make peace. Sabas defended both the bishop and the people of Jerusalem, and found imperial favor in Constantinople during his extended stay there, addressing the emperor on behalf of the bishop in some of his longest speeches in Cyril’s Lives.127 Cyril of Scythopolis, Lives 103.8–105.2. Cyril of Scythopolis, Lives 113.24–115.26. 127  The entire stay in Constantinople appears in Cyril of Scythopolis, Lives 139.20–147.9. 125 

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Cyril consistently portrays Sabas as defender of the whole of Palestinian Christianity, clergy and laity alike, in his interactions outside the monastic community. In another story, Sabas ends a drought after the bishop of Jerusalem fails to find water for the city in new wells, with the primary entreaty of the bishop being for the laity.128 Sabas again travels to Constantinople at the behest of the Palestinian bishops to ask the emperor to relieve the taxes levied on the Palestinian Christians so that they may rebuild after an anti-Christian uprising – and Sabas tacks onto this request a suggestion that the emperor expel the Arians, Nestorians, and Origenists from Palestine.129 As in his previous interaction with imperial power, Sabas appears as the arm of the bishop and the defender of not only the people of Palestine, but also the orthodoxy of Christianity. In this way Cyril links two uses of the holy person – his appeal to the imagination of the common people130 and his frequent deployment in theological disputes – to the episcopacy of Jerusalem. The bishop employs all means at his disposal, including the monks, to care for the physical and spiritual needs of the church. The end of the “Life of Sabas” reveals that theological disputes fueled Cyril’s writing: Sabas is dead, and the fate of his monasteries is threatened by “Origenists” and anti-Chalcedonians who are finally defeated (in Cyril’s view) at the Second Council of Constantinople.131 Cyril’s presentation of both Euthymius and Sabas is complex. These are men whose primary concerns are ascetic, but they find themselves caught in the affairs of church and imperial politics.132 Cyril of Scythopolis, Lives 167.25–169.24. Cyril of Scythopolis, Lives 171.26–178.18. 130  See P. Brown, “The Rise and Function of the Holy Man in Late Antiquity,” Journal of Roman Studies 61 (1971), pp. 80–101. 131  Cyril of Scythopolis, Lives 187.28–200.16. 132  Cornelia B. Horn explores the life of another Palestinian monk who opposed Chalcedon. Peter the Iberian’s life, as written by his disciple John Rufus, finds him unconcerned with arguing his anti-Chalcedonian position. He instead strove to prove his theological convictions through his asceticism (C. B. Horn, Asceticism and Christological Controversy in Fifth-Century Palestine: The Career of Peter the Iberian, Oxford, 2006). His approach resembles the approach of the AP’s compiler, who preferred monks to remain concerned with monastic affairs instead of becoming embroiled on one side or the other of a theological debate. 128  129 

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Euthymius is more successful in removing himself from broader debates, necessitating Cyril’s use of speeches to connect him to the episcopacy, but Sabas is employed frequently by the bishops to plead orthodox Christianity’s case. Euthymius and Sabas both lead their monastic communities, and in some instances they are more obviously connected to the divine than their episcopal counterparts, who seek the favors of these famous monks. Yet the clergy attempt to enlist these monks in their disputes, even to the point of using Sabas as an emissary to two emperors. Two other texts present a different perspective in Palestine, characterizing the primary concerns of the monk as ascetic, not ecclesiastic or doctrinal. The first is the sixth-century Life of Chariton, in which the anonymous author constructs the life of a fourth-century monk whose only concern is ascetic. He is persecuted for his Christianity, not for his orthodoxy or theological viewpoints, and he builds monasteries and gains a large following; wider church affairs appear only incidentally.133 At the end of Chariton’s life, the author describes him making a detailed exhortation to his followers on living the ascetic life – at no point in this speech do bishops or the broader church appear, except in a short section on avoiding Arians.134 Quotations from and allusions to scripture fill the speech, but it contains nothing regarding the authority of ecclesiastics. Instead, the author appeals to Chariton’s way of life and teachings, and compares him to the apostles, prophets, martyrs, and teachers within Christian and Jewish history.135 He is compared to Enoch and Melchizedek who, while mentioned only briefly in scripture, are no less important than others (such as Abraham and Moses) who have more space devoted to their lives.136 His life is one of asceticism, purely and simply. Similarly, Dorotheos of Gaza writes his sixth-century treatise Περὶ Ἀποταγῆς, “Concerning Renunciation,” on the typology and practice of the ascetic life, including discussions of what each

133  Life of Chariton 1–24. At the end of 13, the author mentions a church built by one of the attendees of Nicaea. 134  Life of Chariton 25–36, with the Arians in 27. 135  Life of Chariton 37–41. 136  Life of Chariton 43.

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article of clothing worn by a monk signifies.137 At no point does the life of renunciation involve the authority of ecclesiastics. His renunciation relies on a heavy dose of scripture and a lighter dose of stories and sayings from the monks, including from the AP.138 As with the literature from other parts of the Mediterranean throughout the late antique and early Byzantine periods, there were a variety of approaches to the question of authority in Palestine.139 Cyril of Scythopolis stands toward one end of the debate (though not without complication), and Dorotheos and the anonymous author of the Life of Chariton stand with the AP toward the other end. All of these texts indicate that the question of authority pervaded Palestine in the period during and after the AP’s compilation. Whether bishops and priests could intervene or interfere in the lives of monks, and whether monks should avoid the affairs of the broader Christian community, concerned Palestinian authors as much as Egyptian authors. Given the turmoil in Christianity in the eastern Mediterranean during the mid- to late fifth and early sixth centuries, it is no wonder that monastic authors, standing in the tradition of Egypt, questioned the role of ecclesiastics in monastic affairs. As established in chapter one, the period of the AP’s compilation in Palestine was one of upheaval, with intra-Christian debates raging and each side trying to win the loyalty of the monks. The fifth century – including the Council of Ephesus in 431, the Second “Robber” Council of Ephesus in 449, the Council of Chalcedon Instructions 1.1–25. Amoun of Nitria 3 (PG 65, col. 128) in Instructions 1.23; Basil the Great 1 (PG 65, col. 137) in Instructions 1.24. In Instructions 1.19, Dorotheos quotes an anonymous apophthegm, N55 (ed. by F. Nau, in “Histories des solitaires égyptiens,” Revue d’ orient chrétien 12 [1907], p. 180). As noted in the first chapter, manuscripts often contain the anonymous collection appended to the alphabetic collection, so the presence of sayings from both collections in the same text may indicate that Dorotheos had access to a copy of the alphabetic-anonymous AP. 139  Jennifer L. Hevelone-Harper demonstrates how the complex power dynamics present in Egypt and Palestine during the fourth and fifth centuries had stabilized in Gaza by the sixth century to a more cooperative relationship between bishops and monks (J. L. Hevelone-Harper, Disciples of the Desert: Monks, Laity, and Spiritual Authority in Sixth-Century Gaza, Baltimore, 2005, pp. 106–18). 137 

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in 451, shifting episcopal and imperial allegiances, and deep divisions over the holders and markers of catholic orthodoxy – found monks in Egypt, Palestine, Syria, and Constantinople advocating for or against particular sides. Sometimes their advocacy was intentional and active, and sometimes it was passive and foisted upon them by bishops both in and outside their region. The Palestinian monks, in particular, felt the weight of these debates. The movement of renunciation flourished in Palestine in the fifth century,140 while it was waning in Egypt following a series of attacks on monasteries and the migration of monks into Gaza and Palestine. Regarding monks, the Christological controversy of the fifth century mirrored fights over orthodoxy and even Christianity itself in Egypt – monks were players (both willingly and unwillingly) in the Arian disputes, the first Origenist controversy, and the efforts of Alexandrian bishops to stamp out non-Christian religious and cultic practices. That monks are embattled again during the Christological contests of the late fifth century is no surprise. 3. Conclusion: Power and Authority in the AP The texts produced in Palestine, like other Christian texts produced throughout the late antique and early Byzantine Mediterranean, evince complex dynamics of authority. Bishops shifted allegiances and manipulated politics to advocate their theological and political perspectives. In trying to enhance their positions, neither ecclesiastics nor political officials could ignore the laity or the monks. Monks in particular made useful allies and powerful enemies, so frequently they stood at or near the center of disputes. Monastic texts tend to take one or another perspective – monks invest themselves in the affairs of bishops, or the monastic system sits apart from the wider church and focuses on higher things. The AP suggests that monks should remain apart from the concerns of the wider church, and that monks should not involve themselves in ecclesiastical (and increasingly, political141) affairs. When 140  Yizhar Hirschfeld supports the documentary record of the flourishing of Palestinian monasticism with substantial archaeological evidence (Y. Hirschfeld, The Judean Monasteries in the Byzantine Period, New Haven, 1992). 141  For some of the monastic reluctance to be involved in politics, see Z.  B. Smith, “Monks and Empire: Asceticism and Political (Dis)Engage-

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compared to the ecclesiastical histories, the AP’s compiler mutes monastic involvement in the Arian debates and Origenist controversy, and downplays the violence sometimes associated with Theophilus’s and Cyril’s engagement with monks. Perhaps he elides these difficulties because, in some instances, they depict monks willingly obeying bishops; or perhaps the compiler’s portrayal of the relationships between monks and the broader church indicates that he wants to keep monks, as much as possible, untainted by arguments that embroil the wider Christian community. In either case, the AP suggests that monks and ecclesiastics should hold different areas of concern, without one group infringing on the other. The compiler of the AP substantiates his tacit argument for a two-sphere, parallel ecclesiastical and monastic Christian system by appealing to the philosophical system of self-care, the classical Greco-Roman teaching and practice of asceticism. The concept of self-care formed a major part of the ancient and late ancient Mediterranean intellectual milieu and finds its way into the sayings preserved by the AP’s compiler. Monks derive their authority in the monastic system by practicing and teaching of self-care, so the compiler argues that monasticism supplants the philosophical schools; its politeia should form a monk’s primary concern. Instead of worrying about theological debates and political assertions concerning “correct” theology, monks should take care of themselves. The AP encapsulates this use of self-care almost at the very beginning of the text, when God tells Antony to “Keep your attention on yourself.”142 Self-care forms the answer to every request to “give a word” in the AP, and the AP’s Christian conception of self-care represents an appropriation and reformation of Greco-Roman philosophical self-care. The following chapter examines ancient and late antique self-care in Greek and Roman philosophy. The subsequent chapter considers the compiler’s presentation of self-care in the AP to support his claim that Christian monasticism exists as a separate system from institutional, ecclesiastical Christianity.

ment in Late Antiquity,” in Religion and Politics, ed. R. A. Simkins and Z. B. Smith, Journal of Religion and Society Supplement 14 (2017), pp. 14–27 (http://moses.creighton.edu/JRS/toc/SS14.html). 142  Antony 2 (PG 65, col. 76). σεαυτῷ πρόσεχε.

SECTION II: Self-Care and the Philosopher-Monks Section two (chapters four and five) demonstrates the ubiquity of self-care in classical and late antique philosophy, then illustrates how the compiler of the Apophthegmata Patrum places monks in the self-care tradition as the heirs to the philosophical schools. Self-care is the foundation of most systems of classical and late antique philosophy, consisting of a problem in human existence and a process of active resolution. If the goal of philosophia is wisdom itself, the path to wisdom is self-care. Likewise, if the goal of monasticism is theosis, the path to divinization is self-care.

CHAPTER 4: Self-Care in Classical and Late Antiquity “Self-care” describes a system of thought, with a variety of expressions, found in philosophical and religious texts spanning the seven centuries from Plato to Proclus.1 In its simplest terms, self-care philosophy identified a problem in humanity (pneumatic deformity due to the passions) and proposed a solution (a system of ascetic practices that reformed the soul). It developed into a worldview that addressed the soul’s initial state, the goal of humanity, the disconnect between the soul’s state and humanity’s goal, a variety of protreptic imperatives to reform the soul, specific techniques (asceticism) for realizing the soul’s reformation, structures for training in and propagating self-care, and descriptions of the ultimate realization of the goal of self-care. While some of the specifics of these elements varied across philosophies or religions, nearly all philosophies and religions of the late antique Mediterranean participated in this self-care milieu. Part one of this chapter identifies some problems in theoretical scholarship on self-care, then proposes a new approach to understanding and identifying self-care in antiquity and late antiquity. Part two 1  While the origins of the term are classical, other scholars use different nomenclature. Briefly, Pierre Hadot uses both “philosophy” and “spiritual exercises,” while Michel Foucault prefers “cultivation of the self,” and AndréJean Festugière uses “reflective piety.” Many scholars (including Peter Brown and Elizabeth A. Clark) simply term it “asceticism.” “Philosophy,” sometimes divided into “philosophy of mind” and “ethics,” is the preferred term for Martha C. Nussbaum and Julia Annas. I prefer “self-care” for two reasons. First, following Foucault’s argument that Plato presents the first philosophical explication of this mode of thought (M.  Foucault, The Hermeneutics of the Subject: Lectures at the Collège de France 1981–1982, ed.  by F.  Gros, trans. by G.  Burchell, New York, 2005, pp.  35–36,  72–74), I  use “self-care” as the collective name for the system because the phrase appears throughout the originating dialogue (e.g., Alcibiades 1.129a: ἐπιμέλειαν ἡμῶν [ed. by J. Burnet, in Platonis opera, vol.  2,  1901, Oxford, 1967]). Second, as we will see from the ancient literature, and as Martha Nussbaum notes (see below, n. 24), these modes of thought are not exclusive to philosophy and instead encompass philosophy, religion, and even esoteric literature.

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applies this approach to the philosophical sources, focusing on the influential texts of Cicero, Seneca, and Plutarch, with reference to other texts and authors from the first through fifth centuries ce. The collection of ideas and actions that comprised the directive to “care for oneself” was so pervasive that it transcended the realm of philosophy and seeped into the general late antique milieu. Each feature of self-care thought appeared in Greco-Roman philosophy and created a system of self-care that permeated the late antique Mediterranean. The AP’s compiler lived and wrote in this thought-world, creating his apophthegmata that details the separation of monks and bishops. 1. Partial Approaches to Self-Care in Modern Scholarship “Self-care” is difficult to define; it is largely (though not exclusively) a modern category applied to a variety of words, phrases, attitudes, and actions from antiquity. Additionally, the specific disciplines involved in self-care change according philosophical and religious context. Modern scholars themselves disagree on what exactly constitutes “self-care” in antiquity. Pierre Hadot and Michel Foucault reach different conclusions on the nature of self-care, though both grasp the essential core of self-care – that it is a system of problem identification and solution, which is the approach that I propose for studying self-care.2 Pierre Hadot uses the phrase “spiritual exercises” to describe self-care in Hellenistic and Roman philosophy. 3 Using the Stoics Michael Satlow uses a similar problem-solution schema for his understanding of how the rabbinical practice of “talmud torah” drew on ancient philosophy: “The rabbis adapted from their cultural world not only their anthropology but also the solution to the problem that anthropology posed” (“‘And on the Earth You Shall Sleep’: ‘Talmud Torah’ and Rabbinic Asceticism,” Journal of Religion 83 [2003], p. 225). Satlow recognizes that the rabbis appropriated parts of their cultural milieu for their own purposes; the AP’s compiler does the same in advocating self-care. 3  See P.  Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault, ed.  by A.  I. Davidson, trans. by M.  Chase, Oxford, 1995, pp.  81–125. For his preference for the phrase “spiritual exercises,” see pp. 206–07. He furthers his work on spiritual exercises in a companion essay (pp.  126–44), and the culmination of his work on ancient spiritual exercises comes in a summary-cum-protreptic (pp.  264–76). Hadot presents some of 2 

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(his major area of research) as a frequent example, Hadot argues that the practice of spiritual exercises allows the individual to embrace a new subjectivity.4 Hadot contends that these spiritual exercises were practiced across Hellenistic and Roman philosophical schools and constituted a significant component of philosophical practice and education.5 The phrase “spiritual exercises” signifies for Hadot a set of practices, or “therapeutics,” that accomplish this process of conversion. These specific practices – present in various forms in Platonism, Stoicism, Epicureanism, and Cynicism – move the practitioner from an inadequate existence marred by the passions to a more perfected existence marked by the control and removal of the passions.6 Starting with Plato and passing into Hellenistic and Roman philosophy, the spiritual exercises require “training for death,” which necessitates a contemplation of one’s death and one’s place in the physical world. This “training for death,” in turn, leads to the contemplation of the physical world and of one’s place in the totality of existence, culminating in the loss of individuality and the subsuming of the subject into everything – in other words, these exercises are truly spiritual.7 Hadot claims that the variety of spiritual exercises from Plato through the Epicureans, Stoics, and Neoplatonists belies a unity of practice and unity in the goal of “self-realization and improvement. All schools agree that man, before his philosophical conthe same ideas in P. Hadot, What Is Ancient Philosophy?, trans. by M. Chase, Cambridge, MA, 2002, esp. pp. 179–231. 4  Such practice “is a progress which causes us to be more fully, and makes us better. It is a conversion which turns our entire life upside down, changing the life of the person who goes through it. It raises the individual from an inauthentic condition of life, darkened by unconsciousness and harassed by worry, to an authentic state of life, in which he attains self-consciousness, an exact vision of the world, inner peace, and freedom” (Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life, p.  83). 5  Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life, pp.  83–84. 6  Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life, pp.  83–93. He examines the Cynics only toward the end of the essay, but states that they also followed a form of spiritual exercises (pp.  103–04). See also p.  116 n.  79, in which Hadot points to some of the scholarship on the pre-Socratic history of spiritual exercises. 7  Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life, pp.  93–101. Hadot uses the phrase “training for death” in quotation marks throughout.

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version, is in a state of unhappy disquiet… All schools also agree that man can be delivered from this state. He can accede to genuine life, improve himself, transform himself, and attain a state of perfection.”8 This enlightenment was achieved through a pedagogical process that trained practitioners to remove the hold of the passions on the self and allowed the self to be fully free. Part of this freedom entails liberation of the moral agent from the other trappings of existence, whereby the philosopher (the practitioner of the spiritual exercises) attempts to attain the unattainable – perfect wisdom.9 Hadot concludes, “philosophy in antiquity was a spiritual exercise.”10 The practice of spiritual exercises was a component of ancient Mediterranean thought dating at least to Plato, and likely earlier, evolving into the focal point of Hellenistic and Roman philosophical systems. Intended to transform the self into something better than its current state, spiritual exercises educate and convert the self away from physical distractions to a life of contemplating wisdom. Although this wisdom was unattainable in life, it formed the goal of the system of spiritual exercises.11 Michel Foucault uses a variety of terms to describe self-care, but he classifies all of them under the heading “cultivation of the self.”12 Drawing on Hadot’s work,13 Foucault writes, “This ‘cultivation of the self’ can be briefly characterized by the fact that in this case the art of existence–the technē tou biou in its different Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life, pp.  101–02. Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life, pp.  102–05. 10  Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life, p.  104. 11  Hadot cites some cases in which the Epicureans may have considered wisdom attainable in this life (Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life, pp.  103, 122 n.  159). 12  For Foucault’s specific use of the term, see M. Foucault, The History of Sexuality, vol. 3, The Care of the Self, trans. by. R. Hurley, New York, 1988, p.  43. Foucault’s work on self-care appears largely in The Care of the Self and The Hermeneutics of the Subject. 13  Foucault acknowledges his reliance on the writings of and his conversations with Hadot (M.  Foucault, The History of Sexuality, vol.  2, The Use of Pleasure, trans. by. R. Hurley, New York, 1990, pp. 7–8; Foucault, Care of the Self, pp.  43,  243 n.  3). After Foucault’s death, Hadot corrected some of what he considers Foucault’s mistakes (Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life, pp.  206–13). 8  9 

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forms–is dominated by the principle that says one must ‘take care of oneself.’”14 While this principle was very old, it entered philosophical discourse with Socrates and the imperative was asserted across philosophical schools and systems from Plato through the second century ce. The first two centuries ce saw the creation of a systematized doctrine of self-cultivation, though Foucault is careful to note that only the elite had the ability to carry out the cultivation of the self.15 The shift to self-care thought that occurs in the first and second centuries ce creates what Foucault calls a “culture of the self”16 that permeates late antique philosophy, though the imperative to and practice of self-care spans the roughly nine hundred years from the fifth century bce to the fifth century ce.17 The imperative to self-care involves both an attitude and a variety of specific physical and mental practices that require a significant commitment from the practitioner. For Foucault, this entire process of the cultivation of the self has as its goal permanently drawing one’s attention foremost to the self.18 The individual accesses truth about the self and all other things through this imperative and process of self-conversion,19 though self-care is reserved primarily for those who have the time, ability, and willFoucault, Care of the Self, p. 43. Foucault, Care of the Self, pp.  43–45. Given the scope of literature I examine below, from the technical philosophical to the populist religious and philosophical, Foucault may have overstated this caveat. During the late antique period, it had become part of the discursive environment of the Mediterranean world. The public performances of ascetic philosophers such as the Cynics or Christian monks were one way that self-care entered the common discourse. 16  Foucault, Hermeneutics of the Subject, pp.  120–21, 176–85. 17  Foucault, Hermeneutics of the Subject, p. 11. 18  Foucault, Care of the Self, pp.  45–67. He explains elsewhere that selfcare involves attention to who and what the self is, consideration of how and what the individual thinks, recognition of the variety of internal and external relationships, and transformational practices performed on the self (pp. 10–11). Caring for oneself requires another individual to serve as a model for perfection toward which self-care leads (sometimes termed salvation); self-care encourages the practitioner to care for others by serving as a guide (pp.  127–202). 19  Foucault, Hermeneutics of the Subject, pp.  2–9,  252–311. This self-conversion is the heir to the earlier Platonic self-care’s goal of knowing the self through knowing the divine (pp. 76–77). 14 

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ingness to practice it.20 The relationship between self-knowledge and self-care and the almost solipsistic emphasis on the self form the backbone of Foucault’s understanding of ancient philosophy. Hadot and Foucault agree on at least one significant point: self-care formed a major part of Greek, Hellenistic, and Roman thought throughout classical and late antiquity; they each emphasize, however, different elements of self-care. Hadot criticizes Foucault’s emphasis of the self at what Hadot sees as the expense of others,21 while Hadot focuses only on the elements of self-care that can be analogized into a modern ethic and practice, in keeping with his goal of making ancient practice accessible for modernity. Each of these formulations and emphases serve the authors’ purposes, but they do not create the clearest presentation of the selfcare milieu in late antiquity. This milieu permeated philosophical and religious thought in the Mediterranean basin and touched such varied fields as law, medicine, and rhetoric. Based on the philosophical and religious sources, self-care in late antiquity can be described systematically as follows. The system begins with the premise that the passions pull humans apart, and people are thereby deformed in their souls and distracted from truth and knowledge by external objects, desires, and concerns. In the AP, this distortion is expressed frequently in terms of sin, though the classical expression of deformation by the passions remains dominant. If the self desires to know wisdom and truth (the goal of philosophy) about oneself, others, and the universe, the soul’s deformed state presents a problem because only a properly ordered and formed soul can gain access to the truth. Knowing truth and wisdom in the AP is knowing the divine, and in turn knowing oneself and others. This paradox of purpose and position creates an imperative to transform oneself. The individual accomplishes transformation by reforming and repairing the soul by denying or suppressing the passions and turning away from external distractions; in the AP, turning toward the divine is key. Foucault, Hermeneutics of the Subject, pp.  111–21. Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life, pp.  206–13. Unfortunately, some have taken Foucault’s understanding of self-care almost wholesale to outline a development of asceticism and monasticism (see, e.g., J.  H.  W.  G. Liebeschuetz, Ambrose & John Chrysostom: Clerics between Desert and Empire, New York, 2011, pp. 13–42). 20 

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The solution to the problem of the deformed self is a continual, progressive process of mental and physical performances, sometimes termed asceticism, that deny the passions, focus the self away from distraction, and elevate the soul. This solution, however, does not occur in a vacuum: the environment of these practices is paradoxically both communal and individual. Because the self is deformed, it needs to see and learn from someone or something outside itself in order to recognize its own deformity and then to understand how to overcome the deformity with the application of self-care practices. The practices require formal or informal instruction or modeling, from an advanced practitioner to a learner; in the AP this occurs in the relationships of abba to disciple or in larger monasteries. Simultaneously, these practices are necessarily the self’s operations on itself. Self-care must occur fundamentally on the individual’s own terms and not on externally mandated prescriptions. The final state in philosophies of self-care finds the tranquil, passionless body and soul in perfect harmony and under perfect self-control, expressed in the AP as apatheia. This state allows the individual to see the truth and wisdom of the self, others, the universe, and their relationships. Here, however, there is a caveat: since this final state is largely unattainable in this life given the perfection of the truth and the imperfection of individuals, practitioners look toward perfection in death. This perfection in death is possible only if the self has made sufficient progress in life, meaning that practitioners must start the practice of self-care as early as possible. Moreover, the continual, daily, life-long practice of self-care requires time, which in turn requires money, labor, or charity. The practice requires the desire to access wisdom and truth and the desire to undertake the lifelong process of self-care. Finally, the practitioner’s starting point (especially his age) may affect the practice and the possible attainment of the final stage of self-care. Some will have an easier time practicing self-care while others may struggle with even the initial steps. This schema of self-care in late antiquity belies some of the problems inherent in discussing self-care. The first problem is the semantic range of the words and phrases employed to speak about self-care. Encompassing a wide vocabulary – including military, medical, and spiritual language – the scope of self-care in the

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late antique imagination is broad. Secondly, the ancient sources largely do not establish this specific, systematic view of self-care. While there were some manuals of self-care in antiquity and late antiquity, these are now mostly lost.22 Therefore, reconstructing this system requires analyzing texts created at different times in different places with different styles and genres for different purposes, drawing from them the common threads that allow us a glimpse of self-care thought. Despite the problems of outlining the schema of self-care, it is important not only to understand the individual aspects of selfcare but also to explore how various schools of self-care philosophy functioned as part of the thought-world of late antiquity. Instead of showing the change in self-care thought over time (Foucault) or across philosophical schools (Hadot), this examination explores how the variety of self-care’s expressions created possibilities for conceptualizing and actualizing self-care, possibilities that found creative expression in religions and philosophies across the late antique Mediterranean.23 Here we should take to heart both the encouragement and the warning of Martha Nussbaum. Nussbaum identifies self-care, or Hadot points to the number of now-lost Stoic works on the spiritual exercises mentioned by Diogenes Laertius (Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life, pp. 83, 111 n. 18). 23  André-Jean Festugière, in his published Sather Lectures, explores some of what I term self-care in Greek religion (A.-J. Festugière, Personal Religion among the Greeks, Berkeley, 1960 [Sather Classical Lectures, 26]). He divides personal religion into two categories: the individual communing directly with the divine (“popular piety”), and the individual contemplating within himself (“reflective piety”). Michael Satlow places asceticism (for him both the problem and solution of the self-care system) in the “reflective piety” category (Satlow, “‘And on the Earth You Shall Sleep,’” pp.  224–25,  225 n.  120). Self-care extends, however, beyond the individual, internal process of understanding the world and the divine. The communal environments of self-care show that while the practice of philosophy was an individual pursuit, it also required training and communal interaction (at least in the initial stages). Satlow, too, criticizes Festugière’s characterization of asceticism, writing that he “seems to exaggerate the importance of ‘taking flight from the world’” (p. 225 n. 120). Christopher Gill sees Stoic and Epicurean philosophy as moving the individual from the “unstructured self” to the “structured self” by applying Greek ethical ideals to the holistic “self” of Epicurean and Stoic thought (C.  Gill, The Structured Self in Hellenistic and Roman Thought, New York, 2006). 22 

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the “art of living,” as present in both philosophical and religious sources, but notes that the philosophers were asserting that philosophy provided the better path to living well.24 While she is correct that philosophy was different in its expressions of self-care than religious or esoteric systems, the number of correspondences between modes of self-care presented in the different literary traditions is striking. Whatever the differences, the similarities are more numerous and are important in showing the continuity and development of the idea of taking care of oneself across systems (philosophical and religious), regions, and time periods. To Nussbaum’s point, however, it is from these philosophical ethical systems that Christian thinkers in late antiquity drew many of their ideas about the deformation and necessary reformation of the individual’s soul in communities that practiced the art of living, or taking care of oneself. Therefore classical and late antique philosophy must provide our primary entry into the system, supplemented by religious and esoteric literature. 2. Self-care in classical and late antique philosophy Self-care is best considered as a system of problem solving. The problem is that the individual desires to know truth and wisdom, but this goal is unattainable because the individual struggles under the control of the passions and becomes distracted by the external world. This lack of self-control and self-focus deforms the soul, meaning that access to truth and wisdom is restricted to those who act to reform their souls. A  process of continual, progressive mental and physical performances comprises the solution that reforms the soul. The individual performs these activities and learns them by observing others who model either the end result or an intermediate stage of self-care. The individual attains self-control through the continual performance of self-care, grows passionless, and gains access to truth and wisdom, solving the problem of how the individual can access knowledge. M.  C. Nussbaum, The Therapy of Desire: Theory and Practice in Hellenistic Ethics, Princeton, 1994 (Martin Classical Lectures, new series, 2). The entirety of her published Martin Lectures explores this point from Hellenistic philosophy, but her initial warning is on pp.  4–6 (with a specific shot across Foucault’s bow). 24 

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The background of the soul’s condition, the inherent belief that access to the truth is good, the imperative toward self-care, the techniques of caring for oneself, the view toward death, and practical concerns all constitute the milieu that philosophical and religious literature form in late antiquity. These various aspects feature differently across texts (dependent on the author’s philosophical school, time period, genre,  etc.) and through different Greek and Latin terms.25 Moreover, lacking sufficient surviving “manuals” for self-care, the existing texts allow only glimpses into the problem-solution system of self-care. By examining these glimpses with a critical eye to where they overlap, a picture of self-care emerges as it developed into the late antique context of the AP’s production. In providing an outline of self-care in philosophical and religious sources, I do not examine every author or text. Instead I try to balance influential philosophical authors and texts with those documents that represent a variety of philosophical and religious perspectives, demonstrating the widespread reach of self-care thought in late antiquity.26 The centuries of philosophical writing on self-care, from Plato to Proclus, open a window onto the intellectual world in which the compiler of the AP wrote his text.27 See Appendix 1 for a brief discussion of the language of self-care. Only Pyrronian Skepticism seems to have no use for self-care philosophy. Sextus Empiricus, one of the only points of access for Skepticism, denies that there is any expertise in living, and that teaching how to live is impossible (Outlines of Pyrrhonism 3.239–78 [ed.  by H.  Mutschmann and J.  Mau, in Sexti Empirici Opera, vol.  1, Pyrroneion hypotyposeon, libros tres continens, Leipzig, 1958 (Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana: Auctores Graeci, 1800); trans. and ed.  by J.  Annas and J.  Barnes, Outlines of Scepticism, New York, 2000]). This small Skeptic school represents the exception rather than the rule in late antique thought, and its arguments against other schools in the Outlines assume the prevalence of self-care thought. Skepticism and Sextus Empiricus form part of the self-care milieu as the voice of the opposition. Moreover, while the Skeptics reject other Hellenistic modes of self-reformation, they do share the overarching idea that the individual is somehow deformed or diseased and in need of change. For Skepticism, the change lies in removing belief (see Nussbaum, Therapy of Desire, pp. 280–315; in addition to the Skeptics, Stoics, and Epicureans, Martha Nussbaum notes the medical language surrounding necessary and radical personal reformation in Aristotle: pp. 48–101). 27  The problem of selecting sources is inherent to any large-scale discussion of self-care or ancient philosophical ethics. While Nussbaum identifies all of the difficulties in assessing a “whole” from a variety of sources across 25 

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Cicero, Seneca, and Plutarch provide our primary entrance into this thought-world for two reasons. First, they represent the two major schools of thought, Stoicism and Platonism, that dominated late antiquity; additionally, Cicero was a philosophical eclectic who drew from many different sources, and Seneca utilized Epicurean thought when it matched his Stoic ideas.28 They are touchstones for intellectual enterprises in late antiquity, evincing the intellectual milieu of the Mediterranean world in and beyond their two centuries.29 They are the heirs to earlier tradition and form centuries, languages, and cultural contexts (Nussbaum, Therapy of Desire, pp.  6–9), she can assert from her reading of the texts that Hellenistic philosophy has general consistencies surrounding what I term self-care and what she terms ethics (pp. 9–10). 28  Marcus Tullius Cicero (Roman orator and consul, eclectic philosopher) was born in 106 bce and died at the beginning of, and on the order of, the Second Triumvirate in 43 bce. Lucius Annaeus Seneca (Roman orator and senator, Stoic philosopher, and one-time adviser to Nero) was born in or before 1 ce and was forced to commit suicide in 65 ce. Lucius(?) Mestrius Plutarchus (Greek Platonic philosopher and Delphic priest) was born before 50 ce and died after 120 ce, spending roughly the last thirty years of his life as a priest in the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. These three philosophers present some of the best constructions of and access to the various iterations of antique and late antique thought, and are some of its most prolific authors. They also represent a wide range of intellectual literature, with Cicero drawing from works across the philosophical spectrum and Seneca defending his use of Epicurean literature in his Stoic writings (e.g., Seneca, Letters 8.8–10,  12.11,  14.17– 18, 21.9 [ed. and trans. by R. M. Gummere, in Ad Lucilium Epistulae Morales, 3 vols., New York, 1925 (LCL 75–77)]). Plutarch, meanwhile, besides his profound influence as a Greek moralist, stands at the intersection between philosophy and religion. This nexus of religion and philosophy is similarly found in the Greek Corpus Hermeticum and Latin Asclepius (c.  2nd cent. ce, Platonic), the Chaldean Oracles (2nd/3rd cent. ce, Neoplatonic), and Iamblichus’s The Mysteries of Egypt (third/fourth cent. ce, Neoplatonic) – all of which will be read alongside Cicero, Seneca, and Plutarch for their contribution to the self-care milieu. Other texts and authors considered in this chapter include Musonius Rufus (Discourses; first cent. ce, Stoic), Epictetus (Discourses; first/ second cent. ce, Stoic), Marcus Aurelius (Meditations; second cent. ce, Stoic and eclectic), Plotinus (Enneads; third cent. ce, Neoplatonic), Porphyry (Life of Plotinus; third cent. ce, Neoplatonic), Iamblichus (Exhortation to Philosophy; third/fourth cent. ce, Neoplatonic) and Proclus (On the Existence of Evils, Elements of Theology, Commentary on Alcibiades I; fifth cent. ce, Neoplatonic). 29  Lieve Van Hoof argues that the entirety of what she calls Plutarch’s “practical ethics” is an argument for the non-philosopher to embrace a life of philosophy that allows him to live the best possible life, not necessarily the

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later tradition. Second, the breadth of their surviving work makes them ideal for understanding how people constructed their worldviews in antiquity. Even if only idealized, they represent educated people considering how the world does or should work. Nevertheless, they were not isolated in their approach to self-care – frequent citations from other authors and literature indicate that self-care thought was nearly ubiquitous in the late antique world of the AP’s composition. 30 In choosing written works I am necessarily isolating my examination of self-care to the educated elite. The appearance of selfcare thought across philosophical and religious systems, its presence in inscriptions, and its apparent position as the foundation of visible asceticism indicates that it was more a part of the average late antique person’s life than we might first assume. The role of the holy person in late antiquity and the humorous stories repeated about ancient Cynics demonstrate that people saw, at least in part, the practical aspects of self-care. 31 The propensity of philosophers, ascetics, and holy persons to teach some of the fundamental aspects of their ways of life through public performance suggests that even people outside of the educated elite were aware of self-care. The writings of the educated, then, represent the fullest surviving records of a thought-system known even to the less educated lower classes. 32

life of retreat advocated by some philosophers (L. Van Hoof, Plutarch’s Practical Ethics: The Social Dynamics of Philosophy, Oxford, 2012). 30  Note that although Plutarch was popular primarily in the Greek-speaking east, he had some purchase in the Latin-speaking west, meaning that even the Greek-inflected self-care thought of Plutarch had spread into Roman philosophy in late antiquity (see M.  Pade, “The Reception of Plutarch from Antiquity to the Italian Renaissance,” in A Companion to Plutarch, ed.  by M. Beck, Oxford, 2014, pp. 531–35). 31  See P. Brown, “The Rise and Function of the Holy Man in Late Antiquity,” Journal of Roman Studies 61 (1971), pp. 80–101; and also the stories about Diogenes the Cynic in Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers VI.2, (trans. by R.  D. Hicks, 2  vols., Cambridge, MA, 1972 [LCL 184–85]). 32  On both the public and elite realms of philosophy, see M.  Trapp, “The Role of Philosophy and Philosophers in the Imperial Period,” in A Companion to Plutarch, ed. by M. Beck, Oxford, 2014, pp. 43–57, esp. pp. 45–47.

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a. The State of the Soul The essential self that requires care is the soul, the non-corporeal element that determines the course of the body while being itself influenced by the body. 33 Plato identifies a human being (anthropos) as the soul (psyche) that rules over the body. 34 Socrates argues that the imperative to self-knowledge is an imperative to knowledge about one’s soul. 35 He presents the culminating expression in 130c: Ἐπειδὴ δ’ οὔτε σῶμα οὔτε τὸ συναμφότερόν ἐστιν ἄνθρωπος, λείπεται οἶμαι ἢ μηδὲν αὔτ’ εἶναι, ἢ εἴπερ τί ἐστι, μηδὲν ἄλλο τὸν ἄνθρωπον συμβαίνειν ἢ ψυχήν. Philosophical literature identifies the state of the soul as the first part of the problem that the process of self-care seeks to solve. 36 The initial state of the soul is one of deformity or disturbance, mainly because of the soul’s embodiment (sometimes described as the “descent” of souls into bodies or the “fallen” soul) and its subsequent cor33  Descriptions of the composite nature of the human occur throughout ancient philosophical texts; for examples, see Appendix 2, Table 1. (Due to the volume of citations, many are collected into tables in the appendices.) Concepts of “self” in classical and late antiquity of course extended beyond the soul; see R.  Sorabji, “Soul and self in ancient philosophy,” in From Soul to Self, ed.  by M.  J.  C. Crabbe, New York, 1999, pp.  8–32. The soul, however, is the primary “self” in most philosophical systems. Christopher Gill reads the Stoic and Epicurean philosophers as having a less partitioned view of the self (less “body and soul” and more composite “self”), though I argue from reading Seneca that they still considered the soul a distinct part of the composite person (Gill, Structured Self, pp. 3–73). While Gill is right that the body and soul are intricately linked, his holistic view of the “self” need not reduce the active role of the soul in guiding conduct. Julia Annas explores some of these connections in Stoicism and Epicureanism, concluding that there are overlaps in their philosophies of mind (J. Annas, Hellenistic Philosophy of Mind, Berkeley, 1992), her term for what I call self-care. 34  Alcibiades 1.1129b–130e. 35  Alcibiades 1.130c-e. 36  There is a problem in identifying the “self” as purely individual in antiquity, because a self also exists that participates in the universals and looks outward instead of inward (see R.  Sorabji, Self: Ancient and Modern Insights about Individuality, Life, and Death, Chicago, 2006, pp.  32–53). Selfcare allows for a self that is internally oriented toward truth (as in the Stoics) and externally oriented toward the universals. In both instances, something subjective participates in a universal idea, whether internally or externally located.

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ruption from pneumatic and somatic passions and vice. 37 Authors use a variety of terms and phrases to describe the state of the soul, from the evocative to the medical. Cicero frequently refers to the soul as diseased, disordered, or polluted because it is susceptible to vice and the passions as a result of its embodiment. 38 The soul must assent to being distracted and disordered – the soul believes something to be so, assents to the belief, and wills itself to be distracted by the belief and its associated events. 39 Seneca likewise states that the soul must consent to a passion in order to be subjected to it, but he adds that this consent to passion is the default human state.40 The passions affect both body and soul, and the pneumatic passions may produce bodily effects (as in the face of an angry person). According to Seneca, the impassioned soul is disturbed, upset, unstable, altered, disordered, diseased, and even destroyed.41 Seneca goes even further in his description of the impassioned soul. A  great soul (magnus animus) cannot be found in an individual enslaved to the passions.42 Passions and vice drown the soul, tear the heart, stain the soul, and make the soul For examples, see Appendix 2, Table 2A. Cicero’s language is outlined in Appendix 2, Table 2B. This medical, or therapeutic, language is not exclusive to Cicero, and Martha Nussbaum explores its presence in Epicurean, Skeptic, and Stoic ethical systems. The Skeptics deal with the problem of therapeutics by arguing that belief itself is the disease (Nussbaum, Therapy of Desire, pp.  280–315). The passions are the root cause of deformation for both Cicero and Seneca (pp.  316–438). Two of the fullest considerations of Cicero’s life and works, contextualized in the late Roman Republic, are A.  Lintott, Cicero as Evidence: A  Historian’s Companion, New York, 2008; and the two volumes by Thomas  N. Mitchell: T. N. Mitchell, Cicero: The Ascending Years, New Haven, 1979; T. N. Mitchell, Cicero: The Senior Statesman, New Haven, 1991. 39  Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 3.33.80,  4.38.82 (ed. and trans. by J.  E. King, in Tusculan Disputations, rev. ed., Cambridge, MA, 1945 [LCL, 141]). Compare to the idea that injury is just a mental state in Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 4.7 (ed. and trans. by C.  R. Haines, in Meditations, rev. ed., Cambridge, MA, 1953 [LCL, 58]). 40  Seneca, De ira 2.1.1–4 (ed. and trans. by J. W. Basore, in Moral Essays, vol.  1, pp.  106–355,  1928, Cambridge, MA, 1963 [LCL, 214]) (anger is predicated on the consent of the soul), 2.10.1–4 (passion is the default human state). 41  Seneca’s language is outlined in Appendix 2, Table 2C. 42  Seneca, De ira 1.21.1–4. 37 

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out of tune and disharmonious.43 In short, whereas reason should guide the soul, passions and vice overwhelm the soul and thereby overwhelm the whole body.44 Because vice may disguise itself as virtue, distinguishing between the two – and thereby overcoming the default human state of impassioned, irrational thought and action – can prove difficult.45 The human condition is bleak. Confused and impassioned, the human soul is far from safe and often does not realize how imperiled it is.46 The bad condition of the impassioned, embodied soul is unnatural, according to Plutarch. The unnatural state is not the original condition of the soul, but is caused solely by the soul’s embodiment. Like Cicero and Seneca, Plutarch calls passions and vice diseases of the soul that damage it and operate against reason, and as such, passions and vice affect the soul only by its assent.47 While Plutarch traces the different origins, progressions, and results of different passions, he maintains that all passions damage the soul.48 In an evocative passage, one that recalls the physically changed face of the angry man in Seneca, Plutarch writes that nosiness signifies vice in the soul. Because the soul is so filled with evil, he writes, it is scared to remain turned inward and consider itself and so turns to others as a distraction from its internal 43  Seneca, Letters 24.16 (passions drown the soul), 51.13 (vice tears the heart), 59.9 (the soul is stained by vice), 74.30 (passion disharmonizes soul). 44  Seneca, Letters 85.6–12 (vice and passion overwhelm the soul); De clementia 2.2.1 (ed. and trans. by J. W. Basore, in Moral Essays, vol. 1, pp. 356– 447) (the soul controls the body); De tranquillitate animi 1.2–17 (ed. and trans. by J.  W. Basore, in Moral Essays, vol.  2, pp.  202–85, rev ed., Cambridge, MA, 1958 [LCL, 254]) (the mind struggles between virtue and vice). 45  Seneca, Letters 45.7. 46  Both Marcus Aurelius (Meditations 9.1) and Proclus (On the Existence of Evils 28 [ed.  by H.  Boese, in Tria opuscula, Berlin, 1960; ed. and trans. J.  Opsomer and C.  Steel, Proclus: On the Existence of Evils, Ithaca, NY, 2003]) link passion and evil with irrational actions, or actions against nature. Like Seneca and Plutarch, for Marcus and Proclus the soul’s impassioned, irrational state is unnatural. For Marcus, this unnatural state comes from within (Meditations 2.16 [on ways the soul wrongs itself], 9.13 [trouble comes from within]) and leads to unhappiness (Meditations 2.8). 47  Plutarch’s language is outlined in Appendix 2, Table 2D. 48  Plutarch, “On Envy and Hate” (Moralia 536E–538E) (ed. and trans. by P.  H. De Lacy and B.  Einarson, in Plutarch’s Moralia, vol.  7,  523C–612B, Cambridge, MA, 1959 [LCL, 405]).

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evil.49 Nosiness is a bad action resulting from internal vice overwhelming the soul. The state of the embodied soul is perilous. It is deformed, distracted, diseased, and even destroyed because of vice and passions stirred by the union of soul with body. For ancient philosophers, from Plato to Proclus, the soul’s state is problematic by itself. The state of the soul grows even more problematic when paired with what philosophers considered the proper goal of humans. b.  The Goal of the Self The goal of the self is access to wisdom and truth, which is impossible in the soul’s ruined state.50 At the end of the consolation to his mother over his exile, Seneca writes that exile has been his ideal condition because it gives him time to attain his goal: Laetum et alacrem velut optimis rebus. Sunt enim optimae, quoniam animus omnis occupationis expers operibus suis vacat et modo se levioribus studiis oblectat, modo ad conside­randam suam universique naturam veri avidus insurgit. Terras primum situmque earum quaerit, deinde condicionem circumfusi maris cursusque eius alternos et recursus. Tunc quidquid inter caelum terrasque plenum formidinis interiacet perspicit et hoc tonitribus, fulminibus, ventorum flatibus ac nimborum nivisque et grandinis iactu tumultuosum spatium. Tum peragratis humilioribus ad summa perrumpit et pulcherrimo divinorum spectaculo fruitur, aeternitatis suae memor in omne quod fuit futurumque est vadit omnibus saeculis. I am as happy and cheerful as when circumstances were best. Indeed, they are now best, since my mind, free from all other engrossment, has leisure for its own tasks, and now finds joy in lighter studies, now, being eager for the truth, mounts to the consideration of its own nature and the nature of the universe. It seeks knowledge, first, of the lands and where they lie, then of the laws that govern the encompassing sea with its alternations of ebb and flow. Then it takes ken of all the expanse, charged with terrors, that lies between heaven and earth–this nearer space, disturbed by thunder, lightning, blasts of winds, and the downfall of rain and 49  Plutarch, “On Being Nosy” 3 (Moralia 516C-D) (ed. and trans. W.  C. Helmbold, in Plutarch’s Moralia, vol.  6,  439A–523B, 1939, Cambridge, MA, 1962 [LCL, 337]). 50  One of the earliest forms, from Plato, sees this goal as becoming godlike, which involves gaining access to knowledge (see J. Annas, Platonic Ethics, Old and New, Ithaca, NY, 1999 [Cornell Studies in Classical Philology, 57], pp.  52–71).

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snow and hail. Finally, having traversed the lower spaces, it bursts through to the heights above, and there enjoys the noblest spectacle of things divine, and, mindful of its own immortality, it proceeds to all that has been and will ever be throughout the ages of all time. 51

Seneca desires truth, and the leisure of exile offers him the opportunity to pursue the truths contained in knowledge about the physical and metaphysical. This engagement is the proper endeavor of humanity – the acquisition of knowledge, wisdom, and truth.52 Seneca ties the pursuit of wisdom and knowledge to returning to nature and reinstating the natural state of the soul.53 The acquisition of knowledge and the pursuit of truth encompass several ancillary goals, including union with the divine, the passionless state of body and soul, the ordering of the person according 51  Seneca, De consolatione ad Helviam 20.1–2 (ed. and trans. by J.  W. Basore, in Moral Essays, vol. 2, pp. 416–89). 52  Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.19.44; De officiis 1.4.13,  3.3.13 (ed. and trans. by W.  Miller, in De officiis, 1913, Cambridge, MA, 1961 [LCL, 30]); De finibus 2.14 (ed. and trans. by H.  Rackham, New York, 1914 [LCL, 40]). Seneca, De vita beata 3.3–4,  4.3,  4.5 (ed. and trans. by J.  W. Basore, in Moral Essays, vol.  2, pp.  98–179); Letters 31.6 (here tied to “good”). Corpus Hermeticum 1.3 (that the goal is knowledge) (ed.  by A.  D. Nock and A.-J.  Festugière, trans. by A.-J.  Festugière, in Corpus Hermeticum, 3rd ed., 4  vols., Paris, 1972–1973; trans. by B.  P. Copenhaver, Hermetica, 1992, New York, 2000), 3.3 (that the goal is contemplation of temporal and divine things, examination of the good, knowledge of divinity, etc.). Asclepius 1 (that the goal is mental transformation through understanding) (ed.  by A.  D. Nock and A.-J.  Festugière, trans. by A.-J.  Festugière, in Corpus Hermeticum, vol.  3, Traités  XIII–XVIII, Asclepius, Paris, 1973; trans. by B.  P. Copenhaver, Hermetica, 1992, New York, 2000). Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 2.13,  3.1,  3.16,  10.1. Plotinus, Enneads 1.3.1–4 (ed. and trans. by A.  H. Armstrong, in Enneads, rev. ed., 7  vols., Cambridge, MA, 1989 [LCL 440–45,  468]). Proclus, Elements of Theology Prop. 8 (that all things desire the good, which descends from the Monad [see Prop. 13]) (ed. and trans. by E. R. Dodds, in Elements of Theology, 2nd ed., 1963, Oxford, 1992). 53  Seneca, Letters 94.68 (that wisdom is the return to nature), 4.10–11,  5.4 (an exhortation to natural living); De providentia 4.15 (ed. and trans. by J.  W. Basore, in Moral Essays, vol.  1, pp.  2–47). This return to nature as the realization of the individual’s proper goal is not unique to Seneca, but also appears in the works of other Stoics. See Musonius Rufus, Discourses 2 (36.13–38.21; that nature inclines humanity toward virtue from birth) (ed. and trans. C.  E. Lutz, in Musonius Rufus: The Roman Socrates, New Haven, 1947 [Yale Classical Studies, 10]), and Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 1.9.3 (that one should love natural things), 5.3 (that one should live in accordance with nature, not in accordance with what others say).

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to reason, and the acquisition of virtue. Part of working toward the goal entails recognizing that this objective is fundamental to being human.54 The knowledge and truth found in nature, oneself, and the divine should form the goal of every human being, and they should create the foundation for the practice and life of philosophy. Unfortunately, the philosophers identify a fundamental disconnect between the proper goal of humanity and the state of the embodied soul. A  soul marred by passions and vice cannot gain access to truth and wisdom, because truth and wisdom derive from perfection and the divine. Philosophers of self-care identify the disjuncture and use it to issue the imperative to know and take care of oneself. c.  The Soul’s Problem and its Imperative Late antique philosophical and religious texts clearly express the problematic condition of the soul, especially in light of the human goal of knowledge and truth. For Cicero and Seneca, removing the diseases of the soul looms imperative because passion and vice are inimical to truth and knowledge, and to the virtuous life necessary to access them.55 Seneca writes that everyone has, at one point or another, allowed passion and vice to gain hold over his soul.56 Because the soul is either currently or formerly captured by vice and passion, the individual seeking knowledge and truth must reform his soul. This imperative – the call to care for oneself in order to reform the soul – finds a variety of expressions in philosophical literature. Cicero, echoing the Delphic maxim, writes that it is necessary to “know yourself” in order to change your soul.57 Other expresSee Appendix 2, Table 3. Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 3.1.1–3.7 (on the disorders of the soul and that the soul must be able to cure itself). Seneca, De ira 1.7.2–3 (on the impassioned and reasoned body and soul, and why one must remove the passions), 1.19.1 (the passion of anger is opposed to truth), 2.12.1–2 (an analogy of illness that shows how passion and vice are opposed to virtue). The disconnect is also explicit in the Corpus Hermeticum, Plotinus, Porphyry, and Iamblichus; see Appendix 2, Table 4A. 56  Seneca, De clementia 1.6.3–4. 57  Cicero, De finibus 5.16.44, “noscere nosmet ipsos.” Similarly, Plutarch writes that the vice of flattery stands in opposition to the principle of 54  55 

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sions of the imperative include military and political language, exhortations to self-observation and self-understanding, medical and athletic language, and religious references, alongside general exhortations to self-care.58 In his letters, Seneca issues the imperative for Lucilius to free, trust in, commune with, and associate with himself, all toward the goal of Lucilius bettering himself.59 When writing to Lucilius on the futility of travel for personal improvement, Seneca asserts, “You ought to change your soul, not your weather.”60 Exhorting others to change is the philosopher’s goal, according to Musonius Rufus.61 For Marcus Aurelius, teaching a change of soul starts with examining one’s own faults, then acting definitively to correct them.62 Summarizing centuries of philosophical systems and practices, Proclus contends that the whole purpose of philosophy – and the whole purpose of Plato’s Alcibiades – is the exhortation to self-knowledge and self-care.63 Recognizing the problem in the soul’s state and its goal, philosophers across schools and centuries issued calls to reform the soul, allowing it to realize its proper goal. Through issuing their imperative for self-reformation, philosophers create the first link in a chain of practices that function as correctives to the soul’s deformation through embodiment and susceptibility to vice and the passions. The specific elements of these practices vary somewhat from school to school and practi-

self-knowledge (“How to Tell a Flatterer from a Friend” 1 [Moralia 48E–49B] [ed. and trans. by F.  C. Babbitt, in Plutarch’s Moralia, vol.  1,  1A–86A, 1927, Cambridge, MA, 1969 (LCL, 197)]). 58  See Appendix 2, Table 4B. 59  Seneca, Letters 1.1,  10.1–2, 5.1. 60  Seneca, Letters 28.1 (“Animum debes mutare, non caelum.”). 61  Musonius Rufus, Discourses 14 (92.6–9). 62  Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 10.4, 10.16. 63  Proclus, Commentary on Alcibiades I 4–10 (ed.  by L.  G. Westernik, in Commentary on the First Alcibiades of Plato, Amsterdam, 1954; trans. W. O’Neill, Proclus: Alcibiades I: A Translation and Commentary, The Hague, 1965). Julia Annas argues that there is a consistent, and radical, ethic in Plato’s work that calls for extreme, personally transformative virtue as a source of happiness, though admittedly a severe happiness (Annas, Platonic Ethics, pp.  31–51).

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tioner to practitioner; however, all are techniques for changing the body and soul to allow the self to access wisdom and truth.64 d.  Asceticism: The Technologies of the Solution Philosophers’ mental and physical practices and recommendations, in varying degrees of rigor, formed the lived experience of self-care.65 Philosophers considered these techniques the active part of philosophy, which reorders, heals, and protects the soul.66 Cicero called these techniques of self-care “right living” and the “art of living.”67 Because the goal of self-care and its attendant 64  It is here, at the intersection between imperative and technologies, that Pierre Hadot and Michel Foucault fall short in their readings of the philosophical sources. Foucault tilts too much toward the imperative and the emphasis placed on the self. Hadot crosses more firmly into the arena of ascetic technologies and argues for their preeminence. Neither can function without the other, and each system falls apart without the remaining elements. Without recognizing the soul’s state and goal, the imperative and technologies lose their context. Eliding the communal and individual environments (as discussed below) robs the system of its continuation through education and the individualization that made it attractive to a variety of people. Finally, without a clear vision of the ultimate goal of self-care, there is very little to draw the practitioner through the miasma of difficult practices. Each part relies on the others, and the milieu of self-care that permeated antique and late antique thought was a holistic system. 65  This lived experience is often termed asceticism, the active part of ancient philosophy that produced personal reformation and thereby allowed philosophers access to wisdom and truth. Pierre Hadot provides good accounts of the active life of philosophy and the exercises and ascetic techniques involved in the study of philosophy in the Mediterranean (Hadot, What Is Ancient Philosophy, pp. 188–202; Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life, pp.  81–125). Richard Valantasis constructs a theory of asceticism that is useful here: “Asceticism may be defined as performances within a dominant social environment intended to inaugurate a new subjectivity, different social relations, and an alternative symbolic universe” (R.  Valantasis, “Constructions of Power in Asceticism,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 63 [1995], p. 797). In this section I am less concerned about the overarching theory of ascetic practice and more concerned with how asceticism functions in the self-care philosophical system; to that end, I adopt Valantasis’s definition. For an overview of scholarship on asceticism through the late twentieth century, see V.  L. Wimbush and R.  Valantasis, “Introduction,” in Asceticism, ed. V. L. Wimbush and R. Valantasis, 1998, New York, 2002, pp. xix–xxv. 66  See Appendix 2, Table 5A. 67  Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.40.95 (“bene vivendi”); Cicero, De finibus 4.7.16 (“vivendi ars,” applied specifically to Stoic philosophy).

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techniques is access to wisdom and truth, “wisdom” and “philosophy” were frequently tied to the individual practices. The practices can be grouped into three general categories: mental, dual, and physical.68 Mental techniques cover a plethora of contemplative practices that orient the mind and soul both internally and externally toward correct objects of contemplation. These techniques also involve systems of self-checking to examine one’s position and progress relative to the goal and starting point of self-care. In their most basic form, the various expressions of the self-care imperative are themselves mental practices designed to draw one’s attention to the deformation and necessary reformation of the soul. Dual techniques stand between the body and soul or operate equally on body and soul; often they are esoteric, such as advocating the use of reason on soul and body. Physical techniques involve removing or controlling bodily passions and vices that distract the soul and lead the person toward evil actions or evil thoughts. Mental techniques, the first category, are foundational for other techniques of self-care and appear across the philosophical texts. Often, these simply take the form of exhortations to apathy – the removal of passion in thought and feeling.69 On occasion the philosophers explain in more detail how to attain mental and emotional passionlessness. Cicero, Seneca, and Plutarch (among others) discuss the proper objects of the philosopher’s thought. Cicero describes a technique of contemplation and meditation on humanity, nature, and the divine. Seneca likewise extols the contemplation of wisdom and truth, tying the activity to virtue. Plutarch urges his reader to examine better (or at least less bad) things, and to remember the harm that vice wreaks as a preventative against

68  The purpose of all practices is the reformation of the soul. This division refers to the primary domain of the practice’s operation. Physical techniques operate on the body, mental techniques operate on the soul or mind, and dual techniques operate either on both equally or on the link between the body and soul. These domains are the primary operative locations for the specific practices, but the domains can overlap. Practices that address multiple domains are located in the area of their primary operation. 69  E.g., Seneca, De constantia sapientis 19.1–4.

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temptation to vice.70 By proscribing the domain of thought, the philosophers hope to prevent distraction from externals that would deform the soul. Moreover, by contemplating wisdom and virtue, the soul rises toward the source of wisdom and virtue.71 A second mental technique involves self-examination and self-critique, an extension of the imperative of self-care. Seneca writes about turning inward and engaging in self-testing to reveal how the individual is progressing in the suppression of vice and the acquisition of virtue. Plutarch likewise advocates examining and reflecting on oneself instead of the distractions of embodiment and daily life.72 While arguably comprising the entirety of Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations, specific comments on self-examination appear throughout the text. Porphyry, in describing Plotinus, writes that Plotinus focused his attention on himself. A  thread running between the imperative and actions to self-care is that the practice of self-examination and self-critique creates self-knowledge, so every admonition to “know yourself” requires the subject to engage in the mental techniques of self-examination.73 One of the major themes of the mental practices is the control of the mind over itself and over the body. The control that the mind exerts is a function of the individual’s desire to participate in self-care, and the action of mental regulation is imitative of the divine.74 70  See Appendix 2, Table 5B, for exhortations to contemplation from Cicero, Seneca, Plutarch, Marcus Aurelius, and the Corpus Hermeticum. 71  According to Martha Nussbaum, philosophy here differs from other expressions of self-care by placing reason and argumentation as central to the process of self-reformation (Nussbaum, Therapy of Desire, pp.  353–54). 72  See also Plutarch, “On Listening to Lectures” 8 (Moralia 42A-B) (ed. and trans. F.  C. Babbitt, in Plutarch’s Moralia, vol.  1,  1A–86A), in which Plutarch writes that hearing lectures should prompt self-examination. 73  It is possible that the Delphic maxim ΓΝΩΘΙ ΣΑΥΤΟΝ – inscribed on the temple that Plutarch served in daily for the last three decades of his life, and foundational in Plato’s Alcibiades I and Proclus’s Commentary – influenced much of Plutarch’s exhortation to self-examination. The inscription, or references to it, appear in Plutarch, “Symposium of the Seven Wise Men” 21 (Moralia 164B) (ed. and trans. F.  C. Babbitt, in Plutarch’s Moralia, vol.  2,  86B–171F, New York, 1928 [LCL, 222]), and Plutarch, “On Tranquility” 13 (Moralia 472C) (ed. and trans. W. C. Helmbold, in Plutarch’s Moralia, vol. 6, 439A–523B). 74  For citations, see Appendix 2, Table 5C. Citations are ordered according to the concepts discussed in this paragraph.

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Dual techniques, the second category of training in self-care, operate on the body and soul equally, or on the link between body and soul. Often they adopt the language of virtue and vice standing in opposition to each other, without any articulation of how to access virtue or deny vice. Some of the dual techniques also acquire a religious tone. For example, Seneca discusses the dual physical-mental practice of prayer, first for one’s soul then for one’s body.75 Marcus Aurelius, the Chaldean Oracles, and Iamblichus likewise explore prayer and other religious actions and how they operate on the body and soul, particularly how they work to elevate the soul and remove vice and passion. Dual techniques operate on the intersections between soul and body, virtue and vice. Seneca urges keeping one’s inner and outer selves in harmony. For Plutarch, the dual techniques work to subjugate vices by activating the opposing virtues that suppress their associated vices. The dual techniques also emphasize the place of reason in the soul, showing that reason elevates the soul and suppresses the body through the removal of vice and the passions and by teaching and giving virtue. The application of reason forms the cornerstone of the dual techniques, serving to transform both the soul and body.76 Sometimes, however, reason is insufficient for overcoming especially strong passions. In these instances, one must engage in physical practices in order to reform both the body and the soul.77 The physical techniques of self-care encompass a variety of prescribed and proscribed activities, from what to eat to when to sleep to the kinds of pillows to keep on one’s couch. These practices serve to deny vice and the passions and elevate the soul, often by removing or limiting access to those things that might excite the passions. Some of these techniques serve the further function of teaching or calling attention to virtue. In general, philosophers encourage simple and disciplined living, what Stoic philosophers

Seneca, Letters 10.4. See also his encouragement both to contemplate and worship wisdom in Letters 64.6–7. 76  For citations, see Appendix 2, Table 5D. Citations are ordered according to the concepts discussed in this paragraph. 77  Plutarch, “Consolation to His Wife” 6 (Moralia 610A-B; that grief in the soul requires bodily vigor) (ed. and trans. by P.  H. De Lacy and B.  Einarson, in Plutarch’s Moralia, vol. 7, 523C–612B). 75 

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term living in accordance with nature.78 Seneca’s own physical techniques – both actual and ideal – include constant work (for him, studying philosophy and writing), getting only as much sleep as necessary, removing himself from worldly affairs (both his own and the affairs of state), moderating the use of his wealth and occasionally living as if poor, consistency in his speech and action, and remaining in one place. He also outlines how others have trained themselves to deny the passions by eschewing enjoyment, never drinking wine, abstaining from sex, sleeping little, and engaging in amazing feats of physical agility and strength. Some of these, such as living as if poor and limiting sleep, are progressive and designed to accustom the individual slowly to more advanced and difficult practices. The eclectic Cicero emphasizes the life of service, and writes that it is better than the life of pleasure. Plutarch likewise advocates simple, virtuous living through moderation in food, drink, occupation, speech, and actions. Some pursuits, like reading poetry, teach virtue; in general, all one’s actions should further the goal of managing impulses toward passion and vice. Musonius Rufus and Marcus Aurelius similarly prescribe and proscribe what to eat and drink, how much to sleep, what to wear, where to live, how to furnish one’s living space, what kind of work is acceptable, how to speak, and how to listen. The physical techniques of self-care are both practical and theoretical, with the practice as the most beneficial and the theory teaching the correct actions of practice. In general, the physical practices serve to keep the body in check; or, as the Hermetic Asclepius put it, they prove that one despises the flesh. Physical discipline removes passion and vice, and counters the distractions that cause vice.79 These techniques, however, are not simple exercises. They require discipline, training, and habituation. Cicero advocates training both the mind and the body, particularly training in the virtues. Seneca equates virtue with training the soul, such that the habituation of the training releases the passions’ hold on the soul. Plutarch writes that training (askesis) the body and soul See Appendix 2, Table 5E. See Appendix 2, Table 5F. Citations are ordered according their introduction in these two paragraphs. 78 

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in virtue overcomes impulses to vice and passion, removes vice and passion, and renders the body and soul completely apathetic. Virtue, which comes from reason, results in habits that cure the plague of passions and vice.80 This training is initially taught by someone other than the individual, and only later taught to oneself by oneself.81 Ancient philosophical literature overflows with general and specific mental, dual, and bodily techniques that serve to elevate the soul, suppress the body, create virtue, and deny the passions.82 Seneca generalizes the mental and physical techniques into soundness in mind and body and moderation in the trappings of physical life. Moreover, he writes that these techniques form the path to the divine and are the proper training of a philosopher who wishes to live according to nature.83 Plutarch, using metaphors from urban planning and the construction of houses, writes that persistent sicknesses of the soul (such as nosiness) should be shifted to domains of inquiry that can produce virtue instead of vice.84 The physical and mental practices of self-care sweep or rearrange the room of the soul. Such practices direct the individual away

80  See Appendix 2, Table 5G. Citations are ordered according their introduction in this paragraph. 81  The Chaldean Oracles, though, claim that first one must remove distractions in order to learn (1–2) (ed. and trans. by R. Majercik, in The Chaldean Oracles: Text, Translation, and Commentary, New York, 1989 [Studies in Greek and Roman Religion, 5]). 82  In addition to the citations in this section and in Appendix 2, other places in the philosophical texts provide a trove of examples on askesis: Corpus Hermeticum 1.22–23, 1.29, 10.5–6, 12.2–4, 13.16; Asclepius 11, 41; Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.8,  8.26,  9.7,  10.11,  10.13,  11.1; Porphyry, Life of Plotinus 8,  23 (ed. and trans. by A.  H. Armstrong, in Enneads, vol.  1, Porphyry on the Life of Plotinus and the Order of His Books, Enneads I.1–9, rev. ed., Cambridge, MA, 1989 [LCL, 440], pp.  2–87); Proclus, On the Existence of Evils 12.7–12,  21–22. 83  Seneca, De tranquillitate animi 17.3–12 (on mental and physical practices); De vita beata 3.3–4 (on the Stoic doctrine of living according to nature, making body and mind sound, and keeping physical life moderated), 20.3–5 (that mental and physical techniques are the path to the gods); Letters 15 (on the mental and physical training of a philosopher), 16.7–9 (on living according to nature). 84  Plutarch, “On Being Nosy” 1 (Moralia 515B-F).

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from the distractions of embodiment, such as wealth, and to the wealth of knowledge and self-control provided by philosophy.85 These practices do not occur in isolation. One must receive training, and then individualize them and progress in them in order to reform the soul truly. Seneca identifies this dual environment of self-care – both communal and individual – as self-friendship, or the training that the individual receives at his own hands.86 The individuality and community of self-care ensured both the system’s propagation and the consistency of self-care philosophies and practices across the centuries and throughout philosophical and religious systems. e. Environments of Self-Care: The Self and Others There are two environments for learning and practicing selfcare. The first lies in observing others and comparing oneself to their practices and progress. Second is the reality that self-care is essentially an individual decision and operation. The communal and individual environments of self-care enable the practitioner first to learn the system and its techniques and later to modify them for the practitioner’s own situation.87 Practitioners of selfcare serve as mirrors to show would-be or early-stage learners that they need care and how to take care of themselves. The good and bad actions of other people highlight the individual’s state and reveal another way of living. The teacher of self-care leads the individual to virtue, as opposed to the masses that distract and move the individual toward vice. Part of the goal of learning self-care is to progress to such a point that one may teach selfcare to others, propagating the system generation to generation. Individuals are born without wisdom but should strive to attain

85  Plutarch, “On Love of Wealth” 10 (Moralia 527F–528B) (ed. and trans. by P. H. De Lacy and B. Einarson, in Plutarch’s Moralia, vol. 7, 523C–612B). 86  Seneca, Letters 6.7 (“be a friend to myself,” “amicus esse mihi”). 87  The communal environment covers the philosophical schools (large-scale communal environment) and the more intimate teacher-student relationship (a small-scale communal environment). See, for example, H.  Marrou, A  History of Education in Antiquity, trans. by G.  Lamb, Madison, WI, 1956, pp.  206–16, 299–313; Hadot, What Is Ancient Philosophy?, pp.  91–233.

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wisdom, though Seneca writes that few actually become the wise physicians of others’ souls, the great men of philosophy.88 For philosophers across the schools, training in self-care should begin as early as possible.89 By receiving this training, especially from an early age, the practitioner can be corrected by others and, ultimately, correct himself.90 Eventually the individual achieves a level of practice at which he may more severely reproach his own failings, while gently teaching others to correct theirs.91 The shift from student to teacher creates space for the individual to modify the techniques of self-care for his own situation and abilities. This individualization occurs throughout one’s development, from beginning (when the teacher often prescribes the individualization) to maturity (when individualization is self-directed). Seneca advocates both guidance and individualism in the life of philosophical self-care. One’s techniques, according to the philosophers, change depending on the ability of the individual, his situation in life, and his level of development in self-care. The individ88  Citations for this paragraph may be found in Appendix 2, Table 6A. While Seneca believes that Stoicism holds the main source of truth (Letters 33.2–5, that Stoicism is replete with wisdom), he allows that all philosophers and schools hold some access to truth. By virtue of these philosophers’ participation in the truth, a thing available to all who are willing to find it, he allows himself to reference their sayings and ideas as public domain (Letters 8.8–10, 12.11, 14.17–18,  21.9, 33.2). 89  Seneca, De ira 2.19.1–21.11 (train children against anger through education, which is against the nature of children); Plutarch, “On Being Nosy” 11 (Moralia 520D; exercising control over oneself, and particularly training and teaching oneself such control, is the key to curing nosiness); Musonius Rufus, Discourses 17 (106.17–110.27; philosophy is a lifelong pursuit); Iamblichus, Letters 14 (on raising children) (ed. and trans. by J.  M. Dillon and W.  Polleichtner, in Iamblichus of Chalcis: “The Letters”, Atlanta, 2009 [Writings from the Greco-Roman World, 19]). Ingo Gildenhard argues that the entirety of Cicero’s Tusculan Disputations outlines a Roman philosophical educational system intended to subvert the politics of Caesar by reforming Roman morals and proving the superiority of Roman philosophy (I. Gildenhard, Paideia Romana: Cicero’s Tusculan Disputations, Cambridge, 2007 [Cambridge Classical Journal Supplement, 30]). In the context of self-care, Gildenhard’s reading of Cicero makes Tusculan Disputations a manual of selfcare education. 90  Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.16 (an exhortation to learn from others and oneself), 4.12 (an exhortation to be teachable). 91  Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 10.4.

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ual’s practice is personal, not subject to comparison with others’ practices. The root of individualized practice may lie in the idea that virtues, vices, and passions all operate differently in different people. Whatever its source, the individualization of self-care’s techniques constituted a crucial concern in teaching, learning, and practicing self-care.92 The environments of self-care allow the practitioner first to learn then to individualize the specific techniques of the system. The soul’s state, the individual’s goal, the problem that these create, and the imperative to self-care form the common inheritance of embodied humanity. The individual practitioner determines the specific techniques involved in repairing one’s soul and realizing the goal of access to wisdom and truth, subject only initially to the guidance of an advanced practitioner. Through the exercises received and personalized, the individual attains some measure of pneumatic reformation that results in achieving a perfected state. f. The Final State: Self-death Ancient philosophical literature brims with descriptions of the person who cares for himself. The soul taken care of is variously described as unperverted, undistracted by embodiment, reasoned, ordered, calm, sound, passionless, virtuous, tranquil, peaceful, great, happy, knowledgeable, good, existing on a higher plane, perfected, and divinized.93 Perfected, the soul can contemplate and access wisdom and truth – but only in part. This “perfected” state is not truly perfect, because human embodiment makes true perfection unattainable. True perfection, true divinization, comes only when the soul finds release from the body and ascends to truth, wisdom, and divinity. The philosophers look toward death as their true point of perfection. Death is the realization of true self-care, because it allows one finally to overcome the passions and the distractions of embodiment. In death the philosophers find true perfection and true divinization.94 Seneca divides wisdom itself from philosophy, identifying the latter as the interim 92  See Appendix 2, Table 6B for citations from this paragraph, arranged as the ideas appear in the paragraph. 93  See Appendix 2, Table 7A for citations. 94  See Appendix 2, Table 7B for citations.

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state before the perfected, final state of wisdom.95 Because of the emphasis on true perfection in death, the wise man, identified by Seneca as the Stoic philosopher, is nearly divine, and even the near-divine state is one that few reach.96 Indeed, Cicero’s entire treatise on old age, in the mouth of Cato the Censor, builds toward the assertion that death is either a good thing (if the soul lives on, in bodily death it is freed from temptations) or is neutral (if the soul is annihilated, it is still freed from temptations).97 Through the lifelong practice of self-care, the soul becomes nearly perfected, nearly divine, and able to access parts of wisdom and truth. Such a soul is largely peaceful and happy. True happiness and peace, full perfection, complete divinization, and full participation in wisdom and truth are available only after death. The philosophers (by Seneca’s definition a class of people in the process of perfecting themselves) must keep death always in their minds, and live with a view toward death that includes limiting the body as much as possible, in order to simulate the death of their corporeal selves. g. Practical Concerns Some philosophers identify two general practical concerns in taking care of oneself. The first is that self-care requires time, money, and desire. The second is that the initial state of the practitioner (e.g., age) affects one’s practice and the final state of the individual’s soul. Cicero, Seneca, Plutarch, and Marcus Aurelius all write that time and leisure are necessary for studying philosophy and executing self-care.98 Since leisure requires money to maintain daily life, the philosophical life was generally available only to those wealthy enough to afford to take care of themselves. Seneca, Letters 89.4–8. Seneca, De constantia sapientis 7.1 (the Stoic philosopher is a wise man, and a rare thing), 8.2 (the wise man is nearly divine). 97  Cicero, Cato Maior de senectute, culminating at 23.82–85 (ed. and trans. by W.  A. Falconer, in De senectute, De amicitial, De divinatione, 1923, Cambridge, MA, 1971 [LCL, 154]). 98  Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.3.5, De officiis 1.4.13,  2.1.4, De finibus 2.14; Seneca, De otio (ed. and trans. by J. W. Basore, in Moral Essays, vol. 2, pp.  180–201); Plutarch, “On Exile” (Moralia 599A–607F) (ed. and trans. by P.  H. De Lacy and B.  Einarson, in Plutarch’s Moralia, vol.  7,  523C–612B); Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 2.7. 95 

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Furthermore, one must want to practice self-care in order to begin and continue the process.99 Since leisure could be put toward other (worldly) pursuits (e.g., politics, poetry, or promiscuity), the individual must want to leave these things behind in order to practice the lifelong pursuit of wisdom. Given that most philosophers assume a wealthy practitioner, the practical state of the individual that most concerns them is age. While the study of philosophy and the practice of self- care are lifelong pursuits, they should ideally start in youth because age changes both body and soul, possibly impeding progress.100 This potential difficulty makes beginning philosophical and selfcare training early in life important, because starting later in life may leave the practitioner without enough time to reform his soul. These two general considerations formed only a small part of some philosophies of self-care. They represent an elite, wealthy type of self-care, versus the populist self-care present in some of the philosophical and religious sources such as the Hermetic literature or the Chaldean Oracles. 3. Conclusion: The Self-Care Milieu of Late Antique Thought Classical thought, carried into late antiquity, included a system of self-care founded on three major assumptions. First, the goal of humanity is access to wisdom and truth. Second, the soul’s deformity in embodiment and subjugation to passions hinders this access. Third, individuals must undergo a process of training to reform the soul, with a reformation fully realized only in death. This system of self-care – along with the study of nature, metaphysics, and the divine that lead one toward self-care – is what late antique thinkers call philosophy, the love of wisdom that leads to union with wisdom and truth. Self-care was the milieu that included ethical education, the Stoic drive to the passionless 99  Seneca, Letters 71.35–36; also in De constantia sapientis 7.1, in which he writes that the Stoic philosopher is a rare find. 100  Cicero, De officiis 1.34.122–23; Seneca, De ira 2.18.1–2, 2.22.1–30.2, De brevitate vitae 7.3 (ed. and trans. by J.  W. Basore, in Moral Essays, vol.  2, pp. 287–355); Plutarch, “Consolation to His Wife” 10 (Moralia 611D-F).

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individual, and spiritual direction across a variety of religious systems. Self-care thought resonated beyond the rarefied domain of upper-class philosophers, such as Cicero and Seneca. The system existed in the Hermetic literature, it was taught by the slaveturned-Stoic Musonius Rufus, it was embraced by the emperor Marcus Aurelius, and it was the raison d’être for Iamblichus’s Exhortation to Philosophy.101 It presented itself in Hellenized Egyptian religion and in Christianity. It was the subject of treatises, speeches, and even tragedies.102 It was emblazoned on the temple at Delphi in the exhortation ΓΝΩΘΙ ΣΑΥΤΟΝ, “Know yourself,” an exhortation identified by Plato, Cicero, Seneca, and Proclus as part of taking care of oneself.103 As demonstrated by Proclus, the self-care system spanned the centuries from Plato to Proclus.104 Self-care thought so pervaded late antique thought that it surfaced in texts from the philosophical to the religious to the cultic.105 That it is present in Christian discourse is fairly established; 101  Corpus Hermeticum 4.4–7; Musonius Rufus, Discourses 6 (52.5–56.11; titled ΠΕΡΙ ΑΣΚΗΣΕΩΣ); Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 12.3; Iamblichus, Protrepticus (ed.  by E.  Pistelli, in Protrepticus, Leipzig, 1888; trans. by T.  M. Johnson, Exhortation to the Study of Philosophy, 1907, Grand Rapids, MI, 1988). 102  To the latter point, see Nussbaum, Therapy of Desire, pp.  439–83, in which she reads one of Seneca’s tragedies in light of his project of teaching self-reformation and healing from the disease caused by the passions. 103  Self-knowledge is part of the transformative imperative of Platonic ethics, according to Julia Annas (Annas, Platonic Ethics, p.  58). The imperative “know yourself” also featured in the Hermetic literature and in magical texts, though in the latter case self-knowledge becomes the result of magical practice (H.  D. Betz, “The Delphic Maxim ΓΝΩΘΙ ΣΑΥΤΟΝ in Hermetic Interpretation,” Harvard Theological Review 63 [1970], pp.  465–84; H.  D. Betz, “The Delphic Maxim ‘Know Yourself’ in the Greek Magical Papyri,” History of Religions 21 [1981], pp. 156–71). 104  Proclus, Commentary on Alcibiades I. His commentary interprets the self-care system in Platonic thought through the Neoplatonic lens of the fifth century ce. 105  Richard Valantasis recognizes the same impulses to self-care, or “asceticism” in his terms, across thought-groups in late antiquity: “Perhaps what is needed, and this follows from my argument about Musonius, is not a redefinition of the philosophical schools, but a recognition that asceticism emerged as a major factor in philosophical and religious life. It is precisely this turn to asceticism witnessed in Musonius Rufus that may also be detected in the emergence of Rabbinic Judaism, Pauline Jewish-Christianity, and formative

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however, in the Apophthegmata Patrum, self-care thought adopts a subversive purpose in establishing monastic autonomy from episcopal authority. By accessing and modifying the self-care system, the AP’s compiler implies to his readers how ascetic, monastic authority should stand apart from the rest of the Christian church.

Christianity. The list of ascetically oriented religious leaders and philosophical teachers gathers up many of the leading minds of the period” (R. Valantasis, “Musonius Rufus and Roman Ascetical Theory,” Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 40 [1999], p. 231).

CHAPTER 5: Self-Care in the A pophthe gmata Patrvm Self-care permeated early Christianity.1 Pierre Hadot and Michel Foucault traced self-care thought in Justin Martyr, Clement of Alexandria, Methodius of Olympus, Athanasius, Basil of Caesarea, Gregory of Nyssa, Gregory Nazianzen, John Chrysostom, Evagrius Ponticus, Rufinus, Augustine, John Cassian, and Dorotheos of Gaza.2 Many of these early Christians appropriated various categories of Greek, Hellenistic, and Roman self-care; some even drew on the philosophical literature directly. While many Christian figures are connected with asceticism or monasticism, the presence of ecclesiastic figures (such as Athanasius, John Chrysostom, and 1  Including perhaps the Jesus Movement and first-century Christian community; see the essays that connect early Christian writings and the New Testament to Plutarch in Plutarch’s Ethical Writings and Early Christian Literature, ed. by H. D. Betz, Leiden, 1978 (Studia ad Corpus Hellenisticum Novi Testamenti, 4). 2  M.  Foucault, The Hermeneutics of the Subject: Lectures at the Collège de France 1981–1982, ed.  by F.  Gros, trans. by G.  Burchell, New York, 2005, pp.  10,  299–300,  422–23; P.  Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault, ed.  by A.  I. Davidson, trans. by M.  Chase, Oxford, 1995, pp.  82,  109 nn.  4–5,  128–40; P.  Hadot, What Is Ancient Philosophy?, trans. by M.  Chase, Cambridge, MA, 2002, pp.  237–52. Other explorations of the Christian appropriation of self-care thought include Jan  N. Bremmer’s examination of the similarities and differences between Pythagoreans and Christian monks (J.  N. Bremmer, “Symbols of Marginality from Early Pythagoreans to Late Antique Monks,” Greece & Rome, 2nd ser., 39 [1992], pp.  205–14); Harry  O. Maier’s essay on Clement of Alexandria’s use of self-care philosophy (H.  O. Maier, “Clement of Alexandria and the Care of the Self,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 62 [1994], pp.  719–45); and Richard Valantasis’ argument that a portion of the Nag Hammadi texts represents a Christian appropriation of Roman asceticism (R.  Valantasis, “Demons, Adversaries, Devils, Fishermen: The Asceticism of Authoritative Teaching [NHL, VI, 3] in the Context of Roman Asceticism,” Journal of Religion 81 [2001], pp. 549–65). J. H. W. G. Liebeschuetz also sees Christian asceticism standing in the stream of self-care thought in GrecoRoman philosophy and religion (J. H. W. G. Liebeschuetz, Ambrose & John Chrysostom: Clerics between Desert and Empire, New York, 2011, pp. 13–42).

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Augustine) indicates that Christian engagement with philosophical self-care thought was not isolated to non-ecclesiastical Christian monks. As with other appropriated segments of Roman and Hellenistic thought, the early Christians modified certain elements of selfcare thought to better fit a Christian expression. In addition to conforming self-care to Christianity, the compiler of the AP highlights certain parts of the self-care system to bolster a political goal. By showing unfavorable interactions between monks and ecclesiastics and establishing Christian monasticism and its models of teaching and leadership as the heirs to philosophical self-care, the compiler tacitly argues that monasticism stands apart from mainstream Christianity. As the philosophical schools and teachers of philosophy existed somewhat independently of other parts of Roman and Hellenistic society, the AP’s compiler suggests that Christian monasticism should also stand as an independent part of Christian society, with a separate system of power and authority in the educational structure of the monasticism. The pedagogy of self-care was the purview its practitioners, who as a result of their expertise could teach both others and themselves. Because authority resided with teachers and advanced practitioners – regardless of their positions in the institutional church – the monastic system and its governance necessarily stood beyond of the hierarchy of mainstream Christianity. Examining the specific expressions of the self-care system in the AP reveals the compiler’s use of self-care to create his own monastic narrative that excludes ecclesiastical authority, instead asserting monastic authority. 3 These expressions create the problem-solution system of self-care thought that identifies the soul as deformed and unable to attain its proper, desired goal. Realizing this disconnect, the system issues an imperative to take care of the self through technologies (specific practices) that reform soul and body. The imperative and the technologies simultaneously require a teacher and are the operation of the self on itself, creating a dual environment (communal and individual) for self-care.

3  See Appendix 3 for a discussion of the lack of concerns over time, money, age, and starting position that plagued the would-be practitioners of the philosophical world.

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Final reformation of one’s soul is attained only in the next life, however, so practitioners look to perfection in death. This system appears in the AP in much the same way as the philosophical literature. The compiler uses self-care, however, to bolster his assertion of monastic autonomy. Only monks, as practitioners of selfcare, should direct ascetic, monastic affairs. 1. The State of the Soul in the AP The narrative of Christian self-care in the AP uses the same foundation as the philosophical sources – the essential self, the soul, is imperiled and deformed by the passions and by the operation of external influences and distractions on oneself. Christianity adds the pneumatic conditions and language of “saved” and “unsaved” to the soul’s states, with unsaved being the initial state of the self. The AP’s compiler adopts this lapsarian language because Christianity superimposes onto the soul’s deformed state the doctrine of sin and the story of the Fall, which add the language of temptation. These Christian additions employ a host of characters who are either active in the lives of the monks (e.g., angels, Satan, demons) or explain the origin of sin (e.g., Adam, Eve).4 In some instances, demons embody the passions. The monks view the soul’s deformity as part of a constant, two-level warfare for their souls. While the monks emphasize Christian expressions of the soul’s initial state in the language of salvation and temptation, they nonetheless use some of the same phrases present in the philosophical self-care milieu. A  monk’s soul may be damaged, rebellious, or traumatized; it requires preservation and salvation.5 Souls may 4  Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony uses the belief in demons in Christianity to problematize Hadot’s and Foucault’s readings of ancient philosophy and to explain why prayer takes on overwhelming importance in the monastic appropriations of ancient philosophy (B.  Bitton-Ashkelony, “Demons and Prayers: Spiritual Exercises in the Monastic Community of Gaza in the Fifth and Sixth Centuries,” Vigiliae Christianae 57 [2003], pp. 200–21). 5  Ammonas 5 (PG 65, col.  120; n.  2 in chapter one, above, provides the edition citations for the AP); Isaiah 7 (PG 65, col.  181); John the Short 15 (PG 65, cols  208–09); Antony 33 (PG 65, col.  85), 27 (PG 65, col.  84), 29 (PG 65, col. 85).

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perish, souls can be forced into prostitution, and souls can be enslaved.6 In general, the soul exists in a miserable state when it is controlled by sin and the passions. The AP regularly portrays the monk struggling or fighting against thoughts, passions, demons, and temptation to sin. Opening the entire collection, Antony grapples with sinful thoughts and the listlessness that they produce.7 A monk’s struggle with thoughts and the actions (or lack thereof) that they produce opens the collection, identifying the primary domain of a monk’s concern. Care for one’s thoughts and actions should dominate a monk’s mind, and nothing should distract him from exercising this care. One monk’s thoughts lead him to think that he cannot perform the duties of a monk, while another monk’s mind wanders from thinking about his own sins to focusing on the sins of his fellow monks.8 These thoughts that both distract and tempt the monk will ultimately destroy the monk and result in his separation from God.9 The monk struggles to control “thoughts” throughout his life.10 Evil or distracting thoughts are the product of the monk’s own mind or are implanted in his mind by demonic influences.11 The content of a monk’s thought is simple according to one apophthegm: “Humans hold in mind either sins, Jesus, or people.”12 The first class of thoughts represents passion, vice, and the temptation to sin, either originating in the person or arising from external influences. “People,” the third class of thoughts, is somewhat ambiguous, but probably represents two ways of looking at people around the monk: people as companions in the monastic life (teachers, students,  etc.) and people as distractions or temptations.13 Language of temptation, passion, and vice runs throughPoimen 16 (PG 65, col.  325), 172 (PG 65, col.  364); Orsisius 1–2 (PG 65, col.  316); Gerontius 1 (PG 65, col. 153); Theonas 1 (PG 65, col. 197). 7  Antony 1 (PG 65, col. 76). 8  Arsenius 11 (PG 65, col. 89); Dioscorus 2 (PG 65, col. 160–61). 9  Poimen 20 (PG 65, col. 328); Olympius 1 (PG 65, col. 313). 10  Abraham 1 (PG 65, cols 129–32). 11  Elias 5 (PG 65, col.  184); Poimen 15 (PG 65, col.  325), 28 (PG 65, col.  329); Elias 4 (PG 65, col. 184). 12  Elias 5 (PG 65, col.  184). Οἱ ἄνθρωποι τὸν νοῦν ἔχουσιν, ἢ εἰς τὰς ἁμαρτίας, ἢ πρὸς τὸν Ἰησοῦν, ἢ πρὸς τοὺς ἀνθρώπους. 13  The order of the list supports this interpretation of the third class of thoughts. First, the apophthegm mentions those thoughts that are always 6 

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out the AP. Monks face temptations to sin throughout their lives, and occasionally they face temptation for their own edification when they overcome it.14 Most frequently, specific vices and passions tempt monks, preying on their individual weaknesses.15 The self-care milieu of the late ancient Mediterranean employed the language of virtue, vice, and the passions, and the AP is no different. Temptation to sin is simply the Christian expression of passion and vice, with the AP accessing both philosophical and Christian language to express self-care thought. The AP’s monks frequently discuss the passions, both generally and specifically. For the monks of the AP, the passions cannot be entirely destroyed, but can only be “chained” by the holy monks.16 The passions are “unclean” or “depraved” and are the source of sin.17 They cause the downfall of the soul by fighting against the monk from within.18 Poimen describes the passions, of which listlessness is the worst, as “thorns” that, when allowed to operate freely, destroy the soul.19 Passions constituted such a major part of the monastic life that, in one apophthegm, Poimen refuses to speak about anything (including scripture) except the passions.20 Passions and vice, if they are allowed to, will control the soul and separate the monk from God.21 evil (sins). Second, the apophthegm cites those thoughts that are always good (anything related to Jesus). The third category can be either; one way of thinking about other humans is sinful, and the other is not. 14  Antony 4–5 (PG 65, col.  77), 23 (PG 65, col.  84); Poimen 125 (PG 65, col.  353); Bessarion 9 (PG 65, col. 141); Evagrius 5 (PG 65, col. 176). 15  Antony 12 (PG 65, col.  77), 20 (PG 65, col.  81); Amoun of Nitria 3 (PG 65, col. 128); Macarius of Egypt 3 (PG 65, cols 261–64); Mark of Egypt 1 (PG 65, col. 304); Nicon 1 (PG 65, col. 309); Nicetas 1 (PG 65, col. 312); Olympius 2 (PG 65, cols  313–16). 16  Abraham 1 (PG 65, cols 129–32). 17  Macarius of Egypt 20 (PG 65, col. 269); Longinus 5 (PG 65, col. 257). 18  Poimen 16 (PG 65, col.  325); Poimen 115 (PG 65, col.  352); Poimen 83 (PG 65, col.  341). 19  Poimen 149 (PG 65, col. 360), 161 (PG 65, col. 361), 172 (PG 65, col. 364). Agathon 1 (PG 65, cols  108–09) calls unchecked speech the worst passion, showing that, similar to some philosophical sources, monastic thinkers assumed a hierarchy of passions that changed from monk to monk. 20  Poimen 8 (PG 65, cols 321–24). 21  Isidore of Pelusia 6 (PG 65, col. 224), 4 (PG 65, col. 224).

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Thoughts about and temptation to vice and passion (sin, in Christian parlance) plague every monk, and are individual to each monk.22 Temptations to vice, passion, and sin originate either in the monk’s own mind or through the operation of Satan and demons.23 Monks may choose to sin, which not only harms them but also harms those around them.24 It is human nature, according to Macarius of Egypt, to love what is harmful to us, and it is the human will (which operates against the divine will) that separates the monk from God.25 The human will can actually become its own demon.26 Apart from the monk’s own mind and will, and the demons that the mind and will create, Satan and Satan’s demons are the second impetus to sin, passion, and vice. The compiler adopts militaristic imagery here, with angels and demons fighting over the souls of the monks. Demons and Satan fight against the monks directly using the weapons of temptation to passion and sin. Demons and Satan attack the monks constantly, both mentally and physically; sometimes the monks are tempted, and other times the monks are physically beaten.27 The monk Moses sees these battles as a Sisoes 44 (PG 65, col. 405); Poimen 34 (PG 65, col. 332). The battle between monks and demons, and the relationship between the monk’s mind and demons, was a major part of Christian monastic literature, and much has been written about these interactions. See, for example: D.  Brakke, Demons and the Making of the Monk: Spiritual Combat in Early Christianity, Cambridge, MA, 2006, esp. pp.  3–47,  127–81,  213–46 (p.  157: “Most of the time the monk’s conflict with the demons was invisible, for it was an internal struggle with thoughts and inclinations.”); D. Brakke, “The Making of Monastic Demonology: Three Ascetic Teachers on Withdrawal and Resistance,” Church History 70 (2001), pp. 19–48; Richard Valantasis, “Daemons and the Perfecting of the Monk’s Body: Monastic Anthropology, Daemonology, and Asceticism,” Semeia 58 (1992), pp.  47–79 (in which he ties the production of the monk’s angelic body to interaction with demons); P.  Brown, The Body and Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity, 2nd ed., New York, 2008, pp. 224–29. 24  Daniel 6 (PG 65, col. 156); Isaiah 7 (PG 65, col. 181). 25  Macarius of Egypt 24 (PG 65, col.  272; see also Poimen 93 [PG 65, cols  344–45], which contends that only what the soul desires remains in the soul); Poimen 54 (PG 65, cols 333–36). 26  Poimen 67 (PG 65, col. 337). 27  Arsenius 3 (PG 65, col.  88), 43 (PG 65, col.  108); Doulas 1–2 (PG 65, col.  161); Heraclides 1 (PG 65, col.  185); Isidore 6 (PG 65, col.  221); Macarius 22 

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reflection of the cosmic war between good and evil, represented by the hordes of demons fighting against the larger hosts of angels.28 Matoes analogizes Satan as a farmer – Satan does not know which passion will grow in the monk, so he throws all of them at the monk and then feeds the one that takes root.29 Similarly, Macarius of Egypt recounts a story of seeing Satan in human form wearing a garment of pockets with flasks full of tempting foods hanging in each pocket. Satan would give each monk a bit to try until he found the temptation that most suited the individual monk. 30 Some sins and passions, especially sexual ones, are even described as having their own specific demons or spirits. 31 Satan and demons fighting for monks’ souls are especially effective because of the relationship between the body and the soul. Like the philosophical sources, Christian self-care in the AP assumes a link between the body and the soul; what happens to one effects change in the other. Antony speaks of three ways in which the body moves: under control of the soul and without the operation of the passions, under control of the passions, and under control of the demons. 32 Other apophthegms demonstrate that the body and soul must be brought into harmony, claiming that they are often disharmonious, that each affects the other, and that it is difficult to harmonize them. 33 The body is the theater of operation for many of the passions, so the operation of the body affects the soul. Without careful attention, the body and the soul both fall prey to the passions; conversely, protecting one protects the other as well. 34 Because the body and soul are related, the passions can easily disrupt the soul by perverting the body. of Egypt 11 (PG 65, col.  268), 13 (PG 65, cols  268–69), 33 (PG 65, cols  273– 77), 35 (PG 65, col.  277); Poimen 100 (PG 65, col.  345); Pityron 1 (PG 65, col. 376); Paphnutius 4 (PG 65, col. 380); Sisoes 11 (PG 65, col. 396); Syncletica 7 (PG 65, col. 424). 28  Moses 1 (PG 65, col. 281). 29  Matoes 4 (PG 65, col. 289). 30  Macarius of Egypt 3 (PG 65, cols 261–64). 31  Daniel 2 (PG 65, col. 153); Poimen 14 (PG 65, col. 325); Sarah 2 (PG 65, col.  420). 32  Antony 22 (PG 65, col. 84). 33  Daniel 4 (PG 65, col. 156); Elias 6 (PG 65, col. 184). 34  Theodora 3 (PG 65, col. 201); Agathon 8 (PG 65, col. 112).

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While drawing on a Hellenistic and Roman understanding of the passions, the AP employs Christianized analogies to reveal the soul’s initial state. An apophthegm of John the Short explains the soul’s relationship to the passions with the story of a woman (the soul) and her lovers (the passions and distractions): even after she takes a husband (here Jesus), her former lovers still try to entice her and actively work to convince her to leave her husband. 35 The two most frequent images in the AP describe the soul operating in accordance with nature (similar to the philosophical sources) and explain how the Fall serves as the source of the soul’s deformity. The temptation to sin is called the “old Adam” in an apophthegm attributed to Poimen, and the passions and “old man” stand in opposition to nature in another Poimen saying. 36 Adam and Eve’s fall into sin inaugurates the soul’s disharmony with nature and its destruction by the passions. 37 The monks of the AP use both philosophical and Christian metaphors to describe the damaged soul. Poimen uses sickness as an analogy for sin and the sinner, while Paul the Simple can see the state of a monk’s soul by looking at a stylized vision of the monk’s body (dark and cowed for the sinful, impassioned monk). 38 Arsenius sees visions that teach the futility of sin: a man cutting more wood than he can carry, but continuing to cut wood anyway; a man trying to fill a broken jar with water; two men trying to enter a doorway while carrying a beam between them. 39 Evagrius provides a graphic scene of judgment and Hell for those who continue engaging in sin and with the passions.40 The soul’s peace is troubled, the soul needs cheering because of its sin, and the soul requires accusation because of its state.41 Bessarion was notable because of the peacefulness of his soul, suggesting both

John the Short 16 (PG 65, col. 209). Poimen 11 (PG 65, cols 324–25), 68 (PG 65, col. 337). 37  Paul 1 (PG 65, cols 380–81); Hyperechius 5 (PG 65, col. 429). 38  Poimen 70 (PG 65, cols 337–40); Paul the Simple 1 (PG 65, cols 381–85). 39  Arsenius 33 (PG 65, cols 100–01). 40  Evagrius 1 (PG 65, col. 173). 41  Evagrius 2 (PG 65, col. 173); Doulas 1–2 (PG 65, col. 161); Achilles 1 (PG 65, col. 124); Ammonas 1 (PG 65, col. 120). 35 

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the strength of his practice and the state of others who had failed to reach his level.42 The default human condition in the AP is similar to the condition of the non-philosopher in the philosophical sources – without peace, disordered, malformed in soul, and in disharmony with nature. By locating the soul’s deformity in the Christian doctrine of the Fall, the AP adds a new cast of characters and an increased vocabulary to the self-care milieu. The Christian shift of the soul’s state also increases the severity of the soul’s initial state: whereas in the Hellenistic and Roman model the non-practitioner is merely disordered and malformed, in the Christian model the non-practitioner is also disconnected from God and thereby damned. 2. The Goal of the Monk Philosophers assert that humans’ proper goal is to know wisdom and the truth about oneself, others, and the universe in general. Living to know the truth formed the highest expression of life according to classical and late antique philosophers. Plato, Seneca, and Plutarch (among others) placed the self-knowledge that derives from self-care as a requirement of political service. All humans should strive for the love of wisdom born of self-care. Self-care in the AP ties the self’s goal to the Christian narrative of sin and the Fall, supplanting access to wisdom and truth with salvation, and shifting the philosophical goals to by-products of the self’s close relationship to the divine in salvation.43 Salvation in the AP is perfection, divinization, and living the angelic life. The AP’s compiler also sometimes links wisdom and truth, as closeness to the divine, to the interpretation of scripture. The goal of salvation finds a variety of expressions in the AP, but the most frequent forms are the simple imperative to be saved Bessarion 12 (PG 65, cols 141–44). Perhaps the compiler considered this shift from self-knowledge to salvation in the divine when he included such sayings as Evagrius S1 (J.-C.  Guy, Recherches sur la tradition grecque des Apophthegmata Patrum, Brussels, 1962 [Subsidia Hagiographica, 36], p. 21; this saying appears in most manuscripts): Εἶπεν πάλιν · ἀρχη σωτηρίας ἡ σεαυτοῦ κατάγνωσις. The Delphic maxim of gnothi sauton is now changed to an imperative of self-censure in light of the perfection of the divine. 42 

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and the many requests for salvation. The collection opens with Antony wishing for salvation and asking how he might be saved.44 That salvation should be the goal of the monastic life is clear from the frequency with which monks discuss salvation or ask for advice on how to be saved.45 Many of the requests for advice (“Give a word”) from a young monk to an older monk are either completed with “that I might be saved” or imply salvation as part of the answer. Some of the sayings find monks asking God for immediate salvation from their present circumstances, suggesting that immediate salvation guards them for the ultimate salvation of their souls.46 Monks express the desire for salvation in a number of other ways. An unnamed monk asks Antony how “to be pleasing to God,”47 while another asks of Antony, “Pray for me.”48 A monk asks Cassian how to “enter into perfection in Christ.”49 Someone asks Nisterus what to do in order to live, and another person asks Macarius of Egypt what to do in order not to die.50 For others, salvation is symbolized by ultimate salvation in heaven.51 Macarius of Egypt hears a description of the unsaved in hell, learning what happens to those who do not reach the goal.52 As with the soul’s Antony 1 (PG 65, col. 76). Antony 1 (PG 65, col. 76), 5 (PG 65, col. 77), 19 (PG 65, col. 81), 27 (PG 65, col.  84), 29 (PG 65, col.  85), 33 (PG 65, col.  85); Arsenius 1–2 (PG 65, col.  88); Ammonas 1 (PG 65, col.  120); Amoun of Nitria 3 (PG 65, col.  128); Ares 1 (PG 65, cols 132–33); Apollo 1 (PG 65, col. 133); Basil the Great 1 (PG 65, col.  137); Biare 1 (PG 65, col.  145); Euprepius 7 (PG 65, col.  172); Evagrius 5 (PG 65, col.  176); Elias 7 (PG 65, cols  184–85); Isaac Priest of Kellia 11 (PG 65, cols  225–28); Joseph of Panephysis 4 (PG 65, col.  229); Hierax 1 (PG 65, col.  232); Isidore the Priest 6 (PG 65, col.  236); Cronius 2 (PG 65, col. 248); Macarius of Egypt 23 (PG 65, col. 272), 25 (PG 65, col. 272), 41 (PG 65, col.  281); Pambo 10 (PG 65, col.  372); Sisoes 5 (PG 65, col.  393), 19 (PG 65, cols  397–400); Syncletica S5 (Guy, Recherches, p.  35; this saying appears in most manuscripts). 46  Amoun of Nitria 3 (PG 65, col. 128); Elias 7 (PG 65, cols 184–85). 47  Antony 3 (PG 65, col. 76). Τί φυλάξας τῷ Θεῷ εὐαρεστήσω; 48  Antony 16 (PG 65, col. 80). Εὖξαι ὑπὲρ ἐμοῦ. 49  Cassian 5 (PG 65, col. 245). ἐπιβῆναι τῆς ἐν Χριστῷ τελειότητος. 50  Nisterus 2 (PG 65, cols 305–08); Macarius of Egypt 20 (PG 65, col. 269). 51  Hyperechius 6–7 (PG 65, cols  429–32); Isidore the Priest 2 (PG 65, col.  236); John the Persian 4 (PG 65, cols 237–40). 52  Macarius of Egypt 38 (PG 65, col. 280). 44  45 

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initial state, the Christian appropriation and alteration of selfcare thought adds the theatrical stages of salvation (heaven and hell) and their attendant cast of characters (God, angels, Satan, demons). Regardless of the idiosyncrasies of particular vignettes, all of the expressions of the goal (salvation, being pleasing to God, requesting prayers of mercy,  etc.) draw on the Christian belief in the deformed soul and its required salvation. Knowledge of wisdom and truth, the primary goal in philosophical self-care, takes an ancillary position to the goal of salvation in the AP. This shift results directly from the AP’s addition of the lapsarian narrative to the self-care system. Wisdom and truth remain objectives of self-care in the AP, but they are subordinate to the goal of salvation; furthermore, they are more a side effect of salvation than a goal unto themselves. Knowledge of wisdom and truth in the AP derives from three sources: directly from the divine, from the interpretation of scripture, and from living the monastic life. All three of these sources require the close connection to God that the goal provides. Monks frequently receive visions or direct messages from God or divine beings. At least nine apophthegms feature visions that reveal special knowledge to monks, and another seven depict monks receiving knowledge directly from God or from messengers from God.53 Other apophthegms highlight aspects of the close connections between some monks and the divine: Antony is pneumatophoros (“spiritborn”), allowing him to receive knowledge about the present and future; through a vision, an unnamed monk learns that Ephrem’s words are divinely inspired; the Holy Spirit descends upon Zacharias; Cronius says that God enters the properly aligned soul; Sisoes advocates seeking God rather than heaven; Pambo commands laypersons to honor monks because of their continual conversation with God.54 These sayings demon53  Arsenius 33 (PG 65, cols  100–01); Daniel 7–8 (PG 65, cols  156–60); Ephrem 2 (PG 65, col. 168); Macarius of Egypt 33 (PG 65, cols 273–77); Mark of Egypt 1 (PG 65, col.  304); Olympius 1 (PG 65, col.  313); Paul the Simple 1 (PG 65, cols  381–85); Silvanus 2 (PG 65, col.  408); Antony 1–2 (PG 65, col.  76), 26 (PG 65, col.  84); Zacharias 1 (PG 65, cols  177–80); Pambo 2 (PG 65, cols 368–69); Sisoes 33 (PG 65, col. 404); Silvanus 3 (PG 65, col. 409). 54  Antony 30 (PG 65, col.  85); Ephrem 2 (PG 65, col.  168); Zacharias 2–3 (PG 65, col.  180); Cronius 1 (PG 65, col.  248); Sisoes 40 (PG 65, col.  405);

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strate that the compiler of the AP viewed knowledge as something that could be dispensed directly from God or God’s messengers. There are a variety of ways to receive this divine knowledge (e.g., Silvanus being taken into heaven in his mind and seeing God’s glory, Antony hearing the voice of Moses interpreting Leviticus, Paul the Simple seeing monks’ bodies transformed as befits the state of their souls55), but in every instance the monk’s close connection to the divine prompts knowledge. Scripture is the second source of wisdom and truth in the AP. Monks ask each other about the interpretation of scripture, and senior monks teach the ascetic, monastic life by using passages of scripture. At least forty-seven apophthegms feature a monk teaching with scripture or being asked to interpret scripture. The monks refer to passages of scripture fifty-four times in these apophthegms: twenty-eight from the Tanakh and twenty-six from the New Testament.56 The monks’ interpretation and use of scripture to reveal knowledge cuts across gender and ecclesiastical lines. Five sayings of the amma Syncletica portray her teaching from scripture, and the amma Theodora cites a passage from Colossians.57 The bishop Epiphanius teaches from scripture in five sayings, and speaks in another four sayings about the importance of reading scripture and other Christian books.58 Knowledge of scripture directly or commandments to know scripture appear in more than fifty different apophthegms from eighteen characters in the AP. For the compiler of the AP, scripture clearly contained wisdom and truth and could be used or interpreted by monks regardless of their sex or ecclesiastical position. Monks asked each other questions about its interpretation, availed themselves of it to answer questions, and used it teach the monastic life.59 Pambo 7 (PG 65, col. 369). 55  Silvanus 3 (PG 65, col. 409); Antony 26 (PG 65, col. 84); Paul the Simple 1 (PG 65, cols 381–85). 56  See Appendix 4, Table 1 for the exact breakdown and citations. 57  Syncletica 4 (PG 65, col.  421), 7 (PG 65, col.  424), 13 (PG 65, col.  425), 18 (PG 65, col.  428), S8 (Guy, Recherches, p.  35; this saying appears in most manuscripts); Theodora 1 (PG 65, col. 201). 58  Epiphanius Bishop of Cyprus 5 (PG 65, col. 164), 7–12 (PG 65, col. 165), 14–15 (PG 65, cols 165–68). 59  Douglas Burton-Christie expresses well the AP’s emphasis on scripture: “The Sayings of the Desert Fathers struck me as a particularly fruitful source

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The third source of wisdom and truth in the AP is a proper monastic life, that is, living a life of salvation. In a saying ascribed to Poimen, the monk states, “People speak about perfection, and work at it the least.”60 Individuals who worked at the life of perfection were notable because of their dedication – the Historia monachorum in Aegypto, Lausiac History, Vita Antonii, Cassian’s Institutes and Conferences, the various lives of Pachomius, and even the AP all exist in part because they purport to contain the words and deeds of people who worked at the life of perfection. This life of perfection led, in itself, to wisdom for the compiler of the AP. Petitioners ask some monks which specific way of life made them wise.61 The compiler describes other monks as wise because of their way of life.62 Poimen tells Amoun of Nitria that, if he must speak to other monks, it is better to speak about the sayings of the fathers than about scripture – in other words, in some instances the sayings of those who worked toward a life of perfection are even more profitable and less dangerous to the practitioner of self-care than the divine revelation found in scripture.63 The well-educated Arsenius considered his philosophical and literary training far inferior to the cenobitic training that the peasant Coptic monks around him received.64 Living as a monk – living a life of perfection with the goal of salvation through closeness with the divine – was a unique source of wisdom and truth. for considering the character and aim of the early monastic hermeneutic. Not only are the stories and sayings themselves inherently interesting, filled as they are with a motley band of colorful characters, wild adventures, and stinging, memorable ‘one-liners’; they also present a consistent struggle on the part of the monks to realize in their lives the holiness to which they felt called by scripture. Here is a hermeneutic firmly embedded within the practical challenges presented by the ascetical life the monks had taken up in the Egyptian desert: a hermeneutic that demands, ultimately, that the means of a text be expressed in a life” (D.  Burton-Christie, The Word in the Desert: Scripture and the Quest for Holiness in Early Christian Monasticism, Oxford, 1993, pp.  vii–viii). 60  Poimen 56 (PG 65, col.  336). Οἱ ἄνθρωποι ἐν τῷ τελείῳ λαλοῦσι, καὶ ἐν τῷ ἐλαχίστῳ ἐργάζονται. 61  Silvanus 6 (PG 65, col. 409). 62  Agathon 10 (PG 65, col. 112). 63  Amoun of Nitria 2 (PG 65, col. 128). 64  Arsenius 5–6 (PG 65, cols 88–89).

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The proper goal of humanity is salvation and its attendant access to wisdom and truth through direct revelation, scripture, and living the monastic life. The AP’s compiler describes individuals who lived the goal of salvation as angelic in appearance and conduct. Living the angelic life on earth is a monastic ideal, but it requires hard work.65 John the Theban’s quiet obedience leads his ascetic teacher to describe him as an angel to other monks, Macarius of Alexandria calls another monk angelic because of his undistracted prayer, Poimen calls Ibiston angelic because of his advanced ascetic practice, and the young monk Zacharias is deemed angelic when his deeds remove reproach from his father.66 An unnamed monk is angelic in his humility and poverty, leading to his angelic appearance.67 Abbas Silvanus and Arsenius, because of their work toward perfection and their goal of salvation and wisdom, are described as looking angelic.68 In lamenting the lax asceticism of his time, Megethius draws a parallel between the angels ascending to heaven and the earlier monks whose words ascended to heaven.69 Antony receives divine revelation about an urban physician who is his ascetic equal, and who because of his asceticism is allowed to sing the Trisagion every night with an angelic choir.70 Those who seek the goal of salvation, those who receive knowledge of wisdom and the truth, are angelic in action and appearance, and they even fraternize with the angels. The proper goal of the self is salvation and the knowledge of wisdom and truth that salvation brings. This salvation comes from and creates a close connection to the divine, such that the self can receive the knowledge of wisdom and truth. Unfortunately for the AP’s monks, the fallen state of the soul hinders the goal of the self, necessitating reconciliation via the self-care system.71 John the Short 2 (PG 65, cols 204–05). John the Theban 1 (PG 65, col.  240); Macarius of Alexandria 3 (PG 65, col.  305); Poimen 62 (PG 65, cols 336–37); Carion 2 (PG 65, cols 249–52). 67  Cronius 5 (PG 65, col. 249). 68  Silvanus 12 (PG 65, col. 412); Arsenius 42 (PG 65, cols 105–08). 69  Megethius 4 (PG 65, col. 301). 70  Antony 24 (PG 65, col. 84). 71  The goal of self-care in the AP is not as much anti-ecclesiastical as it is a personal orientation that is intrinsically separate from the church’s interests. It is intensely personal, a goal of self-actualization instead of church-actual65 

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3. The Soul’s Problem and Imperative All forms of self-care feature a discrepancy between the soul’s state and the soul’s goal. The deformed, unsaved soul cannot access wisdom and truth because only the properly formed and ordered soul – the saved soul in Christianity – can start the process of knowing wisdom and truth. In the AP, salvation (the self’s goal) is connection with God.  The postlapsarian self begins as a soul riddled and deformed by sin and the passions. Sin and the passions separate the soul from God, and distractions disorder thoughts, barring proper contemplation of the divine.72 According to Isidore, following one’s own corrupted thoughts and will guarantees deviating from the divine path toward salvation.73 The soul’s goal and the soul’s state are incompatible – the deformed soul cannot be saved and cannot access truth. Because the AP’s compiler, like the philosophical authors, identifies a disconnect between the soul’s state and its goal of salvation, he advocates that the individual reform and repair his soul by denying and suppressing the passions and turning the soul away from external distractions. As in philosophical self-care, the AP’s Christian imperative for self-care finds a variety of expressions. One of the most repeated directives, and the first example of the imperative, is to “attend to yourself.”74 Antony tells another ization. Because the goal of the monk in the AP is unrelated to the church, the fallen state of the monk’s soul forms his primary concern. His soul is not the concern of church hierarchs (from the AP’s perspective), and his focus should be the state of his soul instead of the state of theological or political disputes in the church. The soul’s initial state, its goal, and the imperative to self-care are not explicitly anti-ecclesiastical, but they are, to the compiler of the AP, the monk’s raison d’être and entirely separate from the broader church. 72  Ammoes 4 (PG 65, col. 128); Theonas 1 (PG 65, col. 197); Isidore of Pelusia 4 (PG 65, col. 224); Isidore the Priest 3 (PG 65, col. 236); Olympius 1 (PG 65, col.  313); Poimen 57 (PG 65, col.  336), 59 (PG 65, col.  336), 72 (PG 65, col.  340); John the Short 32 (PG 65, cols 213–16), 35 (PG 65, col. 216). 73  Isidore 9 (PG 65, col. 221). 74  Antony 2 (PG 65, col.  76: Ἀντώνιε, σεαυτῷ πρόσεχε); Ammonas 1 (PG 65, col. 120: Οὕτως καὶ ὁ μοναχὸς ὀφείλει διαπαντὸς προσέχειν, καὶ ἐλέγχειν τὴν ἑαυτοῦ ψυχὴν), 10 (PG 65, col. 124: Πρόσεχε σεαυτῷ); Ammoes 4 (PG 65,

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person to “be serious” about his own self, and calls Paphnutius “a real person, one who is able to take care of and save souls.”75 The imperative to take care of souls – both one’s own soul and, eventually, the souls of others – was the mark of a genuine self. Other expressions of the imperative to care for oneself include images of guarding or keeping watch over the self, heart, mind, thoughts, reputation, conscience, and all internal and external activities; language of accusation, censure, and fault-finding of and with the self and soul; ideas of looking at and deeply examining the self, thoughts, sins, conscience, and soul; emotional approaches to the self and its downfalls; and controlling and doing the work of the self and soul.76 The terms used in the AP cover military, legal, emotional, and practical fields, and all direct the self to look at or act on the problem. Sometimes the apophthegms express these directives negatively (those who do not do this), sometimes conditionally (if you do this), and sometimes as simple imperatives (you must do this). The imperatives appear as answers to questions, as simple aphorisms, and as part of longer stories or teachings. Occasionally the speaker enumerates what good will come as a result of following the imperative, or what evil will befall the hearer who does not follow the directive. All of these varied expressions require the monk to do something for or to his self, sometimes modifying an action, sometimes engendering a mode of thought. Seeing the slippage between the state of the self and its goal, monastic self-care imperatives demand a change in the self. The change requires redirecting the monks’ attention to the state of their souls and the solutions to their incompleteness. The AP’s imperative to introspection becomes the first part of the solution to the problem of the deformed soul seeking perfection.

col.  128: πρόσεχε σεαυτῷ); Cassian 6 (PG 65, col.  245: ἑαυτοῖς προσέχετε); Serapion 4 (PG 65, col. 417: πρόσεχε σεαυτῷ). 75  Antony 16 (PG 65, col.  80: Ἀδελφὸς εἶπε τῷ ἀββᾷ Ἀντωνίῳ· Εὖξαι ὑπὲρ ἐμοῦ. Λέγει αὐτῷ ὁ γέρων· Οὐδὲ ἐγώ σε ἐλεῶ, οὐδὲ ὁ Θεὸς, ἐὰν μὴ σὺ αὐτὸς σπουδάσῃς, καὶ αἰτήσῃς τὸν Θεόν), 29 (PG 65, col. 85: Ἰδοὺ ἄνθρωπος ἀληθινὸς, δυνάμενος θεραπεῦσαι καὶ σῶσαι ψυχάς). 76  See Appendix 4, Table 2 for citations and quotations.

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4. The Soul’s Solution in Ascetic Technologies The soul must employ a variety of techniques to transform itself and thereby achieve salvation. The initial change involves realizing that the self is deformed and needs reformation; the first step in finding a solution is the decision to care for oneself, leading to the individual realizing the state of his soul. Technologies for refining the self flow from the initial realization of deformity. These technologies form the individual elements of a continual, progressive process of mental and physical performances that work to deny the passions, focus the self from distraction, and elevate the soul. The process is continual because once started it requires constant operation; it is progressive because easier technologies must be mastered before harder ones are attempted. The performances of the self-care process are both mental and physical because of the duality of human nature – what happens to the body affects the soul, and what happens to the soul affects the body. The individual technologies operate in different ways on different parts of the person, but all work toward the goal of self-reformation. Some monks cataloged the technologies of reform and their progression. Poimen understands the technologies as part of a three-stage movement: sitting, progressing, and completion. Sitting in one’s cell involves manual labor, eating a single meal per day, keeping silent, and meditating. Progressing in the cell adds self-examination and more advanced modes of prayer (continual prayer, even while not working). Completion of the work requires that the monk keep only good company and eschew all bad company.77 Matoes, asked to “Speak a word,” provides a list of his technologies for improving the self, including prayer, self-awareness, humility, care with relationships, control of one’s speech, and relative abstinence from food and drink.78 Humility takes pride of position in Matoes’ practices. He mentions it twice, and the second instance depicts humility as the overarching virtue that undergirds the specific practices. John the Short connects the technologies of self-care with gathering the virtues and fulfilling divine 77  78 

Poimen 168 (PG 65, col. 361). Matoes 11 (PG 65, col. 293).

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commandments. While he mentions many of the “standard” practices (e.g., prayer, careful speech, control of the eyes, renunciation of pleasure and materiality, little food, manual labor), he also speaks to the mindset of the monk. The monk is at war and considers himself dead already. Through these practices and mindset, the monks gain such virtues as patience, love of the divine, and humility.79 The monk Rufus, likewise, ties the practices of remaining in the cell and being careful with one’s thoughts to the acquisition of virtue.80 Monks reform their selves with several types of asceticism. Some monks accomplish self-reformation through the inverse relationship between body and soul – what weakens the body strengthens the soul.81 These practices serve to destroy the old self in order to rebuild a new, passionless, virtuous self.82 Most of the practices presented in the AP fall into several interrelated categories: manual work, prayer, ingestion, speech, sleep, thoughts, solitude, and practicing the most important ascetic virtues of humility and obedience. Much ink has been spilled on these practices,83 but the AP presents many of them in specific ways that undergird the compiler’s tacit assertion of monastic autonomy. Some of these categories fulfill functions that the institutional church served for lay Christians, and thereby give the monks an option for living in a John the Short 34 (PG 65, col. 216). Rufus 1 (PG 65, col. 389). Cf. Poimen 46 (PG 65, col. 333). 81  Daniel 4 (PG 65, col. 156). 82  Alonius 2 (PG 65, col. 133). 83  Two classic works on Christian asceticism are Brown, Body and Society, and E. A. Clark, Reading Renunciation: Asceticism and Scripture in Early Christianity, Princeton, 1999. Focusing on the Egyptian desert, some useful information and synthesis appears in D.  J. Chitty, The Desert a City: An Introduction to the Study of Egyptian and Palestinian Monasticism under the Christian Empire, 1966, Crestwood, NY, 1999; and S.  Elm, Virgins of God: The Making of Asceticism in Late Antiquity, New York, 1994, pp.  227–385. The essays in Asceticism (ed.  by V.  L. Wimbush and R.  Valantasis, 1998, New York, 2002) contain insights into the theory and practice of asceticism in early Christianity, among other groups. My overview here on the ascetic practices in the AP focuses on how they function within the self-care system, and how the compiler uses them to assert monastic autonomy. Asceticism is the active, reformative part of the self-care system; it is what remakes the body and soul of the monk (or, in the non-Christian sources, the philosopher or pagan priest) and provides the solution to the individual’s deformation. 79 

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separate Christian sphere of power and authority. Others do not specifically replace institutional authority with monastic authority, but help create the conditions necessary for the flourishing of an independent system of monastic power and authority. Manual work is the first category of technologies.84 Manual work in the AP often means the work of cutting reeds and weaving products from them. The monks would receive money or goods in exchange for their woven products, but only as much as was necessary for the maintenance of their physical lives. Some monks tended gardens or orchards as part of their manual labor, and others ground flour and baked bread.85 A general monastic goal was for individual monks or communities to be entirely self-providing.86 Manual work should not result in enjoyment or pleasure, but should serve simply as a means to the end of self-sufficiency.87 Apart from providing for the monk’s needs, manual work led to other goods, such as the acquisition of virtue and focusing the mind for meditation.88 The result of manual labor was physical and (partial) spiritual self-sufficiency, and removing distraction 84  Antony 1 (PG 65, col.  76), 18 (PG 65, col.  81); Arsenius 5 (PG 65, cols  88–89), 24 (PG 65, cols  93–96), 41 (PG 65, col.  105); Agathon 10 (PG 65, col.  112), 30 (PG 65, col.  117); Achilles 5 (PG 65, col.  125); Bessarion 4 (PG 65, cols  140–41); Biare 1 (PG 65, col.  145); Eucharistus the Secular 1 (PG 65, cols  168–69); Isaiah 5 (PG 65, col.  181); Theodore of Pherme 10–11 (PG 65, col.  189); Theodore of Enaton 1 (PG 65, col.  196); John the Short 11 (PG 65, col. 208), 37 (PG 65, col. 216); Isidore 5 (PG 65, cols 220–21); Macarius of Egypt 4 (PG 65, col. 264), 33 (PG 65, cols 274–77); Megethius 1 (PG 65, col.  300); Macarius of Alexandria 1 (PG 65, col.  304; attributed to Macarius of Egypt in some manuscripts [Guy, Recherches, pp.  26–27]); Poimen 22 (PG 65, col. 328), 150 (PG 65, col. 360); Pambo 8 (PG 65, col. 369); Pistamon 1 (PG 65, col.  376); Paul the Great 3 (PG 65, col.  381; attributed to Paul in some manuscripts [Guy, Recherches, p.  32]); Sisoes 39 (PG 65, col.  405); Silvanus 5 (PG 65, col.  409), 7 (PG 65, col.  412); Serinus 2 (PG 65, col.  417); Chaeremon 1 (PG 65, col. 436); Or 4 (PG 65, col. 437). 85  Theodore of Enaton 1 (PG 65, col.  196); Poimen 22 (PG 65, col.  328); Silvanus 4 (PG 65, col. 409), 7 (PG 65, col. 412); Serinus 2 (PG 65, col. 417). 86  Agathon 10 (PG 65, col.  112), 30 (PG 65, col.  117); Pambo 8 (PG 65, col.  369); Silvanus 5 (PG 65, col.  409); Serinus 2 (PG 65, col.  417); Or 4 (PG 65, col. 437). 87  Sisoes 39 (PG 65, col. 405). 88  Arsenius 5 (PG 65, cols  88–89); Macarius of Egypt 33 (PG 65, cols 273– 77); John the Short 11 (PG 65, col. 208).

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by giving the monks physical tasks to occupy their hands. Manual labor and its products served to fill the monks’ time and give them the money, food, and clothing necessary to live. Monks needed no charity from others – as Abba Or is quick to point out 89 – including from bishops or other hierarchs in the institutional church. The institutional church and her bishops fed and clothed needy Christians, among other caretaking duties,90 but the monks of the AP could not and would not accept such handouts. The AP’s compiler portrays the monks as self-sufficient through their manual labor.91 This mode of constant labor most closely resembles Seneca’s expression of self-care from the philosophical sources, though his labor was primarily reading and writing.92 Frequently tied to manual labor, one of the other primary techniques of self-care was prayer.93 Prayer was a constant aspect of Or 4 (PG 65, col. 437). C.  Rapp, Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity: The Nature of Christian Leadership in an Age of Transition, Berkeley, 2005 (Transformation of the Classical Heritage, 37), pp. 172–234, esp. pp. 211–34. 91  Lucien Regnault compiles many of the sayings across Egyptian monastic literature, showing the variety of manual work taken up by monks (L.  Regnault, The Day-to-Day Life of the Desert Fathers in Fourth-Century Egypt, trans. by É. Poirier, Jr., Petersham, MA, 1999, pp.  99–102). Philip Rousseau cites Palladius’s description of the variety of jobs held by Pachomian monks (P.  Rousseau, Pachomius: The Making of a Community in Fourth-Century Egypt, Berkeley, 1999 [The Transformation of the Classical Heritage, 6], p.  82). Peter Brown, though, is quick to point out that while the ideal was monastic subsistent self-sufficiency, subsistence was far from the consistent reality (P.  Brown, Treasure in Heaven: The Holy Poor in Early Christianity, Charlottesville, VA, 2016, pp. 71–88, esp. pp. 83–88). 92  Seneca, Letters 8.1–2 (ed. and trans. by R. M. Gummere, in Ad Lucilium Epistulae Morales, 3 vols., New York, 1925 [LCL 75–77]). 93  Antony 1 (PG 65, col.  76); Arsenius 1–2 (PG 65, col.  88), 30 (PG 65, col. 97); Agathon 9 (PG 65, col. 112); Apollo 2 (PG 65, cols 133–36); Bessarion 4 (PG 65, cols 140–41); Epiphanius Bishop of Cyprus 3 (PG 65, col. 164); Evagrius 3 (PG 65, col.  173); Zeno 5 (PG 65, col.  177), 7 (PG 65, col.  177); Theodore of Enaton 3 (PG 65, col.  197); Theodore of Scetis 1 (PG 65, col.  197); Theodora 3 (PG 65, col.  201); Isidore 4 (PG 65, col.  220); Cyrus 1 (PG 65, col.  253); Lucius 1 (PG 65, col.  253); Macarius of Egypt 22 (PG 65, col.  272), 33 (PG 65, cols  273–77); Moses 17–18 (PG 65, cols  288–89; Moses 14–18 appear under a different heading, “Seven Instructions of Abba Moses to Abba Poimen,” in most manuscripts [Guy, Recherches, p.  27]); Nilus 1–7 (PG 65, col.  305); Nisterus 5 (PG 65, col.  308); Xoius 2 (PG 65, cols  312–13); Poimen 89 

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the monk’s life, present in everything that he did; prayer could even become a form of physical labor.94 For the monks of the AP, prayer created the immediate link between the self and the divine, even serving to reveal knowledge from the divine to monks.95 Prayer elevates the soul, removes the passions, and combats temptation.96 The praying monk needs no intermediary between himself and God; no priest or bishop served as the liaison between the practitioner of self-care and the divine. While in some instances the practice of prayer in the AP was a formalized, liturgical act that may have been performed or overseen by an ecclesiastic, there were also many other ways in which monks in the AP prayed. Prayer was a ritualized part of their manual labor; prayer was spontaneous in difficult situations; prayer followed set patterns of daily or hourly practice.97 In these instances, the monk had direct access to the divine and direct connection to their goal, union with the divine – access unmediated through ecclesiastics. This divine access drove the technology of prayer such that it became the basic practice for many monks and operated continually, without ecclesiastical oversight. Perhaps because of their dual effect in providing pleasure and sustaining life, food and drink feature in almost twice as many sayings as prayer and manual work combined.98 There were a 53 (PG 65, col.  333), 160 (PG 65, col.  361); Tithoes 1 (PG 65, col.  428), 7 (PG 65, cols  228–29). 94  Apollo 2 (PG 65, cols 133–36). 95  Antony 1 (PG 65, col.  76); Arsenius 1–2 (PG 65, col.  88); Macarius of Egypt 33 (PG 65, cols 273–77). 96  Theodora 3 (PG 65, col.  201) is particularly pointed in showing prayer’s efficacy against the passions. 97  For a synthesis of some of the documentary evidence from Egypt on monastic prayer and its relationship to work, food, and forms of prayer, see Regnault, Day-to-Day Life, pp. 96–99, 105–08. His overview of prayer overlooks some of the sayings from the AP, but highlights the major features in the AP. The contemplative practices of philosophers also included prayer; see, e.g., Seneca, Letters 10.4. 98  Antony 6 (PG 65, col.  77); Arsenius 17–18 (PG 65, col.  92), 22 (PG 65, col.  93); Agathon 20 (PG 65, cols  113–16); Ammonas 4 (PG 65, col.  120); Achilles 3 (PG 65, col.  124); Abraham 1–2 (PG 65, cols  129–32); Ares 1 (PG 65, cols 132–33); Aio 1 (PG 65, col. 136); Benjamin 1–3 (PG 65, cols 144–45); Biare 1 (PG 65, col.  145); Gelasius 6 (PG 65, cols  152–53); Dioscorus 1 (PG 65, col.  160); Doulas 1 (PG 65, col.  161); Epiphanius Bishop of Cyprus 4 (PG

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variety of approaches to food and drink with differing levels of austerity. Some monks ate and drank fairly similarly to lower class late ancient Egyptians, while others insisted on eating and drinking only moldy, rotting food and putrid or salty water; some monks and monasteries allowed limited oil and wine, while others eschewed any superfluous consumption.99 Several of the monks 65, col. 164), 16 (PG 65, col. 168); Eulogius the Priest 1 (PG 65, cols 169–72); Euprepius 6 (PG 65, col.  172); Helladius 2 (PG 65, col.  173); Evagrius 6 (PG 65, col.  176); Zeno 8 (PG 65, col.  177); Isaiah 6 (PG 65, col.  181); Theodore of Pherme 7 (PG 65, col.  189); Theodore of Eleutheropolis 2 (PG 65, col.  197; most manuscripts place this saying under a heading, not in Cotelier-Migne, for Theodotus [Guy, Recherches, p. 22]); Theophilus the Archbishop 3 (PG 65, col.  200); John the Short 3 (PG 65, col.  205); Isaac Priest of Kellia 6 (PG 65, col.  225); Hierax 1 (PG 65, col.  232); Cassian 3–4 (PG 65, cols  244–45); Macarius of Egypt 10 (PG 65, col.  268), 30 (PG 65, col.  273), 33 (PG 65, cols 273–77); Moses 18 (PG 65, cols 288–89; Moses 14–18 appear under a different heading, “Seven Instructions of Abba Moses to Abba Poimen,” in most manuscripts [Guy, Recherches, p.  27]); Matoes 6 (PG 65, col.  292); Megethius 2–3 (PG 65, col. 301); Macarius of Alexandria 1 (PG 65, col. 304; attributed to Macarius of Egypt in some manuscripts [Guy, Recherches, pp. 26–27]); Xoius 1 (PG 65, col.  312); Poimen 17 (PG 65, col.  325), 19 (PG 65, col.  325), 31 (PG 65, col. 329), 60 (PG 65, col. 336), 150 (PG 65, col. 360), 181 (PG 65, col. 365; this saying is missing in the base manuscript for the Cotelier-Migne edition, but present in the edition [Guy, Recherches, p. 28]), 185–86 (PG 65, col. 368); Pior 2 (PG 65, col. 373); Paphnutius 2 (PG 65, cols 377–80); Paul the Great 3 (PG 65, col.  381); Sisoes 8 (PG 65, col.  393), 16 (PG 65, col.  397), 21 (PG 65, col.  400), 32 (PG 65, cols  401–04), 52 (PG 65, col.  408); Silvanus 1 (PG 65, col.  408); Simon 2 (PG 65, cols  412–13); Sarah 8 (PG 65, col.  421); Syncletica 4 (PG 65, col. 421), 15 (PG 65, col. 425); Tithoes 3 (PG 65, col. 428); Hyperechius 2 (PG 65, col. 429). 99  Arsenius 22 (PG 65, col.  93); Achilles 3 (PG 65, col.  124); Benjamin 1–3 (PG 65, cols  144–45); Dioscorus 1 (PG 65, col.  160); Theophilus the Archbishop 3 (PG 65, col.  200); Macarius of Egypt 30 (PG 65, col.  273); Sarah 8 (PG 65, col. 421). For information on food and drink among the social classes of late ancient Egypt, particularly the poor, see R. S. Bagnall, Egypt in Late Antiquity, Princeton, 1993, pp. 23–32. Mary Harlow and Wendy Smith, using archaeobotanical finds, demonstrate that the monastic diet in Egypt was more varied than the documentary evidence indicates, though their archaeological sites are both geographically distant (approximately one hundred fifty miles) and temporally removed (fifty to one hundred fifty years) from the Lower Egypt establishments that provide the most documentary evidence: Nitria, Kellia, and Scetis (M.  Harlow and W.  Smith, “Between fasting and feasting: the literary and archaeobotanical evidence for monastic diet in Late Antique Egypt,” Antiquity 75 [2001], pp. 758–68).

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viewed limited consumption as a basic and initial part of the ascetic life.100 Eating and drinking, in limited quantities, are necessary parts of continued physical existence, but they should not be sources of pleasure; the immoderate consumer risks succumbing to the passions.101 Limiting food restrains the passions and elevates the soul of the monk by mortifying his body.102 Poimen places the dangers of consumption in even starker terms – not being careful to eat simple foods in limited quantities removes the “fear of God” from the monk.103 Care in consumption placed the monk in a closer relationship to the divine by suppressing passion, removing distraction, and elevating the soul.104 Specific monastic establishments and individual monks relied on different rules for determining acceptable consumption.105 Despite the differences in permissible food and drink, the AP’s general principle was that all consumption should be guided by supreme control over bodily urges. Limiting food intake or regimenting food and drink allows monks to automate one of life’s basic neces-

100  Antony 6 (PG 65, col.  77); Ammonas 4 (PG 65, col.  120); Biare 1 (PG 65, col.  145); Epiphanius Bishop of Cyprus 16 (PG 65, col.  168); Euprepius 6 (PG 65, col.  172); Evagrius 6 (PG 65, col. 176); Tithoes 3 (PG 65, col. 428). 101  Agathon 20 (PG 65, cols  113–16); Ammonas 4 (PG 65, col.  120); Hierax 1 (PG 65, col.  232); Megethius 3 (PG 65, col.  301); Macarius of Alexandria 1 (PG 65, col.  304); Poimen 185 (PG 65, col.  368); Pior 2 (PG 65, col.  373); Sisoes 16 (PG 65, col. 397), 21 (PG 65, col. 400); Syncletica 4 (PG 65, col. 421). 102  Evagrius 6 (PG 65, col.  176); Doulas 1 (PG 65, col.  161); Theodore of Eleutheropolis 2 (PG 65, col. 197; most manuscripts place this saying under a heading, not in Cotelier-Migne, for Theodotus [Guy, Recherches, p. 22]). 103  Poimen 181 (PG 65, col.  365; this saying is missing in the base manuscript for the Cotelier-Migne edition, but present in the edition [Guy, Recherches, 28]). τὸν φόβον τοῦ Θεοῦ. 104  Regnault, Day-to-Day Life, pp.  61–81, provides a balanced look at the varied consumptive practices of Egyptian monks. He concludes that “there were in the desert a great variety of observances concerning food and drink. This matches the diversity of temperaments, ages and states of health as well as places and circumstances” (78). (Regnault draws connections between philosophical dietary restrictions and monastic ones [80–81], though he understates the importance of this link.) Roger Bagnall examines evidence from papyri to show that some monks received such food gifts as “dates, lentils, grapes, olives, raisins, and oil” (Bagnall, Egypt in Late Antiquity, p. 300). 105  For some of the ascetic competition between monastic establishments as preserved in the AP, see Achilles 3 (PG 65, col. 124), 5 (PG 65, col. 125).

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sities and remove the temptation to indulge in foods that would otherwise distract the monk. This restrictive consumption marks a significant departure from certain philosophical expressions of self-care, such as Seneca’s, in which the consumption of food was limited in quantity and kind only on rare occasions. For the monk, limiting food and drink to only the barest of necessities elevates the soul by suppressing the physical cravings of the body and removing the effect that some foods and drinks have on the body (such as the soporific effects of alcoholic drinks or foods with high fat content). These limits also remove the hardship of deciding what and how much to eat, the distraction of flavorful food that could lead to vice, and the temptation to eat more than is necessary to maintain the body’s biological functions. By limiting food and drink (unlike many of the philosophers), the monks create a lifestyle that eschews those things that do not serve to reform the soul. Dietary restrictions in the AP are a function of the individual monk’s asceticism, trumping any external intervention. In one apophthegm, the archbishop Theophilus attempts to circumvent a group of monks’ proscription against eating meat, resulting in his censure by the monks.106 The technology of selfcare (in this case, limits on food) triumphs over the practice of a bishop, demonstrating that the monks’ practices are their primary concern over the hospitality of the bishop. Like food and drink, the monks recognized that sleep is a biologically necessary part of physical life, but they attempted to sleep as little as possible and considered not sleeping part of their work against the body.107 Specific iterations of this technology included sleeping as little as an hour per night, sleeping sitting or standing, going long periods without sleep, and sleeping outside.108 The monks viewed the necessity of sleep as a limitation, something that happened as needed but could and should be removed. Sleep was an interruption in the progression of self-care, and sleep could lead to passions and vices such as sloth, or stem from such passions as listlessness – the first monastic passion to Theophilus the Archbishop 3 (PG 65, col. 200). Poimen 185 (PG 65, col. 368); Sarmatas 2 (PG 65, col. 413). 108  Arsenius 14–15 (PG 65, col. 92); Bessarion 8 (PG 65, col. 141); Bessarion 6 (PG 65, col. 141); Gelasius 6 (PG 65, cols 152–53). 106  107 

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appear in the AP.109 Sleep featured less frequently in the AP,110 perhaps because it represented only an imperfection of human corporal existence that interfered with continued, constant self-care but did little to inhibit actively the overall progress of the selfcare process. Regardless, these sayings about sleep highlight that the life and concerns of monks were very different than the lives and concerns of other Christians. The monastic life issued strict controls on all aspects of a contemplative’s affairs, from thoughts and food to work and sleep, and even speech. As prolific in the AP as sayings about manual work or prayer, the monks place a high priority on controlling one’s tongue.111 Like limiting consumption, limiting speech formed a basic and foundational part of the monk’s life.112 Agathon says that failing to control one’s speech is the worst passion, and Hyperechius says that controlling the passions starts with controlling one’s tongue while angry.113 While proper speech is not intrinsically dangerous, silence is frequently preferred because it represents the ultimate safety in speech.114 Silence can be just as edifying as speaking.115 Antony 1 (PG 65, col. 76). Arsenius 14–15 (PG 65, col. 92); Bessarion 6 (PG 65, col. 141), 8 (PG 65, col. 141); Gelasius 6 (PG 65, cols 152–53); Epiphanius Bishop of Cyprus 4 (PG 65, col.  164); Isidore 5 (PG 65, cols  220–21); Poimen 185 (PG 65, col.  368); Sisoes 33 (PG 65, col. 404); Sarmatas 2 (PG 65, col. 413). 111  Antony 6 (PG 65, col.  77), 18 (PG 65, col.  81); Arsenius 2 (PG 65, col.  88); Agathon 1 (PG 65, cols  108–09), 15–16 (PG 65, col.  113); Ammoes 1 (PG 65, col.  125); Amoun of Nitria 2 (PG 65, col.  128); Bessarion 10 (PG 65, col.  141); Euprepius 7 (PG 65, col.  172); Isaiah 4 (PG 65, col.  181); Theophilus the Archbishop 2 (PG 65, col.  197); Isidore of Pelusia 1 (PG 65, col.  221); Hierax 1–2 (PG 65, col. 232); Longinus 1 (PG 65, col. 256); Macarius of Egypt 41 (PG 65, col. 281); Nisterus 3 (PG 65, col. 308); Poimen 27 (PG 65, col. 329), 37 (PG 65, col.  332), 84 (PG 65, col.  341), 91 (PG 65, col.  344), 147 (PG 65, col.  357), 150 (PG 65, col.  360); Pambo 8 (PG 65, col.  369); Sisoes 21 (PG 65, col.  400); Tithoes 2–3 (PG 65, col.  428); Hyperechius 3–4 (PG 65, col.  429); Or 2–3 (PG 65, col. 437). 112  Antony 6 (PG 65, col.  77); Arsenius 2 (PG 65, col.  88); Bessarion 10 (PG 65, col.  141); Euprepius 7 (PG 65, col.  172); Hierax 1 (PG 65, col.  232); Longinus 1 (PG 65, col. 256); Macarius of Egypt 41 (PG 65, col. 281); Poimen 37 (PG 65, col. 332), 150 (PG 65, col. 360); Pambo 8 (PG 65, col. 369); Tithoes 3 (PG 65, col.  428). 113  Agathon 1 (PG 65, cols 108–09); Hyperechius 3 (PG 65, col. 429). 114  Or 3 (PG 65, col. 437); Poimen 147 (PG 65, col. 357); Amoun of Nitria 2 (PG 65, col.  128); Poimen 84 (PG 65, col. 341). 109  110 

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Apophthegms about controlling one’s own speech and the proper subjects of speech imply that it was monks, not ecclesiastics, who determined the limits of discourse. Interestingly, the censoring of one’s own speech is not just an external activity, but extends to the internal speech of the individual’s thoughts.116 One should silence one’s own extraneous or evil thoughts, not just evil or extraneous speech. Perhaps this logic prompted Isidore of Pelusia’s saying that identifies “philosophy” with a correlation between correct conduct and correct speech.117 Silence removed the distractions of speech and superfluous thought from the life of the monk, and control of speech (when monks did speak) kept the soul from being dragged from its process of elevation. Moreover, the sayings claim that monks did not break their directives of careful speech or silence for anyone, no matter his station in the monastic, ecclesiastical, or political world. Quiet was a progressive technology for reforming the self, moving from careful speech to eventual silence, as monks became more advanced in practice and as they shed their attachments to corporeal life. The AP’s compiler frequently exhorts monks to control their thoughts carefully and think about only certain subjects.118 SelfTheophilus the Archbishop 2 (PG 65, col. 197). Poimen 27 (PG 65, col. 329). 117  Isidore of Pelusia 1 (PG 65, col. 221). 118  Antony 2–3 (PG 65, col.  76), 6 (PG 65, col.  77), 33 (PG 65, col.  85); Arsenius 9 (PG 65, col. 89); Agathon 8 (PG 65, col. 112), 24 (PG 65, col. 116); Ammonas 6 (PG 65, cols  120–21), 11 (PG 65, col.  124); Achilles 5 (PG 65, col.  125); Alonius 1 (PG 65, col.  133); Bessarion 9 (PG 65, col.  141); Gregory the Theologian 1 (PG 65, col. 145); Gerontius 1 (PG 65, col. 153); Doulas 1 (PG 65, col. 161); Euprepius 5–6 (PG 65, col. 172); Evagrius 1–2 (PG 65, col. 173), 4 (PG 65, col.  173); Zeno 6 (PG 65, col.  177); Isaiah 1 (PG 65, cols  180–81); Elias 4–6 (PG 65, col.  184); Theodore of Scetis 1 (PG 65, col.  197); Theonas 1 (PG 65, col.  197); Theophilus the Archbishop 1 (PG 65, col.  197); John the Short 10–11 (PG 65, col. 208), 22 (PG 65, col. 212); Isidore 3 (PG 65, col. 220); John the Persian 4 (PG 65, cols 237–40); Cassian 4 (PG 65, cols 244–45); Cronius 3 (PG 65, col. 248); Copres 1 (PG 65, col. 252); Cyrus 1 (PG 65, col. 253); Longinus 1 (PG 65, col.  256); Macarius of Egypt 4 (PG 65, col.  264), 12 (PG 65, col.  268); Moses 18 (PG 65, cols  288–89; Moses 14–18 appear under a different heading, “Seven Instructions of Abba Moses to Abba Poimen,” in most manuscripts [Guy, Recherches, p. 27]); Nisterus 2 (PG 65, cols 305–08), 5 (PG 65, col.  308); Poimen 32 (PG 65, col.  329), 35–36 (PG 65, col.  332), 46 (PG 115  116 

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care necessitates that the monk keep his mind and attention on his soul. This imperative was not merely the impetus to selfcare but also established the continual practice of checking and rechecking oneself to measure progress and find areas for improvement. The monks controlled their thoughts, but that control alone was insufficient self-care.119 Monks had specific instructions about what they could and could not contemplate. Tying thought to sleep, Epiphanius says that he has always checked his thoughts about others before going to sleep to ensure that he has nothing bad in his mind.120 Antony tells one monk to think always about God, and he tells another monk not to think about the past.121 Monks are told to think about God, judgment, death, and their own sins.122 They contemplate and meditate on God and scripture, sometimes to the point of completely forgetting where they are or what they are doing.123 Monks align their interior selves with God in order to overcome the passions and make the soul accept-

65, col.  333), 49 (PG 65, col.  333), 60 (PG 65, col.  336), 66 (PG 65, col.  337), 91 (PG 65, col.  344), 106 (PG 65, col.  348), 111 (PG 65, col.  349), 130 (PG 65, cols  353–56), 135 (PG 65, col.  356), 160 (PG 65, col.  361); Sisoes 13 (PG 65, col.  396), 17 (PG 65, col.  397); Silvanus 6 (PG 65, col.  409); Sarmatas 4 (PG 65, col. 413); Syncletica S2 (Guy, Recherches, p. 34; this saying appears in all manuscripts except the Cotelier-Migne base); Tithoes 7 (PG 65, cols  428–29); Or 11 (PG 65, col.  440; this saying appears only in the Cotelier-Migne base manuscript [Guy, Recherches, p. 36]). 119  Ammonas 11 (PG 65, col.  124); Longinus 1 (PG 65, col.  256); Nisterus 2 (PG 65, cols  305–08); Silvanus 6 (PG 65, col.  409); Sarmatas 4 (PG 65, col.  413); Or 11 (PG 65, col.  440; this saying appears only in the Cotelier-Migne base manuscript [Guy, Recherches, p. 36]). 120  Epiphanius Bishop of Cyprus 4 (PG 65, col. 164). 121  Antony 3 (PG 65, col. 76), 6 (PG 65, col. 77). 122  God (often as the “fear of God”): Antony 33 (PG 65, col. 85); Alonius 1 (PG 65, col. 133); Euprepius 5 (PG 65, col. 172); Elias 5 (PG 65, col. 184); John the Short 22 (PG 65, col.  212); Macarius of Egypt 12 (PG 65, col.  268); Poimen 49 (PG 65, col.  333), 160 (PG 65, col.  361). Death/Judgment: Antony 33 (PG 65, col. 85); Agathon 24 (PG 65, col. 116); Evagrius 1 (PG 65, col. 173), 4 (PG 65, col. 173). Sin: Elias 5 (PG 65, col. 184); Syncletica S2 (Guy, Recherches, p. 34; this saying appears in all manuscripts except the Cotelier-Migne base). 123  Achilles 5 (PG 65, col. 125); Gregory the Theologian 1 (PG 65, col. 145); Theonas 1 (PG 65, col.  197; his saying assents the importance of contemplating God by arguing that the absence of such contemplation enslaves the monk to the passions); John the Short 10–11 (PG 65, col. 208).

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able to God.124 The apophthegm of Theodore of Scetis reveals the complexity of the thought-action relationship to the monk: “The thought comes and it troubles me, it occupies me, and it is not powerful enough to make me work, but only hinders progress in virtue. But the sober man who shakes it off rouses in prayer.”125 In order to ensure their progress in self-care, monks need to be careful of their thoughts and make sure that the object of their thoughts reminds them of where they came from (that they might progress), where they are (again, to encourage them to progress in self-care), and where they are going (keeping the goal in sight as encouragement).126 As with the proper topics of speech, the proper topics of thought are the purview of monks alone. Bishops and priests, by the mere virtue of their ecclesiastical offices, could not determine the topics of monastic thought; that right was reserved for the monastic practitioners of self-care. The correct thinking of a monk leads, in part, to attaining virtue, and no virtues are more revered in the AP than humility and obedience. The monk must exercise humility and obedience in considering both the nature of his soul and how his soul relates to others (particularly the divine and more advanced monks). These virtues stood at the beginning and end of ascetic practice.127 The Arsenius 9 (PG 65, col. 89); Macarius of Egypt 12 (PG 65, col. 268). Theodore of Scetis 1 (PG 65, col.  197). Ἔρχεται ὁ λογισμὸς, καὶ ταράσσει με, καὶ ἀσχολεῖ με, καὶ τὴν πρᾶξιν οὐκ ἰσχύει ποιῆσαι, ἀλλὰ μόνον ἐμποδίζει πρὸς τὴν ἀρετήν· ὁ δὲ νηφάλιος ἀνὴρ, ἐκτιναξάμενος αὐτὸν, ἐγείρεται εἰς προσευχήν. 126  Regnault, Day-to-Day Life, pp.  112–25, outlines much of this interior focus in Egyptian monasticism across the sources. This inward shift reflects the entire philosophical self-care system, and as such represents less a Christian innovation than the logical conclusion of the appropriation of the Mediterranean self-care mentality. 127  Humility: Antony 7 (PG 65, col.  77); Ammonas 4 (PG 65, col.  120); Euprepius 5–6 (PG 65, col. 172); Theodora 6 (PG 65, col. 204); John the Short 22 (PG 65, col.  212); John of Kellia 2 (PG 65, col.  233; some manuscripts attribute this saying to John of the Thebaid [Guy, Recherches, p.  25]); Cronius 3 (PG 65, col.  248); Macarius of Egypt 11 (PG 65, col.  268); Poimen 49 (PG 65, col.  333), 103 (PG 65, col.  348). Obedience: Antony 36 (PG 65, col. 88); Arsenius 24 (PG 65, cols 93–96); Agathon 30 (PG 65, col. 117); Basil the Great 1 (PG 65, col.  137); Evagrius 7 (PG 65, col.  176); Poimen 103 (PG 65, col.  348); Pambo 3 (PG 65, col.  369); Rufus 2 (PG 65, cols  389–92); Syncletica 16–17 (PG 65, cols 425–28). 124  125 

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self understands its need for reformation through humility, and obedience to another (divine or human) illuminates the road to reformation. Both humility and obedience keep the practitioner of self-care on the path of reformative performances. In the end, the most humble and obedient monks find their way into the annals of ascetic virtue such as the AP. According to some sayings, humility and obedience are better than all of the other techniques and technologies of self-care combined.128 The humility and obedience of the monk allow him to learn self-care.129 Obedience, according to the AP’s compiler, is obedience to the monastic and divine teachers of self-care, not to the institutional church’s hierarchy. The AP also suggests a miscellany of other self-care techniques. Monks should practice their training, take care of others, wear simple clothing, keep all of the commandments, practice control through varieties of abstinence, endure hardships, be poor, sing, and even weep.130 All of these practices serve to reform the soul by suppressing the passions or inuring the self to distraction. They serve to destroy the old self and create a new self in a form that can be saved; they represent a turning toward the self and toward the divine by removing externals and refocusing the needs of corporeal life on only the barest necessities. This reorientation to the divine allows the monks to realize, at least in part, their goal of union with the divine through the techniques of ascetic practice.

128  For humility, Theodora 6 (PG 65, col. 204); for obedience, Pambo 3 (PG 65, col. 369). 129  Among the other virtues important in ascetic life, the virtue of discernment aligns closely to the imperative to care for oneself. Joseph  T. Lienhard has written a good outline of the development of discernment in monastic thought from a special gift to a virtue necessary for identifying and combating demons and the passions (J.  T. Lienhard, “On ‘Discernment of Spirits’ in the Early Church,” Theological Studies 41 [1980], pp.  505–29). Antony  D. Rich provides a long study of discernment, though I am not convinced by his conclusions about its ubiquity in all aspects of ascetic life, nor am I convinced of his argument regarding its origins in what he considers a general, biblical view of discernment that is likely anachronistic (A. D. Rich, Discernment in the Desert Fathers: Διάκρισις in the Life and Thought of Early Egyptian Monasticism, Waynesboro, GA, 2007). Whatever the origin, discernment allowed monks to read their thoughts and actions, separate the vices from the virtues, locate the origins of vice, and learn how to combat them. 130  See Appendix 4, Table 3.

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One of the final major technologies for reforming the self in the AP also served as part of the environment of self-care – monks were encouraged to remove themselves from the distractions of normal urban or rural living and live either alone or in monastic communities isolated from the surrounding world.131 While complete and total isolation was not practical,132 retreat from everyAntony 3 (PG 65, col.  76), 10–11 (PG 65, col.  77); Arsenius 1–2 (PG 65, col.  88), 11–12 (PG 65, col.  89), 21 (PG 65, col.  93), 31 (PG 65, col.  97), 38 (PG 65, cols  104–05); Ammonas 4 (PG 65, col.  120); Andrew 1 (PG 65, col.  136); Biare 1 (PG 65, col.  145); Gelasius 6 (PG 65, cols  152–53); Dioscorus 1 (PG 65, col. 160); Doulas 2 (PG 65, col. 161); Zeno 1 (PG 65, col. 176); Theodore of Pherme 5 (PG 65, col.  188), 7 (PG 65, col.  189), 14 (PG 65, cols  189–92); Theodore of Enaton 2 (PG 65, cols  196–97); Joseph of Panephysis 8 (PG 65, cols  229–32); Hierax 1 (PG 65, col.  232); Isaac the Theban 2 (PG 65, col. 241); Cassian 4 (PG 65, cols 244–45); Cronius 3 (PG 65, col. 248), 5 (PG 65, col.  249); Cyrus 1 (PG 65, col.  253); Macarius of Egypt 2 (PG 65, cols  260–61), 22 (PG 65, col.  272), 27 (PG 65, col.  273), 41 (PG 65, col.  281); Moses 6–7 (PG 65, cols  284–85); Paphnutius 5 (PG 65, col.  380); Syncletica S1 (Guy, Recherches, p.  34; this saying appears in all manuscripts except the Cotelier-Migne base); Chaeremon 1 (PG 65, col. 436). 132  Complete retreat was impractical for a variety of reasons. Monks needed to sell their wares and receive money or goods for their continued sustenance, so they had to live near towns or on trade routes. Monks who lived only on the charity of others needed to live close enough to receive visitors. With a rise in monastic tourism, monks found themselves needing to live ever farther from the beaten path to avoid being overwhelmed by curious visitors – though this distance was never so far that the monks could not ultimately be found. Other monks, even some in the AP, found themselves living in urban areas and interacting with the urban community. Because of the necessities of corporeal existence, monks could not live in complete physical isolation from human society. See the extensive topographical and archaeological descriptions of the monasteries of Scetis, easily visible to travelers, in H. G. Evelyn White, The Monasteries of the Wadi ’n Natrûn, vol.  3, The Architecture and Archaeology, 1932, New York, 1973, e.g., pp. 3–4, 50–55, 137–38, 230–31. The ideal of retreat into the desert or the cell remained, for a variety of reasons, more an ideal than a reality. Retreat into the desert and steadfastness in the cell were literary tropes that both represented a mental aspect of Christian asceticism and monasticism, and encoded a set of ideas in early Christianity about the proper conduct of ascetics removed from worldly concerns (J.  Goehring, “The Encroaching Desert: Literary Production and Ascetic Space in Early Christian Egypt,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 1 [1993], pp. 281–96; J. Goehring, “The Dark Side of Landscape: Ideology and Power in the Christian Myth of the Desert,” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 33 [2003], pp. 437–51; J. Goehring, “The World Engaged: The Social 131 

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day life and isolation in one’s cell created important mental landscapes for the monk. Monks were encouraged to escape from the world and remain in their cells without meeting anyone; but while solitude was the (largely mental) ideal, monks were also told that they should be able to live anywhere and in any context. The tension between retreat and learning from others serves as the dual environment of self-care in addition to being a technology of selfcare.133 That monks should live in isolated locations of their choosing, not necessarily near cities or churches, is the ideal of the AP’s compiler. These examples represent just a few of the technologies of selfcare presented in the AP. Throughout the sayings, monks find themselves encouraged to practice self-care continually through their whole lives, and their practices build on each other progressively as the individual advances.134 While some of these practices closely resemble the self-care technologies present in the philosophical texts (particularly the emphasis on correct mindset and speech), many of them have a strong Christian flavor. Whereas some philosophical self-care requires money and leisure to practice, self-care in the AP obviates this requirement by emphasizing austere living (similar to the Cynics) and creating the mechanism of manual labor to address physical necessities. This focus and Economic World of Early Egyptian Monasticism,” in Ascetics, Society, and the Desert: Studies in Early Egyptian Monasticism, ed.  by J.  Goehring, Harrisburg, PA, 1999, pp.  39–52; C.  Rapp, “Desert, City, and Countryside in the Early Christian Imagination,” Church History and Religious Culture 86 [2006], pp. 93–112; D. L. Brooks Hedstrom, “The Geography of the Monastic Cell in Early Christian Literature,” Church History 78 [2009], pp. 756–91). 133  Philip Rousseau discusses a similar tension, examining the sayings about retreat from the world and the examples of engagement with the world in the AP. He concludes that the tension represents ascetic development – the ascetic tests and proves his interiority through engagement with the broader world. Rousseau concludes that ascetic practice and the development of the monk’s interior life necessitate paradoxical engagement with others (P.  Rousseau, “The Desert Fathers and their Broader Audience,” in Foundations of Power and Conflicts of Authority in Late-Antique Monasticism, ed. by A.  Camplani and G.  Filaramo, Leuven, 2007 [Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta, 157], pp. 89–107). 134  E.g.: Dioscorus 1 (PG 65, col. 160); John the Eunuch 1 (PG 65, cols 232– 33); Matoes 1 (PG 65, col.  289); Poimen 36 (PG 65, col.  332); Sisoes 16 (PG 65, col. 397).

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on activity may come from New Testament (especially Pauline and Pseudo-Pauline) injunctions against idleness and its emphasis on manual work and self-sufficiency.135 While prayer and other forms of divine communication or meditative acts permeate the philosophical sources, in the AP it is specifically Christian prayer that the monks practice. The philosophical technology shifts into a specifically Christian form. Likewise, the thoughts and speech of a monk should focus on specifically Christian topics, whereas the philosophers could speak and think about a variety of things in their practice of self-care. The Christianizing of self-care technologies involved narrowing the objects of thought, conversation, meditation, and prayer to only those that fell in the Christian sphere. This Christianizing process went even further and defined the sphere of Christian self-care as the individual and communal environments of monks and monastic communities. The appropriation and subsequent Christianization of self-care technologies created a space for monks to function separately from mainstream Christianity and its hierarchy. A  monk’s needs were met by himself or by his monastic community, not by priests or bishops. Monks kept attention on themselves and established the perimeters of their thoughts, speech, and actions through the technologies of self-care. By developing these independent technologies, caring for themselves, and teaching self-care to others (the two environments of self-care), monks implicitly asserted that they alone held authority over ascetic affairs. 5. Monastery and Cell: The Environments of Self-Care The AP’s monastic self-care must occur in two environments simultaneously, both of which neuter the role of the institutional church in relation to the monks. The AP’s self-care is both a communal endeavor and an individual one. First, self-care is a cooperative undertaking in that the self requires a teacher. The teacher reflects how a practitioner of self-care should appear, and serves 135  E.g.: 1 Cor. 4.11–12,  9.1–15; 2 Cor. 6.4–5,  11.5–9; Eph. 4.28; 1 Thess. 2.9,  4.10–12; 2 Thess. 3.6–12; 1 Tim. 5.17–18. 1 Corinthians, 2 Corinthians, Ephesians, and 1 Thessalonians are all cited in the AP, though these specific passages are not.

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as a ruler by which the practitioner measures his progress. This guide can take many different forms, but the most frequent forms are divine beings (God, angels,  etc.) and other monks. While not as common, a guide can also appear as a negative force (demons, Satan, pagans,  etc.), demonstrating not taking care of oneself and the results of not practicing self-care. The positive, instructive guide functions as the community for the practitioner of self-care and creates a communal environment for reforming the soul.136 Self-care must also be an individual task. Because self-care in the AP is an operation of the monk on himself, it must occur on his own terms. The path taken by one practitioner is insufficient for another practitioner, so each monk must decide for himself the details of his own self-care (though within the framework of the general self-care system). The double environment of self-care in the AP is not unique. The moral epistles of such figures as Cicero and Seneca and the moral essays of Plutarch all illustrate the dual environments of self-care. Cicero, Seneca, and Plutarch (to name just a few) are the teachers from whom practitioners of self-care learn and against whom they measure themselves. Yet the Hellenistic and Roman philosophers also understand that self-care is ultimately a personal, individual process, and therefore one person’s practice is not normative. The AP uses these environments of self-care to circumvent the pedagogical relevance of the institutional church to monastic life. The compiler formalizes the process of self-care instruction into systems similar to either the schools of classical and late antiquity or the less structured master-disciple relationship taken by some philosophers. In this way the AP replaces the formal and informal educational systems of antiquity with a monastic education in ascetic affairs. Various elements of Christianity (including

136  Rousseau provides a good overview of what he sees as the master-disciple authority relationship evolving into an institutional authority of monasticism (P.  Rousseau, Ascetics, Authority, and the Church in the Age of Jerome and Cassian, 2nd ed., Notre Dame, 2010, pp.  19–55). The master’s authority derived, in some instances, from divine inspiration (pp.  28–30). Graham Gould examines the pedagogical importance of the master-disciple relationship for both the disciple and the master, each learning a portion of ascetic practice from the other (G.  Gould, The Desert Fathers on Monastic Community, Oxford, 1993, 26–87).

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monasticism and the ecclesiastical hierarchy) had already adopted parts of Greco-Roman education,137 but the compiler of the AP establishes ascetic, monastic education in self-care as a separate entity with a claim to authority that stood outside the institutional church. The communal environment of self-care implies that only practitioners of self-care (monks) can teach would-be practitioners of self-care; the bishops and priests cannot interfere and are involved only insofar as they themselves practice selfcare. Furthermore, in requiring that self-care be individualized, the compiler suggests that each monk, while taught generally by other monks, must decide for himself how to practice self-care. The monks’ individual techniques and experiences are not mediated by church hierarchs or institutional authority – they are individual, unique, and autonomous within the self-care system. The communal environment of self-care becomes apparent in every scene in which one monk asks for advice from another monk. It is part of the raison d’être for the alphabetic AP, the systematic AP, and the oral preservation of the sayings that served as the origins of monastic apophthegmata. Examples of teachers permeate the collection, and monks are frequently in each other’s company. Opening the AP, the reader immediately finds a divine other teaching Antony the way of salvation: a voice from heaven instructs, and an angel serves as the example.138 The divine other teaches self-care in a variety of ways. God and angels teach corSee, for example, H.  Marrou, A  History of Education in Antiquity, trans. by G. Lamb, Madison, WI, 1956, pp. 314–39; R. Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt, Princeton, 2001, pp.  24–25,  132,  177–78 (p.  132: “The principle of imitation inspired ancient education from beginning to end.”); E.  J. Watts, City and School in Late Antique Athens and Alexandria, Berkeley, 2006 (Transformation of the Classical Heritage, 41), pp.  151–231 (p.  168: “Despite their religious differences, educated Christians and pagans shared a great deal in Roman Alexandria. They shared a geographic space, a collection of educational institutions, and a common intellectual culture.”); P.  A. Olson, The Journey to Wisdom: SelfEducation in Patristic and Medieval Literature, Lincoln, NE, 1995, pp.  1–67. A series of lectures by Werner Jaeger provides gives a good overview of some of the connections between Greek philosophy and early Christian thinkers such as Origen and the Cappadocians, including some of the debates between early Christians and their Hellenistic philosophical contemporaries (W.  Jaeger, Early Christianity and Greek Paideia, 1961, New York, 1969). 138  Antony 1 (PG 65, col. 76). 137 

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rect doctrine, and an angel corrects one monk’s overly zealous asceticism (suspending oneself over a cliff is apparently improper for conquering sleep).139 Felix chastises his fellow monks by saying that God formerly taught the ascetic life through the older monks, but that the disobedience of current monks has removed that gift.140 An apophthegm that illustrates this point finds Sisoes waiting for divine inspiration to know what to teach younger monks.141 The divine other could instruct monks either alone or through a monastic intermediary. This divine instruction through an earthly intermediary illustrates the primary way in which monks learned – from another practitioner of self-care. Monks, even those dedicated to the practice of retreat, spent portions of their time in the presence of other monks. The fact of the apophthegms’ preservation in an apophthegmata means that others were present to hear the words of the ascetic greats who are the characters of the AP. Visitors (monastic and otherwise) were part of life for most monks. While some monks eschewed most interactions, most of the monks portrayed in the sayings in the AP are willing members of varying levels of monastic community. Antony explains that companionship with another monk is companionship with God, and Apollo argues that bowing to one’s fellow monk is the same as bowing to God.142 The comparison between divine connection and human connection runs strong in the AP. It is because of divine mercy that monks should show mercy; judgment of others is the proper role of God, so the monk should not judge.143 Moreover, forgiving others is a necessary prerequisite for divine forgiveness.144 Because of the close conceptual connection between divine community and human community, many monks find monastic companionship necessary for self-care. And for these monks, the companionship of other monks does not impair their ability to

139  Daniel 7–8 (PG 65, cols  156–60); Mark of Egypt 1 (PG 65, col.  304); Sisoes 33 (PG 65, col. 404). 140  Felix 1 (PG 65, col. 433). 141  Pambo 2 (PG 65, cols 368–69). 142  Antony 9 (PG 65, col. 77); Apollo 3 (PG 65, col. 136). 143  Poimen 64 (PG 65, col. 337); Paphnutius 1 (PG 65, col. 377). 144  Isidore S1 (Guy, Recherches, pp.  24–25; this saying appears in most manuscripts).

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practice self-care.145 Macarius of Egypt spent over a decade asking God to allow him to receive everyone equally as his guest.146 The companionship of other monks eventually evolved into more formalized community settings. The AP overflows with stories about monks living in formalized, sometimes regulated, communities. Most of these sayings portray a guide teaching monks how to live in communities.147 In other sayings, individual monks teach communities the proper way to live and to treat their fellow monks.148 Importantly, none of these visitors derive their authority to teach from an ecclesiastical position, and all vistors are equal in the monks’ eyes. Whether monks lived in formalized communities or received visitors, the communal environment of self-care provided important roles for monks. Some monks were teachers, and other monks were students. Monks in formalized communities and monks in more exclusive master-disciple relationships are analogous to the philosophical schools and the teachers of philosophy in classical and late antiquity. Teaching self-care is the primary function of the communal environment, and sayings about teaching or that contain instruction in teaching permeate the collection.149 Teach145  Joseph of Panephysis 1 (PG 65, col.  228); John the Short 18 (PG 65, cols  209–12). 146  Macarius of Egypt 9 (PG 65, col. 268). 147  Ammonas 5 (PG 65, col.  120); Anoub 1 (PG 65, col.  129); Gelasius 6 (PG 65, cols  152–53); Joseph of Panephysis 8 (PG 65, cols  229–32); Longinus 1 (PG 65, col.  256); Motius 1 (PG 65, col.  300); Macarius of Alexandria 2 (PG 65, cols 304–05); Poimen 96 (PG 65, col. 345), 104 (PG 65, col. 348), 152 (PG 65, col.  360), S19 (Guy, Recherches, p.  31; this saying appears in most manuscripts); Psenthaisius 1 (PG 65, cols 436–37). 148  Agathon 14 (PG 65, col.  113); Bessarion 7 (PG 65, col.  141); Macarius of Egypt 34 (PG 65, col.  277); Moses 2 (PG 65, cols  281–84); Pior 3 (PG 65, cols  373–76). 149  Antony 29 (PG 65, col. 85); Arsenius 11 (PG 65, col. 89); Achilles 1 (PG 65, col.  124); Ares 1 (PG 65, cols  132–33); Epiphanius Bishop of Cyprus 4 (PG 65, col.  164); Isaiah 2–3 (PG 65, col.  181), 5 (PG 65, col.  181); Theodora 5 (PG 65, col.  204); John the Short 2 (PG 65, cols  204–05); Isidore 8 (PG 65, col. 221); Isaac Priest of Kellia 2 (PG 65, col. 224); Joseph of Panephysis 6–7 (PG 65, col.  229); Macarius of Egypt 2–3 (PG 65, cols  260–64); Moses 1 (PG 65, col. 281); Xoius 2 (PG 65, cols 312–13); Poimen 4 (PG 65, cols 317–20), 22 (PG 65, col.  328), 25 (PG 65, col.  328), 109 (PG 65, cols  348–49), 127–28 (PG 65, col.  353), 157 (PG 65, col.  360), 174 (PG 65, col.  364); Paphnutius 5 (PG

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ing self-care and the character of the teacher are important parts of the instructional aspect of the AP. Antony ties teaching others to the care for and salvation of souls, and Poimen says that teaching is for the passionless person who practices what he teaches.150 Both Antony and Poimen use the language of self-care to talk about teaching: the practice and teaching of self-care is equated with passionlessness that allows the monk to care for souls, leading to the souls’ salvation. Instruction in self-care forms an important part of the self-care system, and instruction requires the communal environment in which the other can teach the practitioner. Poimen asks, “What good is it to undertake any particular craft and not learn it?”151 The ascetic technologies of self-care are learned, so the teacher must himself be practiced in self-care. Amma Syncletica likewise says, “It is dangerous to teach if one has not been led through the practical life”; she continues by comparing the untrained person to someone who does not repair her house before receiving guests – everyone is injured when the house (the “interior life” according to Syncletica) collapses.152 Amma Theodora says that the teacher needs to remove her vices and replace them with virtues, the chief of which is love for souls.153 Given this understanding of teaching, it is not surprising that the master-disciple relationship is a primary feature of instruction in the AP. Analogizing this fact of monastic life, Isaiah says that 65, col.  380); Sisoes 1 (PG 65, col.  392), 5 (PG 65, col.  393); Silvanus 5 (PG 65, col. 409); Serapion 4 (PG 65, cols 416–17); Syncletica 12 (PG 65, col. 425); Or 7 (PG 65, col.  440). 150  Antony 29 (PG 65, col.  85); Poimen 127 (PG 65, col.  353), 25 (PG 65, col.  328). 151  Poimen 128 (PG 65, col.  353). Τίς χρεία ἀπελθεῖν τινα εἰς τέχνην, καὶ μὴ μαθεῖν αὐτήν; 152  Syncletica 12 (PG 65, col. 425). Ἐπικίνδυνον, τὸν μὴ διὰ τοῦ πρακτικοῦ βίου ἀναχθέντα διδάσκειν. 153  Theodora 5 (PG 65, col.  204). This word, φιλόψυχος, may be a play on φιλόσοφος, the person who practiced self-care in the Greek, Hellenistic, and Roman sources. The emphasis of φιλόψυχος is on the soul, drawing on Christian theology of the Fall, sin, and salvation. This Christian emphasis on sin and salvation stands in opposition, though not necessarily strong opposition, to the emphasis of φιλόσοφος, which would be the wisdom that represented the final result of Hellenistic and Roman self-care. The Christian philopsycher replaces the pagan philosopher in the Christian self-care system of the AP.

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training received at the hands of older monks so marks and shapes (as cloth is dyed and reeds are bent) the younger monk that he is permanently and existentially changed.154 Church hierarchs are irrelevant to the master-student relationship. The pedagogical system of self-care in the AP held no place for bishops or priests interfering with the teaching between monks. When ecclesiastics are presented as teaching in the AP, it is primarily because of their role as self-care practitioners. While explained as a formalized institution in only a handful of sayings,155 the compiler references the master-disciple relationship throughout the AP. Each example of less experienced monks learning from older monks depicts a form of the master-disciple relationship. The relationship resembles the close connection that a teacher from classical antiquity held with his student. Isidore speaks of a complicated relationship between master and disciple: the master is like a father and therefore should be loved; the master is also the literal master and therefore should be respected and obeyed. This tension between the two feelings should not allow for one aspect to subsume the other.156 Despite the difficulties of relating to one’s master (for example, John the Theban heard no praise from his master until the master’s death, and Agathon rebuked his disciple in order to show the disciple’s obedience to other monks157 ), the AP’s compiler portrays careful submission to the instruction of a more experienced ascetic as the greatest practice that a monk can perform.158 While this relationship should be clearly defined – the master is the master and the disciple is the Isaiah 2 (PG 65, col. 181). Antony 38 (PG 65, col.  88); Agathon 28 (PG 65, cols  116–17); Isidore the Priest 5 (PG 65, col. 236); John the Theban 1 (PG 65, col. 240); Joseph of Thebes 1 (PG 65, col.  241); Mark Disciple of Silvanus 1–2 (PG 65, cols  293– 96); Poimen 65 (PG 65, col.  337), 73 (PG 65, col.  340), S2 (Guy, Recherches, pp.  29–30; this saying appears in most manuscripts), S14 (Guy, Recherches, p.  30; this saying appears in a minority of manuscripts); Abba of Rome 2 (PG 65, col.  389); Rufus 2 (PG 65, cols  389–92); Sisoes 29 (PG 65, col.  401); Hyperechius 8 (PG 65, col. 432). 156  Isidore the Priest 5 (PG 65, col. 236). 157  John the Theban 1 (PG 65, col. 240); Agathon 28 (PG 65, cols 116–17). 158  Antony 38 (PG 65, col.  88); Joseph of Thebes 1 (PG 65, col.  241); Mark Disciple of Silvanus 1–2 (PG 65, cols  293–96); Rufus 2 (PG 65, cols  389–92); Hyperechius 8 (PG 65, col. 432). 154  155 

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disciple – the roles may reverse if the disciple ever exceeds his master’s ability to practice self-care.159 Indeed, it is the ability to practice self-care that determines who is a master and receives the honorable appellation of “old man.” The individual’s role in the institutional church plays no part in determining who holds authority in the monastic communities. Although the AP refers to advanced ascetics as “old men,” physical age is not a determining factor in this title. For example, Poimen identifies an old man as the virtuous partner, while the young man is the monk who still finds himself sometimes mired in vice.160 Because of this definition of “old man,” Poimen can call a physically young Agathon “abba,” due to his ascetic accomplishments.161 These “old” men serve a specific function in the self-care system of the AP. Not only are they the teachers of self-care, but they also serve as the models that other monks imitate, and their memory travels through the generations as an example of virtuous life.162 Sometimes the teachings of these old men are useless because their individual ascetic practice has reached a level that is unattainable to newer practitioners.163 That one’s own practice can outstrip the practice of others, even to the point of reversing the master-disciple relationship, reveals the supreme importance of the individual environment of self-care. Though asceticism is taught, the individual’s autonomous work defines his stature. Again, the institutional church’s assessment of the self plays no role in its actualization. Because a large part of self-care, while taught, is an internally directed operation, some monks sought solitude. Alone, they could Sisoes 29 (PG 65, col. 401); Abba of Rome 2 (PG 65, col. 389). Amoun of Nitria 2 (PG 65, col.  128). Contrast this saying with Poimen 108 (PG 65, col. 348), in which Poimen will not speak when Anoub is present because Anoub is older than Poimen (though Anoub says that Poimen is better at speaking than he is). The apophthegm allows ambiguity regarding the meaning of “age” in Poimen 108; in any case, both Anoub and Poimen show each other mutual respect because of their ascetic accomplishments. 161  Poimen 61 (PG 65, col. 336). 162  Elias 2 (PG 65, col.  184); Isaac Priest of Kellia 3 (PG 65, cols  224– 25); John the Eunuch 4 (PG 65, col.  233; this saying appears only in the Cotelier-Migne base manuscript [Guy, Recherches, p.  25]); Poimen 31 (PG 65, col.  329). 163  Poimen 62 (PG 65, cols 336–37). 159 

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advance in practices that elevated the soul by denying the passions and nurturing the virtues. Sometimes this solitude was necessary because a monk found himself in the presence of a harmful other – another monk who prevented the proper practices of self-care.164 More frequently a monk lived alone simply because solitude allowed him freedom from distraction and the ability to practice self-care without worrying about temptations caused by the presence of others.165 While the compiler of the AP carefully notes that progression in self-care can be found equally in the monastery and the cell,166 some advanced monks found that living alone (or with few companions) allowed them to progress most efficiently in virtue through their individualized practices of selfcare. By their very nature as individualized, these practices leave no room for external interference from church authorities. The most vivid apophthegm that illustrates both the tension between companionship and solitude, and the tension sometimes caused by the individualized practices of self-care, depicts a monk visiting Arsenius and Moses and receiving a vision about each monk’s practice. The visions symbolizes a different path of selfcare: Arsenius and the Holy Spirit sail a river alone in one boat and Moses sails the same river in another boat, partying with angels.167 Like the vision of different boats on the same river, John the Short compares monks to trees – as each tree has its own fruit but is watered like all the others, so each monk has a different environment but the same power to practice.168 While monks all choose different ways to practice, all of their techniques produce the same result, working to reform their practitioners’ souls and bring them into closer connection with the divine.169 Pambo states 164  Agathon 23 (PG 65, col. 116); Theodore of Pherme 4 (PG 65, col. 188), 21 (PG 65, col. 192); Macarius of Egypt 17 (PG 65, col. 269), 29 (PG 65, col. 273). 165  Antony 11 (PG 65, col.  77); Heraclides 1 (PG 65, col.  185); Theodore of Pherme 14–15 (PG 65, cols 189–92); Isidore the Priest 1 (PG 65, cols 233–36); Macarius of Egypt 22 (PG 65, col. 272); Paphnutius 5 (PG 65, col. 380). 166  Joseph of Panephysis 8 (PG 65, cols 229–32). 167  Arsenius 38 (PG 65, cols 104–05). 168  John the Short S3 (Guy, Recherches, p.  24; this saying appears in most manuscripts). 169  Arsenius 31 (PG 65, col.  97); Joseph of Thebes 1 (PG 65, col.  241); Nisterus 2 (PG 65, cols  305–08); Poimen 29 (PG 65, col.  329), 147 (PG 65, col.  357).

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that external practices do not save the soul; rather, the interior life nurtured by external practices saves the soul. Different practices are permissible as long as they produce the proper interior disposition.170 Indeed, the individual nature of the practices and the emphasis on the unseen, interior life sometimes confuse visitors (monastic or otherwise) who expect monks to behave in a particular way.171 While individualized practice can result from a monk’s preference for some techniques over others, other times the individualized practices are a function of the monk’s ability or inability to perform some of the techniques. Each monk comes to the process of self-care with an innate ability for practices determined by his physical strength, mental state, and personal background. These inborn skills make extreme practices easier for some monks than they are for others, and this ability determines the type and severity of ascetic practices that the monks perform. One of the best examples of individualized practice based on ability is Arsenius, who left the cushioned life of the imperial palace to live in Scetis. A  monk who had formerly been a shepherd was appalled by Arsenius, ill at the time, using a pillow. The priest of Scetis explains to the monk that just as his life as a monk is easier than living in the fields as a shepherd, even though he does not use a pillow like Arsenius, so Arsenius’s life is exponentially harder given the luxury from which he came.172 Arsenius himself teaches that a monk’s ability determines what he can do; if a monk exercises a technique beyond his ability, then he will quickly grow discouraged and abandon the practice.173 Several sayings in the Pambo 2 (PG 65, cols 368–69). Theodore of Pherme 28 (PG 65, cols  193–96); Macarius of Egypt 30 (PG 65, col.  273); Poimen 184 (PG 65, col.  368); Simon 2 (PG 65, cols  412– 13). Theodore and Poimen are not afraid of visitors knowing that they have bodily needs and desires, and Macarius does not care that his extreme asceticism (stagnant water in his cell) bothers visiting monks. When a visiting politician sends priests ahead of himself to prepare Simon for the official’s arrival, Simon prepares by sitting outside his cell eating bread and cheese – much to his visitor’s dismay. In all of these instances, visitors expect monks to behave in certain ways, and the monks problematize these assumptions by acting as they see fit. 172  Arsenius 36 (PG 65, cols 101–04); Abba of Rome 1 (PG 65, cols 385–89). 173  Arsenius 22 (PG 65, col. 93). 170  171 

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AP portray teachings tailored to monks’ individual abilities, and Antony teaches that God ensures that a monk’s abilities are not outmatched by the temptations that he receives.174 For some monks who are taught to perform less arduous tasks in order to match their abilities, this seeming “downgrade” of practice creates feelings of inadequacy; however, Poimen claims that matching practice to ability (“lighten a part of your righteousness”) gives monks peace.175 Some monks mock or shame their peers for their inability to match the practices of their more advanced counterparts.176 When Poimen finds himself in this situation, he simply quotes the parable of the log and speck from the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 7.5) to turn the shame on his accuser.177 This mockery and shaming also flies in the face of a teaching of Bessarion, who states that a monk should not compare himself to another monk.178 Despite the attempts of detractors, a monk’s asceticism is the monk’s own concern and is determined on a personal level. Although not explicitly argued, the primacy of the monk’s autonomous asceticism implicitly obviates the need for any control by an ecclesiastical hierarch. The solipsism of the individual environment of self-care and the fact of monks’ interactions with others (whether they want them or not) creates tension. Some monks prioritize their individual practice and the example of advanced practice that it sets, while other monks prioritize building relationships by making their fellow monks comfortable, thereby conforming their practices to their surroundings. Antony draws a comparison to overstretching a bow: if he does not change his practice to match that of the less advanced monks in his company, then they will be overstretched in trying to imitate him.179 Motius teaches that conforming prac174  Agathon 20 (PG 65, cols  113–16); Ares 1 (PG 65, cols  132–33); Gelasius 6 (PG 65, cols  152–53); Eulogius the Priest 1 (PG 65, cols  169–72); Zeno 8 (PG 65, col.  177); John the Short 19 (PG 65, col.  212); Joseph of Panephysis 3–4 (PG 65, cols  228–29); Poimen 22 (PG 65, col.  328); Antony 23 (PG 65, col. 84). 175  Poimen 141 (PG 65, col. 357). Κούφισον μέρος τῆς δικαιοσύνης σου. 176  Achilles 3 (PG 65, col.  124); Benjamin 1 (PG 65, col.  144); Epiphanius Bishop of Cyprus 4 (PG 65, col. 164). 177  Poimen 131 (PG 65, col. 356). 178  Poimen 79 (PG 65, col. 341). 179  Antony 13 (PG 65, cols 77–80).

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tice to one’s community is an expression of humility, while Macarius of Egypt changes his practice to match those around him with the caveat that he must perform more rigorous ascetic acts afterward.180 In contrast, Macarius of Alexandria, Sisoes, and Serinus refuse to change their practices in the presence of others.181 These differences in the modification of personal practice in a communal context indicate the importance that personal determination (mediated through the teaching of ascetic betters) took in the practice of self-care. Monks performed self-care in dual, competing environments of community and isolation. The communal environment provided monks with the space for learning and teaching self-care, one practitioner to another; the individual environment allowed monks to practice self-care on their own terms, the self operating on the self. While the imperative, goal, and techniques of selfcare were all taught, they did not fully constitute self-care until they were autonomously embraced in the life of the individual monk. Such an embrace invariably changed the practices to fit the needs and personhood of the individual monk, making selfcare truly the taking care of oneself. The communal environment of self-care in the AP creates a hierarchy and location for training that excludes church officials in their ecclesiastical capacities. Monks teach monks how to be monks. The individual environment in the AP likewise demonstrates that a monk operates outside of the authority of the bishops and priests, because he directs his actions for himself. Through the environments of self-care, the AP’s compiler establishes systems of power and authority (monks’ over other monks, and an individual monk’s over himself) that repudiate external influences. 6. The Final State The AP’s monks transform themselves through a series of performances that they learn from others then adapt for themselves. Motius 1 (PG 65, col. 300); Macarius of Egypt 10 (PG 65, col. 268). Macarius of Alexandria 1 (PG 65, col.  304; attributed to Macarius of Egypt in some manuscripts [Guy, Recherches, pp.  26–27]); Sisoes 32 (PG 65, cols 401–04); Serinus 1 (PG 65, col. 417). 180  181 

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While the locus of the monk’s transformation is his internal self, interior changes manifest themselves externally in the monks’ behavior and even occasionally in their physical bodies. Through the external manifestation of transformed interiority, monks receive reputations for being perfected. The state of the cared-for person and his soul is one of tranquility, passionlessness, harmony, happiness, salvation, and even perfection. Such a soul and person have access to wisdom and truth, which are the sources of peace. Given the embodiment of the soul, however, true and complete perfection is available only in death. The AP’s compiler links the practice of self-care and the virtues that it produces to positive feelings and salvation throughout the AP.182 For Antony, following divine teachings about self-care produces joy and results in his salvation.183 The practice of selfcare provided the monk with a strong connection to the divine. An urban ascetic on par with Antony sang the Trisagion with an angelic chorus nightly because of his advanced practice.184 Antony himself was known as one who dwelt with God, and the monk Ephrem’s connection to the divine meant that he spoke with the words of the Holy Spirit.185 Monks access wisdom because of their reformed souls, and some were even considered perfect in this life.186 The state of these monks’ souls gave them such high reputations that other (even more advanced) monks held them in awe.187 Occasionally, this awe derived from the monk’s physical appearance. Four monks in the AP (Arsenius, Pambo, Sisoes, and Silvanus) are described physically as either angelic or shining

Bessarion 12 (PG 65, cols  141–44); Isidore 6 (PG 65, col.  221); Joseph of Panephysis 10 (PG 65, col.  232); John the Persian 4 (PG 65, cols  237–40); Poimen 58 (PG 65, col.  336), 97 (PG 65, col.  345), S19 (Guy, Recherches, p.  31; this saying appears in most manuscripts); Silvanus 6 (PG 65, col.  409); Hyperechius 8 (PG 65, col. 432). 183  Antony 1 (PG 65, col. 76). 184  Antony 24 (PG 65, col. 24). 185  Antony 28 (PG 65, cols 84–85); Ephrem 2 (PG 65, col. 168). 186  Silvanus 6 (PG 65, col.  409); Cassian 5 (PG 65, col.  245); Matoes 7 (PG 65, col. 292); Sisoes 14 (PG 65, col. 396). 187  Poimen 187 (PG 65, col.  368); Poimen S3 (Guy, Recherches, p.  30; this saying appears in most manuscripts); Sisoes 9 (PG 65, col.  393), 14 (PG 65, col.  396); Tithoes 4 (PG 65, col. 428). 182 

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because of the state of their souls.188 The broader church and its hierarchy do not determine the status of advanced monks, because their spiritual salvation and earthly respect are functions of their asceticism. Although the monks could enhance their souls during life, they could not fully reach their spiritual potential while still embodied. John the Short’s advancement to passionlessness suppressed his humility, so he was told to ask for temptations and the ability to overcome them in order to balance his life.189 Similarly, Evagrius claims that temptations are necessary for salvation.190 The monk practicing self-care finds himself in an odd situation – while measures of perfection, salvation, and passionlessness could be achieved in this life, the nature of embodiment meant that true completion of the self-care process was attainable only in death. Because full perfection existed only in death, monks kept their eventual physical deaths in the forefront of their minds and frequently behaved as if they were already dead.191 Interestingly, at their actual deaths monks sometimes felt trepidation at the idea of judgment because they considered their actions unworthy of the perfection of the afterlife.192 Despite this fear, the AP records that monks were welcomed into the afterlife and then perfected their souls. Agathon died happily, the gates of heaven opened to the young monk Zacharias, and Moses greeted his martyrdom with joy.193 The entrance of Sisoes into his perfection was such 188  Arsenius 42 (PG 65, cols 105–08); Pambo 1 (PG 65, col. 368), 12 (PG 65, col.  372); Silvanus 12 (PG 65, col. 412). 189  John the Short 13 (PG 65, col. 208). 190  Evagrius 5 (PG 65, col. 176). 191  Arsenius 29 (PG 65, col.  97); Evagrius 1 (PG 65, col.  173); Theophilus the Archbishop 5 (PG 65, col.  201); Cassian 8 (PG 65, col.  245); Moses 11–12 (PG 65, col.  283), 14–15 (PG 65, col.  288; Moses 14–18 appear under a different heading, “Seven Instructions of Abba Moses to Abba Poimen,” in most manuscripts [Guy, Recherches, p.  27]); Poimen 2–3 (PG 65, col.  317); Sarah 6 (PG 65, col.  421). 192  Arsenius 40 (PG 65, col. 105); Agathon 29 (PG 65, col. 117); Elias 1 (PG 65, col. 184); Pambo 8 (PG 65, col. 369); Theophilus the Archbishop 4 (PG 65, cols 200–01); Joseph of Panephysis 11 (PG 65, col. 232); Isaac Priest of Kellia 11 (PG 65, cols  225–28). 193  Agathon 29 (PG 65, col.  117); Zacharias 5 (PG 65, col.  180); Moses 10 (PG 65, col.  285).

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a major event that the most important residents of heaven came down to greet him – Antony, the prophets and apostles, an escort of angels, and finally Jesus himself.194 Notably absent from the list are any famous bishops or priests. Instead there is a line of authority passing from Jesus through the angels to those who have lived the angelic life on earth – prophets, apostles, and their heirs, the monks. Because of the difficulty of attaining near-perfection in life and true perfection in the afterlife, Poimen can say, “Many become powerful, but few eminent.”195 This statement itself may reflect the compiler’s disregard for men in traditional ecclesiastical positions of power. Like the philosopher, the monk lived toward death. Perfection required disembodiment, however close the monk may have been to perfection in life. Death was the final perfection and salvation of the soul, and represented the goal toward which every monk practiced self-care. A  monk whose ultimate requirement is death has little need for the meddling of hierarchs. As they neither hasten his passing nor aid him afterward, earthly institutions become irrelevant. The monks’ focus on both internal improvement and on death obviates the need for an institutional church hierarchy. 7. Conclusion: Use of Self-Care in the Apophthegmata Patrum Christianity’s adoption of philosophical models is not unique to the AP, but the AP’s compiler subtly marshals the self-care model to assert monastic autonomy from ecclesiastical hierarchs. By drawing on the problem-solution system of self-care that permeated late ancient Mediterranean thought, the compiler establishes the monastery as the schoolhouse of Christian self-care with the abba, not the bishop, as the schoolmaster. For the monk practicing self-care, the compiler tacitly asserts that the proper place for such education is at the feet of a revered ascetic practitioner of self-care. The compiler of the AP places the monastery as the heir Sisoes 14 (PG 65, col. 396); cf. Sisoes 49 (PG 65, cols 405–08). Poimen 133 (PG 65, col.  356). Πολλοὶ ἐγένοντο δυνατοὶ, ὁλίγοι δὲ παροξύναντες. 194  195 

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to the traditional philosophical schools by appealing to the language of self-care.196 In the AP, self-care takes a decidedly Christian flavor. The initial state of the soul (deformed and distracted by the passions) maps easily onto the Christian doctrine of the Fall with its attendant cast of characters. Because of this connection to the Fall, the proper goal of the self shifts from access to wisdom and knowledge to the salvation of the soul through a close connection to the divine; wisdom and knowledge become by-products of this shifted goal. Christian self-care in the AP affirms the disjuncture between the soul’s state and goal (only a properly ordered and formed soul can be saved and access wisdom and truth). The compiler of the AP calls for self-transformation via repairing and reforming the soul by denying the passions and turning away from externals. The technologies of the Christian solution deviate in severity, but generally not in kind, from many of the Greco-Roman technologies. These continual, progressive mental and physical performances serve to deny the passions, focus the self from distraction, and elevate the soul. The environments of the solution provide the compiler of the AP with the most substantial argument against ecclesiastic interference in monastic affairs. Because self-care requires a communal environment by which a divine or ascetic teacher conveys the process, the cathedral serves less purpose for monks than the monastery. Perhaps more importantly, because self-care, while taught, is fundamentally an operation of the self on the self and on the 196  See, for example, B.  McGinn, “Asceticism and Mysticism in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages,” in Asceticism, ed.  by V.  L. Wimbush and R.  Valantasis, 1998, New York, 2002), pp.  58–74 (p.  70: “The effort of placing what later ages came to call asceticism and mysticism into a coherent and integrated program of spiritual training that has a succession down almost to the present era is rooted in the encounter between Christianity and Hellenism between c.  200 and 400 ce. Clement and Origen were the initiators, and Origen’s adaptation of the classical threefold program of paideia in the service of Christian biblical culture marked the first great stage. The second stage came with monasticism and is evident in writers such as Evagrius and Cassian who can–paradoxically for some–be seen as the last ancient philosophers: that is, writers who used their experience of the atopic life to create a philosophical discourse fusing ascetic self-denial with contemplative vision of God.”).

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practitioner’s own terms, the cell is far more educational than the church. The compiler takes the environments of self-care and turns them into an argument against the church’s ability to teach monks the ways of monasticism. Power and authority in monastic affairs, according to the compiler of the AP, reside in the advanced monastic practitioners of self-care. The final state of the practitioner is near-perfection in this life and true perfection in the next life – the soul is saved, the individual knows wisdom and truth. By suppressing the body, the monk achieves tranquil passionlessness, his body and soul operating in harmony with the divine. Death finds the monk transformed and welcomed into peace after a lifetime of practicing self-care. As for the church, death transcends all temporal institutions, eliminating the need for ecclesiastical hierarchy. Not only is the church’s hierarchy irrelevant to monastic practice, it is also largely irrelevant to the monks’ ultimate goals. The AP’s compiler dips into the waters of self-care thought present in the late antique Mediterranean basin, combines the philosophical forms with the Christian story and Christian theology, and brews a draught of self-care thought that is Hellenistic and Roman in its origins with ingredients from Christian thought and practice. The AP represents a distinct moment in the intellectual history of self-care. While it stands alongside other pieces of Christian literature that draw on the self-care milieu, it is distinct in that it represents the literary production of a movement whose entire existence revolved around the practice of self-care. As such, the AP occupies a similar literary and protreptic space as the letters of famous monks and monastic rules, and it exists as one of the last expressions of Hellenistic and Roman self-care in Christian late antiquity.

CONCLUSION: Contextualizing the A pophthe gmata Patrvm Philosopher-monks of the late fifth century occupied a liminal space. Christianity was waxing as the intellectual, philosophical, social, and religious system of the Mediterranean basin and western Europe. The triumph of Christianity as the official religion of the Roman Empire, the progress of Christianizing the Celtic and Germanic tribes, the continued might of the Christian Byzantine Empire in the east, the process of conquering heresy and maintaining orthodoxy – these achievements crowned official Christianity in 500. There was still hope of recreating a unified pan-Mediterranean, pan-European empire under Christianity’s banner. Even with a split between pro- and anti-Chalcedonian regions, the sixth century brought the possibility of reunification. “One holy, catholic, and apostolic church” was the ideal and seemed a reasonable goal.1 Christianity had replaced philosophy as the dominant Mediterranean thought system. Tertullian’s question “What has Athens to do with Jerusalem?” found an answer that would have surprised him – very little, because Christianity had become the dominant philosophical system. The lifestyle and systems of many philosophers passed to Christian monks, able to care for themselves in the vein of self-care philosophy that had developed over nearly a millennium. Scetis may have fallen three times, but monasticism persisted in Egypt and thrived in Palestine. Fractures, however, lay buried in Christianity’s recent victories. A century of bishops pitting monks against each other, using monks as militias, and waging war on monasteries marred the trust between ecclesiastics and monastic practitioners. Monks viewed bishops, even those from their own ranks, with suspicion. Bishops viewed monks as a wild force in the desert, requiring 1  The ideal of unity lay behind contentious Christological debates, even deeply contentious ones (Y. Moss, Incorruptible Bodies: Christology, Society, and Authority in Late Antiquity, Berkeley, 2016 (Christianity in Late Antiquity, 1).

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subordination lest they become problematic. This distrust and the level of acrimony surrounding Chalcedon and Origen – both contentious in part because of ecclesiastical interjection into monastic affairs surrounding these disputes – divided monasteries. Theophilus and Cyril’s abuse of monks in Egypt could also befall the Palestinian monks given the right circumstances. And those circumstances seemed to be forming. Enter now the compiler of the AP, bringing to Palestine the wisdom of Egypt.2 John Cassian’s exhortation to “avoid women and bishops” was apt, so the AP’s compiler wrote with two implicit goals: to instill an anti-clericalism in the reader and separate monks from ecclesiastics as much as possible; and to install the wise monastic practitioner of self-care as the ultimate authority in monastic communities. He advocated these goals by carefully selecting and arranging sayings that underscored his arguments. 3 2  Samuel Rubenson notes: “Instead of studying the sayings in order to understand the persons mentioned in them we can study them in order to understand the persons actually using them, reading, collecting and transmitting them” (S. Rubenson, “The Formation and Re-formations of the Sayings of the Desert Fathers,” Studia Patristica 55 [2013], p. 20). 3  Editorial bias is part of the nature of sources by and about monks, as Roger Bagnall notes: “Every literary source must therefore be assumed to work from a partisan perspective of some kind. All of these are valuable, but none can be taken at face value” (R. Bagnall, Egypt in Late Antiquity, Prince­ton, 1993, p. 295). Looking below the surface of the AP reveals its compiler’s anti-clerical and pro-monastic biases. Moreover, what James Francis wrote about pagan ascetics in the earlier centuries ce is equally apt for the AP and Christian asceticism in the late fifth century: “The very existence of conflict and polemic means that the deviant ascetics were, to a large measure, successful… The conflict over, and eventual triumph of, asceticism should not be cast in terms of a debate on the holy, or of a reaction against rationalism and a rise in superstition and credulity, but in terms of the nature of power in society. On the one side is structure, institution, authority, and accepted norms, on the other is inspiration, individualism, charismatic leadership, and alternative values. So long as the latter nexus was perceived as antithetical to and destructive of the former, the radical ascetic, who was the locus of these phenomena, would remain suspect and an enemy to the prevailing social order” (J. A. Francis, Subversive Virtue: Asceticism and Authority in the Second-Century Pagan World, University Park, PA, 1995, p. 185). Perhaps not necessarily an enemy to the institutional church, Christian asceticism and monasticism were viewed by bishops as something requiring control and tempering, a stance against which the AP’s compiler argues.

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The compiler concealed his assertions because historically monastic opposition to the mainstream power system (the church) created conflict, occasionally to such a point that bishops attempted to suppress monks and monasteries.4 The compiler supported his claim of monastic autonomy by asserting monks as the new philosophers; in this way the AP functions as part of the self-care milieu of late antiquity. Christianity became the dominant philosophical system not by replacing Greco-Roman thought, but instead by positioning itself as the logical conclusion of philosophical practice, marrying self-care philosophy with the Christian story.5 By recasting self-care in the characters of authoritative Christian ascetics, and by presenting these characters in an alphabetic apophthegmata that emphasized the historical figures, the compiler provided monks with a system of authority rooted in the power of ascetic holy men.6 By depicting these 4  Richard Valantasis notes: “Ascetic reality is by definition a resistant reality within a dominant system. This means that the ascetical symbolic universe always operates in the presence of other universes, and, therefore, it is always consciously developed and maintained as an opposing force. The need consciously to articulate the symbolic universe emerges from conflict and change. Conflict is the social dimension” (R. Valantasis, “Constructions of Power in Asceticism,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 63 [1995], p. 812). The political consequences of writing were occasionally dangerous, requiring authors to exercise discretion and sometimes silence (A.  Kaldellis, “How Perilous Was It to Write Political History in Late Antiquity?” Studies in Late Antiquity 1 [2017], pp. 38–64). 5  I depart from Peter Brown’s assertion that stark divisions arose between Greek and Christian systems of philosophical and ascetic education in the fourth century: “These two remarkable Egyptians – Plotinus and Anthony – mark the parting of the ways in the religious history of Late Antiquity. They shared in a common climate of opinion: Plotinus ‘lived as one ashamed to have been born into a human body’, and Anthony ‘blushed’ when he had to eat. Both men were admired for having achieved a ‘godlike’ mastery of mind over body. But the means they had chosen to the same end were diametrically opposed” (P. Brown, The World of Late Antiquity: ad 150–750, 1971, New York, 1989, p. 96). The sources instead demonstrate a continuity of thought between classical and Christian thought systems, with self-care as part of the common intellectual milieu of late antiquity. 6  As Peter Brown notes: “The holy man served … as a rallying-point – a facilitator for the creation of new religious allegiances and of new religious patterns of observance” (P. Brown, Authority and the Sacred: Aspects of the Christianization of the Roman World, New York, 1995, p. 60). Alternatively, as

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ascetic authorities denying ecclesiastical power and authority over monastic affairs, the compiler urged the monks reading the AP to embody the same resistance to the ecclesiastical system.7 In light of the AP’s compilation by a Poimen-oriented monk, resistance to ecclesiastical dominance is understandable. Poimen in the AP is a peacemaker, bringing a measure of calm to the conflict-ridden world of Theophilus, and fleeing the external violence of raiders before Cyril spread internal violence among monastic communities. The AP’s compiler surely knew about the violent approach of Cyril and the contentious approach of his uncle, Theophilus, but these conflicts are absent from the AP; the silence deafens the modern reader.8 This silence is particularly stark when placed alongside the AP’s anti-clericalism, and alongside the evidence that the compiler viewed the monks as the heirs to self-care philosophy. Monks of course could and sometimes did perpetrate Philip Rousseau argues, “the written word was seized on as a more accessible alternative to the charismatic authority of the holy man. Certainly, the compiler of the Apophthegmata Patrum saw his work in this light” (P. Rousseau, Ascetics, Authority, and the Church in the Age of Jerome and Cassian, 2nd ed., Notre Dame, 2010, p. 70). 7  Although he writes about the Latin-speaking western Mediterranean, David G. Hunter’s conclusions on the Jovinianist Controversy apply here: “Ascetic behavior was a powerful source of social power in late antiquity and fertile ground for the production of diverse hierarchies” (D. G. Hunter, “Rereading the Jovinianist Controversy: Asceticism and Clerical Authority in Late Ancient Christianity,” in The Cultural Turn in Late Ancient Studies: Gender, Asceticism, and Historiography, ed. D. B. Martin and P. Cox Miller, Durham, NC, 2005, pp. 131–32). 8  As Gabrielle Spiegel eloquently notes: “I persist in believing that there is one thing that deconstruction has taught us, more powerfully than any other strategy of reading that I know of, and that is to listen to silence. As historians of the past, we are constantly engaged in attending, as Paul Zumthor has written, ‘to the discourse of some invisible other that speaks to us from some deathbed, of which the exact location is unknown. We strive to hear the echo of a voice which, somewhere, probes, knocks against the world’s silences, begins again, is stifled.’ Our most fundamental task as historians, I would argue, is to solicit those fragmented inner narratives to emerge from their silences. In the last analysis, what is the past but a once material existence now silenced, extant only as sign and as sign drawing to itself chains of conflicting interpretations that hover over its absent presence and compete for possession of the relics, seeking to invest traces of significance upon the bodies of the dead” (G. Spiegel, “The Task of the Historian,” American Historical Review 114 [2009], pp. 14–15).

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violence, but the AP’s compiler wants to place violence at the feet of ecclesiastics and emphasize the monastic and self-care ideas of apatheia. He asserts the ideal while selectively representing the realities. The AP’s compiler needed to preserve earlier tradition and to guide monks through the post-Chalcedonian turbulence; both goals required his rhetorical restraint.9 Nevertheless, the compiler’s monastery replaces the stoa and bypasses the cathedral as the monks reform their bodies and souls on their way to divinization. This monastic self-sufficiency lies at the core of the AP, for us buried under the prose, but likely clear to its original readers.10 Perhaps a more historically minded scholar will use this research to narrow down further the location of the AP’s production. I would like to connect the AP to Euthymius’s community, 9  This approach is similar to the protreptic approach of such texts as histories: “As the reader will notice, many of the historians … had an axe to grind and defended positions about orthodoxy, the nature of the world, and the genealogy of mankind that conflicted with those held by other religious and social groups. Put positively, historiography constantly projects ideals of what a society should look like. Often it does so by engaging in polemic, a posture that acknowledges the existence of alternative outlooks and seeks to expose their weak spots” (P. Van Nuffelen, “Introduction: Historiography as a cultural practice,” in L’historiographie tardo-antique et la transmission des savoirs, ed. by P. Blaudeau and P. Van Nuffelen, Berlin, 2015 [Millennium-Studien zu Kultur und Geschichte des ersten Jahrtausends n. Chr., 55], p. 11). The AP does attempt to create an alternative Christian society in which monks and bishops occupy separate spheres, though it engages in polemic only tacitly. Much polemic was overt; this polemic occupied a space below the surface of the AP’s text, revealed when read in its textual and historical contexts. 10  Such self-sufficiency existed for the monks Barsanuphius and John in sixth-century Gaza, notes Jennifer L. Hevelone-Harper: “Independent of civic and ecclesiastical leaders, the Old Men of Gaza acted as a third source of authority. Yet, from the very nature of their writings–letters of guidance from anchorites to bishops–it is clear that the holy men saw themselves as having spiritual authority over bishops” (J. L. Hevelone-Harper, Disciples of the Desert: Monks Laity, and Spiritual Authority in Sixth-Century Gaza, Baltimore, 2005, pp. 106–18, quotation on p. 107). Barsanuphius certainly knew and used the AP (F. Neyt, “La Formation au Monastère de L’abbé Séridos à Gaza,” in Christian Gaza in Late Antiquity, ed. by B. Bitton-Ashkelony and A. Kofsky, Leiden, 2004 [Jerusalem Studies in Religion and Culture, 3], pp. 151–63, esp. pp. 158–63), so perhaps the AP’s compiler accomplished his aims.

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but definitive historical or textual evidence connecting Poimen to Euthymius is spotty. That aside, the possibility tantalizes the imagination. Euthymius was a peacemaker who led the majority of Palestinian monks to accept Chalcedon, after initial conflict that he sought to avoid by retreating from his monastery into solitude. Some stories about Euthymius indicate an occasionally tense relationship with ecclesiastics despite his own ordination. Moreover, some stories suggest that Euthymius may have been educated, making him the ideal candidate for demonstrating the continuity between self-care philosophy and monastic asceticism. As a peacemaker, Euthymius could have started to compile the AP as the memory of the peacemaking Shepherd of Scetis and his associates, designing it as a tool to unite the pro- and anti-Chalcedonian monastic factions. He may also have foreseen the recurrence of Origenism, which arose in Sabas’s monasteries after Euthymius’s death. The AP was compiled after Euthymius’s death, but he may have started the process, allowing his followers to finish it. Alternatively, the production could have lain entirely in the hands of Euthymius’s close followers, compiling it in the two decades after his death as part of the process of retaining the spirit of his call to unity. Euthymius’s absence in the AP does not present a problem for this hypothesis. If Euthymius started the collation process, he served as the vehicle of memory appealing to the respected tradition of Kellia, Nitria, and especially Scetis. His may have been the invisible hand collecting and organizing the wisdom into a coherent argument. Because some Palestinian monks may have seen the reclusive Euthymius as a remote, forbidding, and somewhat polarizing figure, omitting his name ensured that the mythos of Egypt shone through untinged by Palestinian readers’ possible biases against him. It would be a nice story. Poimen, peacemaking shepherd of souls, leads his brothers away from the destruction of Scetis and into Palestine. Poimen passes his wisdom to Euthymius, who himself or whose disciples in turn collect the sayings of Poimen, then add their own sayings. They produce a collection – the Apophthegmata Patrum – intent on making peace in Palestinian monasticism by advocating the independent philosophical life of self-care for monks. It would be a nice story, but I cannot prove it.

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Is that not, though, the nature of stories? They suggest a perspective, an approach, to the reader’s mind. While not provable – and whether readers agree with my Euthymian suggestion or not – Euthymius and the AP are now linked (even if only temporarily) in the minds of those who consider this conclusion. Convincing or not, the thought is now there, and I have put it there, intentionally. That is precisely what the AP’s compiler does: he implants an idea about philosopher-monks following the path of self-care to the exclusion of ecclesiastic authority. Approval or lack thereof from his sixth-century Palestinian readers was irrelevant. The compiler slipped the peacemaking seeds of monastic autonomy and philosophical self-determination into the fertile imaginations of ascetic practitioners. What grew is a story for another day.

APPENDIX 1: The Language of Self-Care Self-care presents linguistic complexities. The Greek expression “to take care of oneself” (ἐπιμελεῖσθαι ἑαυτοῦ) is what Michel Foucault calls the “canonical and fundamental expression” of selfcare language and “is found from Plato’s Alcibiades up to Gregory of Nyssa.”1 The ἐπιμελ-stem words are a good starting point for examining the range of self-care expressions.2 The general meaning of this collection of words is the care, attention, management, and diligence due an object, idea, person, pursuit, skill,  etc. If an individual takes care of something or pays attention to something, then he carries out a set of actions in accordance with ideas of what the object of his care and attention needs. The set of ἐπιμελ- words represents both attitude and action based on an oversight relationship of the subject over the object. There is a technical vocabulary of oversight that involves a specific office (ἐπιμελητεία) of someone (masculine ἐπιμελητής, feminine ἐπιμελήτρια) who takes care of something (civic, military, economic, religious) by virtue of his position as a governing authority or his specific charge from the governing authorities. “To take care of” (ἐπιμελεῖσθαι) something or someone is therefore a general attitude of oversight combined with specific actions that execute the oversight. This care can also be reified into a specific office that defines the parameters of oversight, which in turn delimits the actions performed in execution of that office. The emphasis on oversight in ἐπιμελ- words derives from the μελετ- stem. 3 The semantic range is substantial, covering being 1  M.  Foucault, The Hermeneutics of the Subject: Lectures at the Collège de France 1981–1982, ed.  by F.  Gros, trans. by G.  Burchell, New York, 2005, p.  84. 2  The lexical range, according to LSJ, encompasses ἐπιμέλεια/ἐπιμελία, ἐπιμελέομαι/ἐπιμέλομαι, ἐπιμέλημα, ἐπιμελής, ἐπιμέλησις, ἐπιμελητεία, ἐπιμελητέον, ἐπιμελητεύω, ἐπιμελητής/ἐπιμελήτρια, and ἐπιμελητικός. 3  According to LSJ, the lexical range encompasses μελεταίνω, μελετάω, μελέτη/μελέτησις, μελέτημα, μελετηρός, μελετητέος, μελετητήριον, μελετητικός, μελετητός, and μελέτωρ; the verb μέλω is likely related.

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thoughtful of or attentive to something in addition to the activities of studying, training for, or practicing something. Usage applies to medical practice and training, practice in the literary arts, and military training. One can describe things as being obtained through practice (μελετητός), and one can even use a specific term for the place where an individual trains (μελετητήριον). The actions, however, are founded on the essential idea that performance originates in attention (μελεταίνω, μελετάω, and μελέτη, deriving from μέλω). By attending to or taking thought for something, perhaps a particular field of human endeavor, the individual trains in it, studies it carefully, and then practices the training. The semantic range conjures images of students carefully copying grammatical exercises or soldiers going through extensive and repetitive drills. Because the person focuses on the object of one’s mental attention, the individual acts accordingly through training in his chosen professions and practicing that training – in other words, thought drives action. The Latin relatives of the collection of Greek words delimited by μέλω, μελετ-, and ἐπιμελ- are those words formed from the verb curo and noun cura. These words denote caring for, attending to, having thought for, or overseeing something; their semantic range includes military, medical, civic, commercial, legal, and (rarely) grammatical usages. The Latin curo/cura, more so than the Greek words, emphasizes an emotional aspect of the mental dimension that drives care and attention, such that the semantic range includes feeling anxiety, trouble, or sorrow for or over something (though there is an emotional element to the Greek concepts: μελετητικός means “mourning” or “cooing,” and the phrase ὕλη μελετητική means “a collection of meditations,” according to LSJ). Again, like their Greek counterparts, the mental aspect of curo/cura engenders action on the part of the person and creates a technical language with caretakers (curagendarius, curator/curatrix) exercising oversight, management, and a structure (the physical or administrative curia) for such caretaking. The imperative and actions of caring for something, in both Greek and Latin, are umbrella terms that encompass a variety of attitudes and actions. All of these attitudes and actions, however, cultivate the object of the caretaker’s oversight. The relationship between subject and object is fundamentally managerial:

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taking care of something means that the subject has charge of that object. Because the subject oversees something, he or she will train and practice the proper activities to ensure full oversight. Moreover, the oversight of, training in, and practice of something involve a group of emotions (anxiety, sorrow,  etc.) that imply a close connection of the subject to the object. With the cloud of words in Greek and Latin related to μέλω, μελετ-, ἐπιμελ-, curo, and cura, come a host of related words that specify the activities of caretaking. These include terms of mental and physical action, looking, considering, observing, turning, attending, training, feeling, and so on. There are additional synonyms (e.g., φρονέω, φροντίς, diligentia, opera, studium, labor) related to the attitudes and actions of caretaking. Examining each of these individual terms is unnecessary, however, since the semantic range of care shows that the specific attitudes and actions of caretaking, while broad, imply the basic idea of close oversight of the subject over the object with attendant actions that allow the subject to take care of the object. In other words, the semantic range of care is any attitude or action that orients the subject toward the object or has the subject operating on the object in an oversight capacity. The semantic range of self-care language includes those attitudes and actions that orient the subjective self to the objective self and allow the subjective self to oversee the objective self in all of its aspects.

APPENDIX 2: Self-Care in the Philosophical Literature The following tables provide citations for chapter four’s presentation of self-care in philosophical literature. Given the number of citations and the content notes about each, they appear here instead of in large footnotes. Full bibliographical information for each text appears in the bibliography of ancient sources. Table 1: Soul as Essential Self Text Corpus Hermeticum

Location 1.15

Chaldean Oracles Cicero, Tusculan Disputations

94, 97 1.9.18–10.22 1.17.41 1.22.52–23.55 1.24.56–26.65 1.26.65–67 2.20.47–22.53

2.23.54–27.65 5.13.38 Seneca, De consolatione ad 24.5 Marciam 65.16–22 Seneca, Letters

Plutarch, “Advice about Keeping Well”

98.2 114.22–25 13–14 (Moralia 128E–129C), 24 (Moralia 135E-F)

Content Notes The immortal part of humanity is enslaved to the mortal part. The body is “evil” and enslaves the soul. On the relationship between body and soul. The soul is the seat of cognition. Knowing your soul is knowing yourself. The soul is the seat of thought and memory. Soul and mind are the same, and one’s soul derives from the divine mind. The soul is the ruling part of the self, but it needs to be ruled because it is defective. The soul controls the body. The soul comes from the divine mind. The soul, the true eternal self, is imprisoned in the body. The body weighs down and imprisons the soul. The soul is self-directed. One’s soul rules oneself. Soul is oneself. (24: On the connection between body and soul.)

Table 2A: The Soul’s Deformity Text Corpus Hermeticum Asclepius

Location 1.17, 1.19, 1.29, 7.1–3, 11.21, 12.2–4, 12.11 7, 9, 28

Content Notes On the soul’s deformity. (1.29: Here the initial state is equated with death.) On the soul’s deformity. (28: Vice is the ultimate punishment for the soul.)

264 Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

appendix 2

4.29, 6.23, 9.2, 11.12

113–16 1.1.8–10, 1.2.3, 2.3.8, 3.6.2, 4.8.3, 4.8.8 Iamblichus, The Mysteries 1.10 (34.8–35.7) of Egypt Proclus, On the Existence 4–5, 23–24, 39 of Evils Chaldean Oracles Plotinus, Enneads

On the soul’s deformity. (9.2: The person’s very humanity is jeopardized because of mental corruption.) On the soul’s deformity. On the soul’s deformity. On the soul’s deformity. On the soul’s deformity. (See also 33, in which Proclus claims that Plato believed that souls can make evil choices preembodiment.)

Table 2B: Cicero’s Language on the Soul’s Deformity Text Cicero, Tusculan Disputations

Location 1.20.45–47 1.30.72–73 3.1.1–3.7

3.4.7–9 3.6.13–10.23 3.11.24–15.33; 3.22.52–54 4.1.1–38.84 Cicero, De officiis

1.20.67–70 1.28.101–30.106

Content Notes The soul is impeded by the body, but the soul is happy and at peace when released from bodily passions. On polluted and purified souls. On sickness (generally) and diseases (specific vices or passions) of the soul; that they are more dangerous than the diseases of the body; and that the soul must be able to cure itself. Even wise souls fall prey to irrational passions. Philosophy provides the cure for a soul disordered by passions. That the Epicureans and Cyrenaics claim that the source of disorder in the soul is external “evil.” On further disorders of the soul and how the wise man removes them. The soul can be swayed by passions. Passions and distractions may attack the soul and should be controlled by reason.

Table 2C: Seneca’s Language on the Soul’s Deformity Text Seneca, De constantia sapientis Seneca, De ira

Location 10.1–3 1.1.1–7 1.7.2–3

Content Notes On the wise man’s soul and its disturbances. On anger and how the passions affect the body. On the differences between impassioned and reasoned bodies and souls, and why one must remove the passions.

self - care in the philosophical literature

1.8.2 1.9.1–10.3 1.17.1–7 1.20.1–2 2.2.2 2.4.1–2 2.35.3–36.3 2.36.5–6 3.1.4 Seneca, De clementia Seneca, De consolatione ad Marciam Seneca, De tranquillitate animi Seneca, De brevitate vitae Seneca, Letters

3.26.4, 3.30.2 1.17.1–3 19.6 2.2–15 10.1–6 5.1–9 15.1–11 34.3–4 53.7–12 75.11–12 85.15

265

Passions transform the soul. Passions destroy the soul. The irrational actions of an angry person exemplify how the passions affect the person. The angry soul is a diseased soul. Anger is weakness in the soul. How passion acts on the soul. On physical manifestations of anger. Anger is the worst of the passions and subjugates all others. Other passions suggest perversions to the soul, but anger overthrows it. On the flaws common to humanity. Passion (e.g., anger) is a disease of soul. Passions destroy the soul, so death is peaceful. How the tranquility of the soul is upset by passions. On the disquieted mind. On the disturbed and unstable mind. That the soul is sick. On the deformed soul. Vice is disease of the soul, cured by philosophy. Vices and passions are diseases of the soul. Passion and vice alter the soul.

Table 2D: Plutarch’s Language on the Soul’s Deformity Text Plutarch, “Advice about Keeping Well”

Location 11–12 (Moralia 128C-E)

7 (Moralia 125B–126B) Plutarch, “Consolation to 10 (Moralia His Wife” 611D-F) Plutarch, “On Listening 1 (Moralia 37Dto Lectures” E) 2 (Moralia 38AD) Plutarch, “On the Delays 6 (Moralia 551Dof Divine Vengeance” E)

Content Notes The body simply kept in accordance with nature is pleasurable; how the body moves out of harmony with nature. How excesses affect body and soul, and that nature wants moderation. How embodiment affects the soul. Desire masters uncontrolled people, and following the impulses of desire is ignoble. Vice enters and attaches to the soul through all bodily senses. Souls are virtuous when first coming from the divine, but find vice (against nature) through “being corrupted by careless rearing and mean company,” ὑπὸ τροφῆς καὶ ὁμιλίας φαύλης φθειρόμενον (Moralia 551D; translation mine).

266 Plutarch, “Virtue and Vice” Plutarch, “On Talkativeness” Plutarch, “Whether Vice Be Sufficient to Cause Unhappiness”

appendix 2

2–3 (Moralia 100D–101B) 2 (Moralia 502E)

How vice affects the soul. Passions are diseases of the soul.

4 (Moralia 499D- “Unmanly,” “irrational,” “untrained,” and “unpracticed” people (ἄνανδρος, F) ἀλόγιστος, ἀγύμναστος, ἄτριπτος) are made unhappy by a combination of fortune and vice. Reason, warped by vice in the soul, cannot Plutarch, “Whether the 2 (Moralia see disease in the soul. Affections of the Soul are 500E–501A) Worse than Those of the Body” The soul’s disease causes evil physical and 3–4 (Moralia mental actions that disrupt reason and do 501A–502A) not allow reason to see the soul’s disease. 1 (Moralia 500C) Vice in the soul is the soul’s own doing. Plutarch, “On 3 (Moralia 165C- The passions are disgraceful and disrupt or suppress reason. Superstition” D) The rational part of the soul should control Plutarch, “On Moral (Moralia the irrational part. Virtue” 440D–452D)

Table 3: The Soul’s Goals Text Cicero, Tusculan Disputations Seneca, De providentia Seneca, De constantia sapientis

Location 3.7.15

Content Notes Reason is the soul’s work.

6.1 8.2–3

The good man despises externals. The goal is ascent of the soul.

19.1–4

Description of the paths of the wise man and seeker of wisdom. The goal is a state of passionlessness. Virtue is found in passionlessness. The goal is godlikeness. On Stoic passionlessness. The goal is deification. Progress in virtue is the highest good. The soul rules the body. Obeying reason is following the divine.

3.6.1, 3.41.1–2 1.3.1 1.19.8–9 2.5.4–5 16.1 Seneca, De vita beata 71 Seneca, Letters 114.22–25 Plutarch, “On Listening 1 (Moralia to Lectures” 37D-E) Plutarch, “On the Delays 5 (Moralia of Divine Vengeance” 550D-E) 1.24–26 Corpus Hermeticum 10.6–9 Seneca, De ira Seneca, De clementia

11.2

Souls desire order and despise disorder, a reflection of the divine. The goal is divinization. The soul’s virtue is knowledge and its goal is deification. On becoming divine.

self - care in the philosophical literature

17 Asclepius Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

Chaldean Oracles Plotinus, Enneads

6 8 4.12 5.26 5.27 6.29 109–12 1.1.8–9, 11–12 1.2.7 1.6.7

Proclus, Elements of Theology Proclus, On the Existence of Evils Seneca, Letters

Prop. 209 12.4–7 113

71.36 Seneca, De consolatione ad 18.4 Polybium 4.1 Seneca, De providentia Plutarch, “Virtue and Vice” Marcus Aurelius, Meditations Proclus, Commentary on Alcibiades I

1 (Moralia 100BD) 4.18 12.29 4–10

267

On harmonizing one’s soul with the divine despite embodiment. On deification. The goal is to imitate divine reason. The soul should conform to reason. The soul’s reason should control the body. On walking with gods. The soul should rule the body. On the ascent of the soul. The soul desires higher things and is drawn upward. On the ascent of the soul. The goal is ascent to the good, and the soul desires good. On the ascent of the soul and desire for perfection. Souls that gain knowledge ascend to and unify with the gods. The soul is a living thing, and virtue is a condition of the soul. The self must belong to itself. An exhortation not to work against oneself. Overcoming hardship is a mark of greatness. Pleasure and happiness are found in the self’s character, not in external things. The goal is the self. The goal is salvation. Part of the goal and practice of philosophy is knowing and taking care of oneself.

Table 4A: Problem and Imperative Text Corpus Hermeticum

Location 1.29

Plotinus, Enneads

6.2–3 1.1.8–9, 11–12

1.8.1–12 Porphyry, Life of Plotinus 1 Iamblichus, The Mysteries 1.7 (21.1–23.8) of Egypt

Content Notes On the way of death and mode of salvation from it. Passion and vice oppose the good. The soul desires upward progression, but is descended into embodiment. Evil and vice warp the embodied soul. Plotinus seemed ashamed of his embodiment. Vice and imperfection mark the difference between the divine and the soul.

268

appendix 2

3.20 (147.16– 150.2)

The passions oppose nature, but religious observance allows purifying participation in divinity.

Table 4B: Military, Legal, Athletic, Medical, Religious, Political, and Exhortation Text Seneca, De ira

Location 3.4.5 3.13.1

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations Seneca, De ira Seneca, De brevitate vitae

2.6 3.6.6–7.2 2.5

Seneca, Letters

16.2

Corpus Hermeticum

20.3 1.21

Porphyry, Life of Plotinus 8 Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

Plutarch, “On Talkativeness” Epictetus, Discourses

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations Corpus Hermeticum

4.3.1

Content Notes “guard yourself,” “ipse se circumspiciat” “fight against yourself,” “pugna tecum ipse” “maul yourself, oh soul,” ὑβρίζεις ἑαυτήν, ὦ ψυχή “measure yourself,” “te metire” (3.7.2) “who himself has no time for himself,” “qui sibi ipse numquam vacat” “inspect yourself, variously examine thoroughly, and attend to yourself,” “excute te et varie scrutare et observa” “attend to yourself,” “observa te” “the one who understands himself moves toward it,” ὁ νοήσας ἑαυτὸν εἰς αὐτὸν χωρεῖ; “the thoughtful man recognizes himself,” ὁ ἔννους ἄνθρωπος ἀναγνωρισάτω ἑαυτόν “he attended to himself,” συνῆν … ἑαυτῷ (ll. 19–20) “renew yourself,” ανανέου σεαυτόν

6.3 6.11

“look inside,” ἔσω βλέπε “return quickly into yourself,” ταχέως ἐπάνιθι ἐις ἑαυτὸν 7.28 “gather into yourself,” εἰς σαυτὸν σθνειλοῦ 7.59 “[look?] within,” ἔνδον σκέπε [sic, but probably βλέπε or σκοπεῖ] 16 (Moralia 510C- A long medical-language discourse on the removal of vice from the soul. D) 1.2 A long discourse with medical and gladiatorial references that encourage selfcare. 1.4 A long discourse on progress in virtue, with athletic language exhorting practice. 3.1–2 Two long discourses on training in virtue, using athletic metaphors as exhortation. 1.7 “care of character,” θεραπείας τοῦ ἤθους 13.7

An exhortation to make “music” to the divine via internal alignment with the good.

self - care in the philosophical literature

Plotinus, Enneads

1.2.4

Corpus Hermeticum Asclepius

1.27–28 22

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

1.15.1

Chaldean Oracles Plotinus, Enneads

2.5 4.3.4 12.1 111 1.2.1 1.2.5

269

On the relationship between purification and virtue. Hermes preaches the necessity of self-care. A long exhortation on virtue and the divine. “to rule over myself,” κρατεῖν ἑαυτοῦ A long exhortation to take care of himself. A long exhortation to direct his mind and soul toward proper things. A long exhortation to follow reason. “urging oneself on,” ἐπισπέρχων σαὐτὸν “one must flee from here,” φευκτέον ἐντεῦθεν On the necessary withdrawal of the soul.

Table 5A: Philosophy and Healing Text Cicero, Tusculan Disputations

Location 2.4.11–12 2.5.13 3.6.13–10.23 5.1.1–2.6

Seneca, Letters

15.1–2 16.3

53.7–12 82.5–6 Plutarch, “On Love of Wealth” Plotinus, Enneads

10 (Moralia 527F–528B) 1.3.5–6, 3.6.5

Content Notes Philosophy is the “healer of souls” (2.4.11, “medetur animis”) and a reformative course. Philosophy is the “cultivation of the soul” (“cultura autem animi philosophia est”) that removes vices. Philosophy cures the diseases of the soul; on the relationship between virtues and their inimical vices. On the effort of philosophy and the great feats philosophy has performed, not the least of which is giving meaning to humanity. Philosophy is well-being. Philosophy “forms and builds the soul, orders life, directs actions, shows what is to be done and what is to be omitted” (“animum format et fabricat, vitam disponit, actiones regit, agenda et omittenda demonstrat”). Vice is disease of the soul, cured by philosophy. An extensive military metaphor showing how philosophy protects the soul. The knowledge and self-mastery provided by philosophy brighten the soul. Philosophy is the process of healing and purifying the soul.

270

appendix 2

Table 5B: Proper Objects of Philosophical Thought Text Cicero, Tusculan Disputations Cicero, De officiis

Seneca, De otio Seneca, De ira Seneca, Letters Plutarch, “On Being Nosy” Plutarch, “On Compliancy” Marcus Aurelius, Meditations Corpus Hermeticum

Location 3.16.34, 5.24.68– 25.72 1.28.101–30.106

Content Notes The proper objects of thought are humanity, nature, and the divine. Mental control and tempering pleasure remove passions and distractions. On the necessity of mental discipline.

1.5.17, 1.35.126– 36.132 2.1, 4.2–5.8 On proper thoughts. 3.41.1–2 On the proper objects of contemplation. 64.6–7, 94.45–46 On proper thoughts. (94.45–46 specifically ties contemplation to virtue.) 5 (Moralia 517C- An exhortation to think about better things. F) An exhortation to remember the harm of 19 (Moralia vice. 536C-D) 5.16 explicitly links one’s thoughts to the 2.9, 3.4, 3.11, 4.36, 6.38, 8.22, character of one’s mind and soul. 9.30, 9.32 1.1 Meditation suppresses the senses and connects the individual’s mind to the divine.

Table 5C: Self-Examination and Self-Critique Text Seneca, De vita beata Seneca, De tranquillitate animi Seneca, De providentia Seneca, De vita beata Seneca, Letters

Location 8.3–4 17.3 1.1 3.3, 4.3 2.2–4 28.1 2.4–5 13.6, 16.2–3 20.3–5 83.2 94.45–46

Seneca, De otio Seneca, De ira Seneca, De brevitate vitae Plutarch, “Advice about Keeping Well”

6.3 3.36.1–3 10.1–6 12 (Moralia 128D)

Content Notes On turning toward oneself from externals. An exhortation to “withdraw into himself” (“in se recedendum”). How self-examination reveals vice. On self-testing and self-knowledge. On the soul’s self-examination. A legal metaphor for self-examination in virtue and vice. On “weighing” (concoquo) thoughts. Exhortations to self-examination. An exhortation to reflect on oneself and one’s conduct. On daily self-review. Part of virtue is the contemplation of one’s conduct. How the soul tests its own virtue. On daily questioning of the soul. One must examine his past actions. One should practice self-examination instead of considering the distractions of embodiment.

self - care in the philosophical literature

Plutarch, “On Tranquility” Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

Porphyry, Life of Plotinus Cicero, De finibus Plutarch, “How to Tell a Flatterer from a Friend” Proclus, Commentary on Alcibiades I Plutarch, “On Tranquility” Marcus Aurelius, Meditations Seneca, Letters Seneca, De vita beata

271

10.3 8 5.16 25 (Moralia 65F)

On the examination of oneself and one’s fortunes. On specific examinations of life and conduct. On questioning oneself. On the practice of questioning oneself every day. On proper thoughts. Plotinus focused his attention on himself. On self-knowledge. On self-knowledge.

4–10

On self-knowledge.

4–6 (Moralia 466D–468A) 7.29

One’s attitude sets the approach to hardship. On mental practices for control.

7.33 71.35–36 8.4–6

The mind guards itself against pain. Desire is necessary for progress. On the mind imitating the divine.

10 (Moralia 470A-B) 4.24, 5.11, 5.31 8.2 10.11

Table 5D: Dual Techniques Text Marcus Aurelius, Meditations Chaldean Oracles

Location 9.4 128–29

Content Notes On prayer.

Pious actions preserve one’s body and soul with the access to the divine mind that the actions provide. On restraining, but not destroying, the Iamblichus, The Mysteries 1.11 (39.14– 40.15) passions to be pure for religious rituals. of Egypt 3.3 (106.4–109.3) Dreams liberate the soul from the body and passions. 3.20 (147.16– Participating in religious observances 150.2) connects the subject with the divine and rids the individual of passions that are against nature. 5.15 (219.1– On worship and sacrifice for people 220.18) perfected and progressing in perfection. 5.23 (232.1–9) Sacrifice and worship purify and partially perfect the participant. 5.26 (237.8– Prayer draws the soul upward and unifies 240.18) it with the gods. 20.2 Concordance of inner and outer steps Seneca, Letters proves wisdom. Plutarch, “How to Tell a 25 (Moralia 66C- Vice is avoided by virtue, but not Flatterer from a Friend” E) necessarily that vice’s opposite virtue.

272

appendix 2

Plutarch, “How a Man 1 (Moralia 75AMay Become Aware of his F) Progress in Virtue” 3 (Moralia 76E) 7 (Moralia 78E) Seneca, De consolatione ad 13.2–3 Helviam 17.1–5 Seneca, Letters

2 (Moralia 37F)

On warfare against vice. How virtue operates against externals. Through reason, virtue operates on the soul against vice. Emotion is subject to reason, and reason is found in the study of philosophy. Reason, which rules the senses, strengthens the soul. Reason controls, but passion and vice overwhelm. Reason comes from philosophy.

3 (Moralia 76B)

Reason enlightens and cleanses the soul.

6 (Moralia 103F)

Reason cures grief.

66.31–32 85.6–12

Plutarch, “On Listening to Lectures” Plutarch, “How a Man May Become Aware of his Progress in Virtue” Plutarch, “Consolation to Apollonius” Plutarch, “On Talkativeness” Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

Acquiring virtue and removing vice is not sudden, but is progressive and markable.

17 (Moralia 510D) To treat talkativeness, one should apply reason to see how silence (talkativeness’s opposite) helps oneself and others. 8.48 Reason makes the mind unassailable by the passions.

Table 5E: On Simple Living Text Cicero, De officiis

Location 1.28.101–30.106

1.5.17, 1.35.126– 36.132 4.9–10 Seneca, De providentia Seneca, De consolatione ad 10.1–11.7 Helviam 5 Seneca, Letters 9 14.1–2 20.3–5 51

Content Notes An exhortation to do only what is necessary for the maintenance of bodily life. On physical and mental discipline. On simple living; that excess is dangerous. Exile removes excess and vice, but leaves the maintenance of bodily necessities. On living simply and the encouragement to live in accordance with nature. On the soul overcoming evil and the individual not enjoying his body. Too much concern for the body is inimical to virtue. Simple living should be consistent across all areas. On simple living and visiting only places associated with virtue.

self - care in the philosophical literature

Plutarch, “Advice about Keeping Well” Plutarch, “On Tranquility” Musonius Rufus, Discourses

82.2 11–12 (Moralia 128C-E) 13 (Moralia 472B–473B) 11 (80.7–84.27)

Marcus Aurelius, 7.31 Meditations Porphyry, Life of Plotinus 7

273

Luxury weakens the soul. The body simply kept in accordance with nature is pleasurable. Some pursuits are polar opposites (e.g., eating and caring for the soul). Living according to nature, here as manual labor, is appropriate for the study of philosophy. On the connection between simplicity and virtue. Simple living and uninvolvement in public life were Plotinus’s ideals.

Table 5F: Physical Techniques of Self-Care Text Seneca, Letters

Location 8.1–2 20.12–13 34.3–4 69 88

Seneca, De ira

1.11.8 2.12.4–6

Seneca, De tranquillitate animi Seneca, De consolatione ad Helviam Cicero, De officiis Plutarch, “Advice about Keeping Well” Plutarch, “On Tranquility” Plutarch, “How a Man May Become Aware of his Progress in Virtue” Plutarch, “How to Study Poetry”

9.1–10.6 12.1, 12.3 3.5.25–26 16–27 (Moralia 130A–137E) 2–3 (Moralia 465C–466D) 9–10 (Moralia 80B–81F) 14 (Moralia 35F–37B)

Content Notes Seneca is never idle, sleeps little, studies much, has withdrawn from affairs of home and state, and writes. Seneca occasionally lived as if poor. On consistency between actions and words. On staying in one place. The study of wisdom is the greatest learning. At 88.20, Seneca writes that while the liberal arts do not teach or grant virtue on their own, such studies do prepare the soul for and point toward virtue. Self-subjugation is the wisest course. Others get rid of enjoyment, never drink wine, are celibate, sleep little, and train athletically. On moderation in the use of wealth. Poverty clears the mind, while riches cloud it. Service is better than pleasure. On how to live a healthy life through care in foods, drink, activities, etc. On tranquility of mind through good occupations. One should mind his words and actions. Poetry can and should teach virtue.

274 Plutarch, “On Tranquility” Musonius Rufus, Discourses Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

Musonius Rufus, Discourses Marcus Aurelius, Meditations Asclepius

appendix 2

12 (Moralia 471D–472B) 18A–20 (112.1– 114.31) 5.1 12.17 6.53 5 (48.27–52.4) 1.16.5, 1.16.8, 7.60 6

The individual must manage his impulses. Limit excess in food and drink, clothing, shelter, decorations, and furnishings. Limit sleep, food, and drink, and perform only proper work. One should check his own speech. One should train to listen carefully. Practice is the most important, but theory teaches proper practice. On bodily moderation and keeping the body composed. Physical practices demonstrate that the practitioner hates the body.

Table 5G: Training and Habituation Text Cicero, Tusculan Disputations Cicero, De officiis

Location 2.13.31–32 1.23.79–81

Seneca, Letters

74

94.46–47 82.8 Seneca, De consolatione ad 7.4 Marciam Plutarch, “How to Profit 8 (Moralia 90Bby One’s Enemies” C) 4 (Moralia 76F) Plutarch, “How a Man May Become Aware of his Progress in Virtue” Plutarch, “On Control of 11 (Moralia 459B) Anger” 12 (Moralia 83BPlutarch, “How a Man May Become Aware of his C) Progress in Virtue” Plutarch, “Consolation to 9 (Moralia 611A) His Wife” Plutarch, “On 19 (Moralia 511E) Talkativeness” Plutarch, “On Being 11 (Moralia Nosy” 520D)

Content Notes On bodily and mental training in the virtues. On bodily and mental training in the virtues. Virtue protects one from passion and distraction. Virtue requires training and practice. On practice with the soul. Habit affects the hold of the passions. Training in virtue masters impulses. Training removes vice. Training the irrational part of the soul removes passion. Apathy comes from training both body and soul. Virtue comes from reason resulting in habit. Habits control the disease of talkativeness. Training in and teaching oneself the virtue of self-control from an early age is fundamental to curing the passion of nosiness.

self - care in the philosophical literature

Epictetus, Discourses

2.17

275

Virtue and vice are both habits/diseases that can be nurtured or not.

Table 6A: Teachers and Teaching of Philosophy Text Seneca, De clementia

Location 1.1.1

Seneca, Letters Seneca, De providentia

11.8–10 6.2–3

Cicero, De officiis

1.41.146–47

Plutarch, “On Control of Anger”

1 (Moralia 452F–453C) 6–12 (Moralia 455E–461A) 14 (92.6–9)

Musonius Rufus, Discourses Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

1.14.31–32

Content Notes Seneca is a mirror, showing Nero his own self. The soul needs a model and a guide. The purpose of suffering is to teach endurance to others. One should observe others to see his own faults. One may check his own progress by watching someone else. On seeing how anger works in others to understand how to cure it in oneself. The purpose of the philosopher is to teach humans to live according to nature. On those who taught him, and what they taught. On others as examples and teachers. On remembering the virtues in one’s friends. On willingness to be corrected by others and by oneself. One should remember those who live virtuously. Helping others is the best nature.

3.5.25–26 2.1

On care for others. On others as teachers and what they teach.

1.1–5

One should find a proper guide and not follow the masses. On training. Virtue enters the soul through the sense of hearing, especially hearing philosophical lectures. How lectures shape the soul. On teaching. On training. Crowds sway the individual toward vice. The individual is influenced toward good or evil by his chosen companions. An exhortation to learn in order to teach, because unshared knowledge is pointless.

1 6.30.2 6.48 8.16 11.26

Cicero, Tusculan Disputations Cicero, De officiis Seneca, De constantia sapientis Seneca, De vita beata Seneca, Letters Plutarch, “On Listening to Lectures”

5.1–9, 8.1–10 2 (Moralia 38AD)

Corpus Hermeticum Plotinus, Enneads Seneca, Letters Seneca, De ira

16 (Moralia 46D) 1.26–29 1.3.1–4 7.1–12 3.8.1–8

Seneca, Letters

6.4

276

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27.1 33.6–11

Seneca, De ira Seneca, Letters Seneca, De tranquillitate animi Seneca, De providentia

108 2.10.6–8 29 109 1.2, 2.1 3.4–14

An exhortation to train others only after receiving training. On progressing from being a learner (one who hears and quotes) to a teacher (one who speaks and writes). On teaching and learning philosophy. Humans are not born wise, and must work to attain wisdom, which few do; wise men teach and heal others. One can teach only those who are willing. On the wise helping the wise. Seneca is a physician. On exemplars who have overcome hardship and are therefore considered great.

Table 6B: Individualism in Philosophy Text Seneca, De vita beata Seneca, De constantia sapientis

Location 1.1–5 19.1–4

Seneca, Letters Cicero, De officiis Marcus Aurelius, Meditations Plutarch, “On Listening to Lectures” Plutarch, “How a Man May Become Aware of his Progress in Virtue” Plutarch, “On Tranquility” Seneca, De ira Seneca, Letters

22.1–3 1.31.110–14 6.39 17 (Moralia 47BC) 13 (Moralia 83E–84B) 14 (Moralia 473B-E) 3.6.6–7.2 10.2 19.12 10.1, 20.1, 31.3, 42.10

Content Notes Self-care is individual and communal. On the difference between the wise man and wisdom-seeking man, and that practice changes depending on the situation and individual. Training is situational. One’s conduct is personal and individual. An exhortation to conform practice to the situation. Progress in philosophy is individual and inspires love of virtue. One should compare oneself to oneself. Each passion and virtue operates differently from person to person. One should measure oneself. One should associate with oneself. One should be of his own mind. One should practice self-trust and selfownership.

Table 7A: The Soul’s Final State Text Cicero, Tusculan Disputations

Location 3.4.9

Content Notes Healthy souls are calm.

3.5.10

Wisdom is “soundness” or “health” (sanus) of soul.

self - care in the philosophical literature

Cicero, De officiis Seneca, De constantia sapientis

Seneca, De vita beata

Seneca, De tranquillitate animi

277

1.4.13 3.5

On the ordered soul. The wise man is passionless.

5.5 15.2 3.3–4 4.3

Virtue is the wise man’s only possession. The wise man exists on a higher plane. On a sound and virtuous life. One should keep one’s mind on a higher plane. On perfection of one’s mind. On the tranquility of the soul.

9.3 2.2–15 3.1–5.5 6.1–7.6

Seneca, De brevitate vitae 10.1–6 Seneca, De consolatione ad 20.1–2 Helviam 4.1 Seneca, Letters 8.1–10 23.2–11 24.16 27.2–3 31.9–10 34.3–4 36.6 48.11 56.6 56.14 59.14 66.6 72.4–5 72.6 74.29 74.3 76.3 79.11 87.3 90.3 101.9

Service provides tranquility. Contemplation and friendship provide tranquility. On a peaceful mind. On happiness. On the soul at peace with itself. On the great soul. Happiness is found in philosophy and leads to a happy soul. On the peace of the soul and the lack of bodily connection in old age after long practice. The soul should find the good in itself. On being able to become divine. Words and deeds ought to be harmonious. The soul should be perfect and passionless. Divinization is achieved through philosophy. True peace lies in an unperverted mind. On passionlessness. The wise man is happy and unflappable. On the perfected soul. The study of philosophy leads to peace and happiness. The healthy soul is perfected in philosophy. Knowledge leads to happiness. Virtue harmonizes the soul. Perfection gives knowledge of virtue. On the soul’s progress to knowledge. Greatness and peace of soul come from a lack of extraneous things. Truth is the purpose of philosophy. The wise soul has peace.

278 Plutarch, “How a Man May Become Aware of his Progress in Virtue” Plutarch, “Virtue and Vice” Plutarch, “On Tranquility” Corpus Hermeticum

Asclepius Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

Plotinus, Enneads

appendix 2

11, 13 (Moralia 82F, 83E–84B)

On passionlessness, and that passionlessness is divine.

4 (Moralia 101CE) 14 (Moralia 473B-E) 3.4 6.5–6 12.1 9 3.8

The virtuous soul is carefree.

4.16 4.39 7.5.3 7.69 8.26 9.1 10.1 1.2.6 1.4.1–6

Porphyry, Life of Plotinus 9 Iamblichus, The Mysteries 1.10 (34.8–35.7) of Egypt 5.15 (219.1– 220.18) 3 frag. 3 Iamblichus, Letters 4 16 frag. 1 16 frag. 3–4 Proclus, On the Existence of Evils

21–22

On tranquility in ourselves. On the virtuous life. On knowledge. Some people are nearly divine. On divine humans. On the reformed mind. Divinization comes from the return to reason. On passionlessness. Self-care produces only good, not pain. On the perfection of character. Happiness derives from true work. On life in accordance with nature. On the soul’s final state. On divinization. True happiness lies in being undistracted and unmoved in body, and in contemplating higher things. Plotinus was considered a “holy” (ἱερός) and “divine” (θεῖος) guardian and executor. On the soul’s reformed state. On the sacrifices of perfected and nearperfect humans. Perfection derives from self-control over passions. Wisdom deifies. Virtue is perfection of the soul. The virtuous man is good, nearly divine, perfect, simple, and pure. On perfected souls.

Table 7B: Complete Perfection in Death Text Cicero, Tusculan Disputations

Location 1.19.43–54

Content Notes The soul released from bodily passions is happy and at peace.

self - care in the philosophical literature

1.20.45–47 1.20.47

Seneca, De ira

1.30.72–73 1.30.74–31.76 1.31.75 1.7.2–3

3.43.5 Seneca, De consolatione ad 11.2 Marciam 19.6 21.6 23.1–2 25.2, 26.5–7 Seneca, De vita beata Seneca, De tranquillitate animi Seneca, De brevitate vitae

26.5 14.9–10 1.3–4

Seneca, De consolatione ad 9.1–3 Polybium 11.1–7 Seneca, Letters 13.1–2 16.1–3 22.12 22.16 23.2–11 26.4–10 30.3–18 61 79.11–12 82.8 90.1–2 102.21–25

279

The soul released from bodily passions is happy and at peace, but the soul is impeded by the body. After death, the soul has no impediment to seeing the true nature of all things. On polluted and purified souls. The goal is mindfulness toward death. One should learn to die. On the impassioned and reasoned body and soul, and why one must remove the passions. On death. Death is one’s goal, and death fulfills the command to “know yourself.” Death provides peace. Death is the inevitable goal of life. Souls desire release. True knowledge is available only after death. The soul freed from vice finds wisdom. On death and the fleeing soul. Life is long enough, but most people waste their time in life. Perfection lies in death. Innate bodily weakness can be tempered, but not fully overcome. External things cannot conquer the true soul. The happy life is complete wisdom. On the higher life and the gods. On death and peacefulness. On the happy soul and death. Death reveals the efficacy of one’s practice. The philosopher lives as if already dead. On preparing to die before preparing to live, and on dying well and happily. On the soul’s upward progress toward knowledge, both in life and after death. One should practice with the soul and prepare for death. Philosophy comes from the divine. On the soul and death.

280 Plutarch, “Consolation to Apollonius” Plutarch, “On the Delays of Divine Vengeance”

appendix 2

13 (Moralia 107F–108E) 22–33 (Moralia 563E–568A)

Plutarch, “On the Sign of 22 (Moralia Socrates” 590B–592E) 1.19 Corpus Hermeticum 1.24–26 Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

6.3 2.11, 11.3 4.21 4.48 5.23–24 6.28 9.3

12.7, 12.21 Iamblichus, The Mysteries 5.15 (219.1– 220.18) of Egypt

Death is good because it removes bodily distraction. On death, and on the state and punishment of souls marred by passions and the reward of good souls. On the afterlife. On ascent and descent. On altering the body and release from it, and on becoming divine. The divine is unattainable in this life. One should live with a view toward death. Souls are absorbed into divine reason. One should live with death in mind. The transitory nature of existence removes worry. The release provided by death is good. One should welcome death, in accordance with nature. On death. On the sacrifices of fully pneumatic and embodied humans.

APPENDIX 3: Transitioning from Elite to Ecumenical In Hellenistic and Roman philosophical self-care, two sets of practical considerations make self-care either problematic or the purview of the wealthy alone; these practical considerations are largely irrelevant for Christian monastic self-care as presented in the AP. The first set of concerns in starting or continuing philosophical self-care is that the system requires resources; the second set is that the physical state and social standing of the practitioner affect the practice and the final state of the soul. Problems arise for practitioners of philosophical self-care surrounding time, money, desire, and ability, but monks redefine and side-step these problems. Some monks complain about the number of visitors leaving them little time to practice self-care.1 Ultimately, the compiler suggests that concern about time is a false problem. Time for practice exists anywhere a monk lives, and constraints imposed by visitors actually constitute a symptom of issues internal to the individual monk.2 Monks create their own time and space for practice anywhere and with anyone, so the practical concern of time in philosophical self-care transforms into a monastic concern about monks’ individual inabilities to find peace in themselves. The AP reverses classical concerns about money. In the philosophical texts, the authors usually indicate that the practice of self-care requires substantial monetary provision to allow the practitioner to maintain his standard of living without putting forth much effort. The opposite is true in the AP, in which the monks’ subsistence lifestyle allows them to practice self-care either with 1  Macarius of Egypt 22 (PG 65, col. 272; n. 2 in chapter one, above, provides the edition citations for the AP); Peter the Pionite 2 (PG 65, cols 376– 77); Paul the Barber 2 (PG 65, col. 381). 2  Syncletica S1 (J.-C. Guy, Recherches sur la tradition grecque des Apophthegmata Patrum, Brussels, 1962 [Subsidia Hagiographica, 36], p. 34; this saying appears in all manuscripts except the Cotelier-Migne base); Peter the Pionite 2 (PG 65, cols 376–77).

282

appendix 3

a small amount of manual work (which in itself becomes part of the practice of self-care) or through the charity of others. Indeed, the monks eschew money beyond the bare minimum necessary to maintain bodily life. 3 Desire and ability to practice self-care are also of little concern to the monks, given the subsistence lifestyle and the variety of techniques that monks can use to practice selfcare – Christians who start the difficult monastic practice of selfcare must truly desire it to embark on it, and after beginning the journey, self-care techniques include enough paths that anyone can practice them.4 Conversely, as in the philosophical sources, a monk’s physical and social positions affect his practices of self-care and the final state of his soul in the AP. Generally, a person’s condition prior to joining the monastic life determines how he practices; the rich are less austere in practice than the poor, but give up more in the process of self-care.5 A monk’s education can also negatively affect practice. The more educated the monk, the less he is able to obey and practice the simple life of austere self-care.6 Age makes some monks less able to practice certain techniques of self-care, such as manual labor.7 The final state of monks’ souls varied, because their initial conditions varied. Some monks progressed farther and drew closer to perfection, while other monks were just beginning self-care practices when they died. The important part of self-care, for the monk, was its daily operation to elevate the soul, because the state in which a monk died was the state in which God judged his soul – the intention of tomorrow counted for nothing in the ultimate consideration.8

Antony 20 (PG 65, col. 81); Theodore of Pherme 1 (PG 65, col. 188); Isidore the Priest 3 (PG 65, col. 236); Cassian 7 (PG 65, col. 245); Mius 2 (PG 65, col. 301); Poimen 169 (PG 65, col. 364); Serapion 2 (PG 65, col. 416). 4  Antony 19 (PG 65, col. 81); Joseph of Panephysis 1 (PG 65, col. 228); Poimen 180 (PG 65, col. 365). 5  Arsenius 4 (PG 65, col. 88), 36 (PG 65, cols 101–04); Abba of Rome 1 (PG 65, cols 385–89). 6  Arsenius 5–6 (PG 65, cols 88–89). 7  John the Short 19 (PG 65, col. 212); Isidore 5 (PG 65, cols 220–21). 8  Poimen 182 (PG 65, col. 365). 3 

transitioning from elite to ecumenical

283

The practical concerns borrowed little from philosophical selfcare; when they did affect questions of salvation, monks addressed them quickly in order to move forward with the self-care. In all cases, these potential barriers constituted more serious concerns for the philosophical practitioners of self-care, whereas the uniquely Christian adaptations to self-care rendered them moot.

APPENDIX 4: Supplements to Self-Care in the A pophthe gmata Patrvm The following tables support my argument in chapter five about the presentation of self-care in the Apophthegmata Patrum. Given the number of citations and the content notes, they appear here instead of in large footnotes. Full bibliographical information for the AP appears in chapter one, n. 2. Table 1: Scripture in the AP Biblical Book Genesis Exodus Leviticus 1 Samuel 2 Kings Isaiah

Jeremiah Ezekiel Psalms

Proverbs Job Daniel 1 Chronicles Matthew

Location in the AP Epiphanius Bishop of Cyprus 5 (PG 65, col. 164) Poimen S8 (Guy, Recherches, p. 30; this saying appears in most manuscripts) Peter the Pionite 2 (PG 65, cols 376–77) Antony 26 (PG 65, col. 84) Cronius 2 (PG 65, col. 248) Poimen 71 (PG 65, col. 340) Poimen 115 (PG 65, col. 352) Cronius 1 (PG 65, col. 248) Cronius 2 (PG 65, col. 248) Matoes 2 (PG 65, col. 289) Poimen 87 (PG 65, col. 344) Sisoes 42 (PG 65, col. 405) Epiphanius Bishop of Cyprus 14 (PG 65, col. 165) Poimen 60 (PG 65, col. 336) Epiphanius Bishop of Cyprus 7 (PG 65, col. 165) Epiphanius Bishop of Cyprus 12 (PG 65, col. 165) Cronius 4 (PG 65, cols 248–49) Poimen 30 (PG 65, col. 329) Poimen 54 (PG 65, cols 333–36) Poimen 136 (PG 65, col. 356) Poimen 153 (PG 65, col. 360) Syncletica 7 (PG 65, col. 424) Poimen 45 (PG 65, cols 332–33) Poimen 114 (PG 65, col. 352) Syncletica 4 (PG 65, col. 421) Zeno 4 (PG 65, col. 176) Sisoes 23 (PG 65, col. 400) Poimen S7 (Guy, Recherches, p. 30; this saying appears in a minority of manuscripts) Ammonas 11 (PG 65, col. 124) Epiphanius Bishop of Cyprus 15 (PG 65, cols 165–68)

286

Luke John 1 Corinthians

2 Corinthians Ephesians Colossians 1 Thessalonians Hebrews James

appendix 4

John the Short 27 (PG 65, col. 213) John the Eunuch 1 (PG 65, cols 232–33) John of Kellia 2 (PG 65, col. 233; some manuscripts attribute this saying to John of the Thebaid [Guy, Recherches, p. 25]) Cronius 4 (PG 65, cols 248–49) Mark of Egypt 1 (PG 65, col. 304) Poimen 71 (PG 65, col. 340) Poimen 86 (PG 65, col. 341) Poimen 117 (PG 65, col. 352) Poimen 126 (PG 65, col. 353) Poimen S17 (Guy, Recherches, pp. 30–31; this saying appears in most manuscripts) Syncletica 18 (PG 65, col. 428) Poimen 112 (PG 65, cols 349–52) Silvanus 5 (PG 65, col. 409) Poimen 116 (PG 65, col. 352) Silvanus 5 (PG 65, col. 409) Macarius of Alexandria 2 (PG 65, cols 304–05) Syncletica S8 (Guy, Recherches, p. 35; this saying appears in all manuscripts except the Cotelier-Migne base) Or 13 (PG 65, col. 440; this saying appears only in the Cotelier-Migne base manuscript [Guy, Recherches, p. 36]) Syncletica 7 (PG 65, col. 424) Syncletica 13 (PG 65, col. 425) Theodora 1 (PG 65, col. 201) Poimen 34 (PG 65, col. 332) Cronius 4 (PG 65, cols 248–49) Mark of Egypt 1 (PG 65, col. 304)

Table 2: Language of the Imperative Phrase “Guard”

“Keep watch”

Location in the AP Agathon 8 (PG 65, col. 112) Agathon 29 (PG 65, col. 117)

Quotation τὴν τοῦ νοὸς φυλακήν Εἶχε δὲ φυλακὴν μεγάλην ἐν πᾶσι, καὶ ἔλεγεν· Ἄνευ φυλακῆς μεγάλης οὐ προβαίνει ἄνθρωπος οὔτε εἰς μίαν ἀρετήν χρῄζει γὰρ ἡ νεότης φυλακῆς

Amoun of Nitria 2 (PG 65, col. 128) Orsisius 2 (PG 65, col. 316) φυλάξῃ τὴν ἑαυτοῦ καρδίαν καλῶς Poimen 23 (PG 65, col. 328) φύλαξαι Poimen 71 (PG 65, col. 340) τὰ ὀνόματα ἡμῶν καὶ τὴν τάξιν … φυλάσσομεν φυλάξῃς τὴν συνείδησιν Pambo 2 (PG 65, col. 369) πάσῃ φυλακῇ τηρεῖν τὴν ἑαυτοῦ καρδίαν Gerontius 1 (PG 65, ἕκαστον col. 153) τηρεῖτε τοὺς διαλογισμοὺς καὶ τὰς Elias 4 (PG 65, col. 184) ἐνθυμήσεις καὶ τὰς ἐννοίας

supplements to self - care in the apophthegmata patrvm

Joseph of Panephysis 4 (PG 65, col. 229) Orsisius 2 (PG 65, col. 316) Poimen 137 (PG 65, col. 356) Pambo 11 (PG 65, col. 372) Theophilus the Archbishop “Accuse and censure” 1 (PG 65, col. 197) “Censure” John the Short 21 (PG 65, col. 212) Poimen 71 (PG 65, col. 340) Poimen 95 (PG 65, col. 345) Poimen 134 (PG 65, col. 356) “Find fault” Poimen 98 (PG 65, col. 345) “Seeing” Macarius of Egypt 21 (PG 65, col. 272) Moses 18 (PG 65, col. 289; Moses 14–18 appear under a different heading, “Seven Instructions of Abba Moses to Abba Poimen,” in most manuscripts [Guy, Recherches, p. 27]) “Search,” “test,” Or 11 (PG 65, col. 440; “cross-examine,” this saying appears only and “separate” in the Cotelier-Migne base manuscript [Guy, Recherches, p. 36]) Zeno 6 (PG 65, col. 177) Ammonas 1 (PG 65, col. 120) Poimen 32 (PG 65, col. 329) “Crying” Arsenius 41 (PG 65, col. 105)

“Hating” “Control” Doing the work of the self and soul

Dioscorus 2 (PG 65, col. 161) Poimen 142 (PG 65, col. 357) Syncletica 17 (PG 65, col. 428) Rufus 1 (PG 65, col. 389) Arsenius 39 (PG 65, col. 105)

287

τήρησον τὴν συνείδησίν σου τηρεῖν ἑαυτὸν Ἔσω τήρει φυλακὴν, ἔξω τήρει φυλακήν τηροῦντες τὴν συνείδησιν Τὸ αἰτιᾶσθαι καὶ μέμφεσθαι ἑαυτὸν πάντοτε τὸ ἑαυτοὺς μέμφεσθαι ἡ ψυχὴ ἑαυτὴν μέμψηται ἐνώπιον Κυρίου ἑαυτὸν μέμψηται μέμψηται ἑαυτόν πάντοτε καταμέμφηται ἑαυτόν Βλέπε οὖν καὶ σὺ ἰδεῖν τὰς ἁμαρτίας ἡμῶν

ἐρεύνα σου τὸ συνειδὸς

Δοκίμασον οὖν ἑαυτὸν ἐλέγχειν τὴν ἑαυτοῦ ψυχὴν διακρίνων τοὺς λογισμοὺς αὐτοῦ Μακάριος εἶ, ἀββᾶ Ἀρσένιε, ὅτι ἔκλαυσας ἑαυτὸν εἰς τὸν ὧδε κόσμον. Ὁ γὰρ μὴ κλαίων ἑαυτὸν ὧδε, αἰωνίως ἐκεῖ κλαύσεται κλαίων ἑαυτόν τὰς ἁμαρτίας αὐτοῦ ἐμίσησε κυβερνᾷν τὴν ψυχήν νῆφε περὶ τῆς ἰδίας ψυχῆς Μὴ φροντίσητε ποιεῖν ἀγάπας ὑπὲρ ἐμοῦ· ἐγὼ γὰρ εἰ ἐποίησα ἐμαυτῷ ἀγάπην, ταύτην ἔχω εὑρεῖν

288

appendix 4

Zacharias 1 (PG 65, col. 180) Theodore of Pherme 10 (PG 65, col. 189) Theodore of Pherme 11 (PG 65, col. 189) Moses 18 (PG 65, col. 289; Moses 14–18 appear under a different heading, “Seven Instructions of Abba Moses to Abba Poimen,” in most manuscripts [Guy, Recherches, p. 27])

τὸ ἑαυτὸν βιάζεσθαι εἰς πάντα, οὗτός ἐστιν ὁ μοναχός τὰ ἔργα τῆς ψυχῆς ἔργον ψυχῆς τὸ βαστάσαι σου τὰς ἁμαρτίας

Table 3: Other Technologies of Self-Care Type of Practice Train

Care for others

Wear simple clothing

Keep the commandments

Location in the AP Agathon 8 (PG 65, col. 112) Theodore of Pherme 5 (PG 65, col. 188) Isidore 2 (PG 65, col. 220) John the Eunuch 6 (PG 65, col. 233) Poimen 106 (PG 65, col. 348) Poimen 109 (PG 65, cols 348–49) Syncletica 8 (PG 65, col. 424) Antony 19 (PG 65, col. 81) Agathon 27 (PG 65, col. 116) Agathon 30 (PG 65, col. 117) Eucharistus the Secular 1 (PG 65, cols 168–69) Evagrius 6 (PG 65, col. 176) Theodore of Pherme 1 (PG 65, col. 188) Theodore of Enaton 1 (PG 65, col. 196) Macarius of Egypt 4 (PG 65, col. 264) Macarius of Egypt 8–9 (PG 65, cols 265–68) Nisterus 4 (PG 65, col. 308) Poimen 22 (PG 65, col. 328) Poimen 109 (PG 65, cols 348–49) Poimen 160 (PG 65, col. 361) Poimen 163 (PG 65, col. 361) Sisoes 32 (PG 65, cols 401–04) Chomas 1 (PG 65, col. 436) Eucharistus the Secular 1 (PG 65, cols 168–69) Theodore of Pherme 28 (PG 65, cols 193–96) Isaac Priest of Kellia 7 (PG 65, col. 225) Isaac Priest of Kellia 12 (PG 65, col. 228) Cronius 5 (PG 65, col. 249) Poimen 185 (PG 65, col. 368) Antony 3 (PG 65, col. 76) Antony 19 (PG 65, col. 81) Agathon 3 (PG 65, col. 109) Agathon 29 (PG 65, col. 117) Theodore of Pherme 10–11 (PG 65, col. 189)

supplements to self - care in the apophthegmata patrvm

Practice abstinence

Endure hardship

Practice poverty

Sing

Gregory the Theologian 1 (PG 65, col. 145) Daniel 2 (PG 65, col. 153) Eucharistus the Secular 1 (PG 65, cols 168–69) Helladius 1 (PG 65, col. 173) Theodore of Pherme 17 (PG 65, col. 192) Poimen 109 (PG 65, cols 348–49) Poimen 186 (PG 65, col. 368) Silvanus 4 (PG 65, col. 409) Sopatrus 1 (PG 65, col. 413) Serinus 1 (PG 65, col. 417) Sarah 3 (PG 65, col. 420) Syncletica 18 (PG 65, col. 428) Tithoes 7 (PG 65, cols 428–29) Andrew 1 (PG 65, col. 136) Zacharias 1 (PG 65, cols 177–80) Zacharias 3 (PG 65, col. 180) John the Short 18 (PG 65, cols 209–12) Cronius 3–4 (PG 65, cols 248–49) Poimen 38 (PG 65, col. 332) Poimen 40 (PG 65, col. 332) Poimen 60 (PG 65, col. 336) Poimen 66 (PG 65, col. 337) Poimen 72 (PG 65, col. 340) Poimen 81 (PG 65, col. 341) Poimen 83 (PG 65, col. 341) Poimen 131 (PG 65, col. 356) Sisoes 13 (PG 65, col. 396) Sarmatas 3 (PG 65, col. 413) Antony 20 (PG 65, col. 81) Andrew 1 (PG 65, col. 136) Gelasius 5 (PG 65, col. 152) Euprepius 2–5 (PG 65, col. 172) Theodore of Pherme 1 (PG 65, col. 188) Theodore of Pherme 5 (PG 65, col. 188) Theodore of Pherme 29 (PG 65, col. 196) Macarius of Egypt 2 (PG 65, cols 260–61) Macarius of Egypt 18 (PG 65, col. 269) Macarius of Egypt 40 (PG 65, col. 281) Megethius 1 (PG 65, col. 300) Poimen 60 (PG 65, col. 336) Serapion 2 (PG 65, col. 416) Syncletica 5 (PG 65, col. 421) Epiphanius Bishop of Cyprus 3 (PG 65, col. 164) Eulogius the Priest 1 (PG 65, cols 169–72) Evagrius 3 (PG 65, col. 173) Theodore of Enaton 3 (PG 65, col. 197) Theodore of Eleutheropolis 2 (PG 65, col. 197; most manuscripts place this saying under a heading, not in Cotelier-Migne, for Theodotus) Macarius of Egypt 33 (PG 65, cols 273–77)

289

290 Weep

appendix 4

Arsenius 41 (PG 65, col. 105) Gelasius 6 (PG 65, cols 152–53) Dioscorus 2 (PG 65, cols 160–61) Macarius of Egypt 2 (PG 65, cols 260–61) Macarius of Egypt 27 (PG 65, col. 273) Macarius of Egypt 41 (PG 65, col. 281) Moses 18 (PG 65, cols 288–89; Moses 14–18 appear under a different heading, “Seven Instructions of Abba Moses to Abba Poimen,” in most manuscripts [Guy, Recherches, p. 27]) Matoes 12 (PG 65, col. 293) Poimen 72 (PG 65, col. 340) Poimen 119 (PG 65, col. 353) Poimen S22 (Guy, Recherches, p. 31; this saying appears in only one manuscript) Syncletica S10 (Guy, Recherches, p. 35; this saying appears in all manuscripts except the Cotelier-Migne base)

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Index Index of Persons and Texts Subject Index

Index of Persons and Texts Abramius: 112–13 The Acts of the Council of Chalcedon: 39 Adelphius: 143 Agathon: 227, 240–41, 247 Ammon, Letter: 118 Ammonas: 145–46 Letters: 71, 94, 103–5, 115n158, 115n159, 120, 133n35 Ammonius: 40, 85n51, 87, 91, 111, 113 Amoun: 132 Anastasius: 160–61 Anouph: 101 Antony: 34, 76–82, 90, 126–37, 146, 151, 157–58, 167, 206, 209, 213, 216, 217–18, 229, 236, 237, 239, 244, 246, 248 Letters: 14–15, 71, 89, 104n121, 105–6, 115–17, 120, 124, 125, 133n35, 135–36 Apelles: 95, 99n102 Apollo: 98–100, 237 Apphy: 140, 154 Apophthegmata Patrum (Greek alphabetic): 13–23, 25–36, 39, 40–47, 48–49, 55–64, 76n23, 84n51, 123– 67, 201–2, 203–50, 252–57, 281–83, 285–90. Arcadius: 41 Archebius: 108–9 Arsenius: 33, 41–42, 45, 150, 159, 142–43, 146, 160, 210, 215, 216, 242–43, 246–47 Asclepius: 181, 187n52, 194, 195n82, 263, 267, 269, 274, 278 Athanasius of Alexandria: 45, 89–90, 106, 203–4 Festal Letter 39: 38n45, 68 Vita Antonii: 14–15, 39–40, 71, 76–82, 83–84, 89, 93–94, 124, 125–37 Oratio III contra Arianos: 100n108

Basil the Great (Basil of Caesarea): 85, 108, 144–45, 156 Benjamin: 151 Bessarion: 45, 152, 210, 211, 244 Canons from the Council of Gangra: 39, 68, 118 Cassian, John: 68, 212 Conferences: 69, 108–10, 215 Institutes: 69, 73–75, 108, 215, 252 Chaldean Oracles: 181n28, 193, 195n81, 200, 263, 264, 267, 269, 271 Chaeremon: 108 Chrysostom, John: 75, 86, 91, 203 Cicero, Marcus Tullius Cato Maior de senectute: 199 De finibus: 187n52, 188n57, 190n67, 199n98, 271 De officiis: 187n52, 199n98, 200n100, 264, 270, 272, 273, 274, 275, 276, 277, Tusculan Disputations: 184n39, 187n52, 188n55, 190n67, 197n89, 199n98, 263, 264, 266, 269, 270, 274, 275, 276, 278 Constantine: 83–84 Constantius: 128 Copres: 95, 100, 101 Corpus Hermeticum: 181n28, 187n52, 188n55, 192n70, 195n82, 201n101, 263, 266, 267, 268–69, 270, 275, 278, 280 Cronius: 213 Cyprian: 120 Cyril of Alexandria: 42, 86–87, 146– 47, 167, 252, 254 Cyril of Scythopolis, Lives of the Monks of Palestine: 158–64, 165 Daniel: 146, 149 Didymus the Blind: 85, 90, 107–8 Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers: 49, 50, 55, 182n31

318

index of persons and texts

Dioscorus: 86, 90–91 Dorotheos of Gaza, Instructions: 23n29, 28, 158, 164–65 Elias of Jerusalem: 162 Ephrem: 213, 246 Epictetus, Discourses: 181n28, 268, 275 Epiphanius of Cyprus: 45, 145, 155, 214, 229 Eulogius: 90–91, 151 Eusebius of Caesarea, Historia ecclesiastica: 70 Eusebius of Nicomedia: 83 Euthymius: 44, 158–64, 255–57 Evagrius Ponticus: 36, 58–59, 62, 75, 87, 91, 210, 247 First Greek Life of Pachomius: 117–18, 215 Felix: 237 Gelasius: 44–45, 147–48 Gregory I (Gregory the Great): 119– 20 Gregory Nazianzen: 85 Historia monachorum in Aegypto: 33n32, 53n104, 57–59, 60–63, 69, 94–103, 105, 215 Honorius: 41 Hyperechius: 227 Iamblichus Letters: 181n28, 197n89, 278 The Mysteries of Egypt: 181n28, 188n55, 193, 264, 267, 271, 278, 280 Protrepticus: 181n28, 201 Ibiston; 216 Isaac: 91 Isaac (Priest of Kellia): 140, 151, 154–55 Isaiah: 239–40 Isidore: 91 Isidore (Priest of Scetis): 151–52, 217, 240 Isidore of Pelusia: 217, 228 James: 148 Jerome: 68, 118 John of Lycopolis: 96–97, 101–2 John the Short: 150, 210, 219–20, 242, 247 John the Theban: 216, 240

Joseph: 151 Life of Chariton: 158, 164–65 Lucius: 40, 106, 107 Macarius of Alexandria: 85, 89, 90, 114, 216 Macarius of Egypt (Macarius the Great): 32, 40–41, 45, 59, 63, 85, 89–90, 112, 208, 209, 212, 238, 245 Marcus Aurelius, Meditations: 181n28, 184n39, 185n46, 187nn52–53, 189, 192, 193, 194, 195n82, 197nn190– 91, 199, 201, 264, 267, 268–69, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 275, 276, 278, 280 Mark: 112 Mark the Egyptian: 150 Matoes: 139–40, 154–55, 209, 219 Megethius: 216 Milesius: 152–53 Moses: 106, 109, 134, 152, 156, 214, 242, 247 Musonius Rufus, Discourses: 181n28, 187n52, 189, 194, 197n89, 201, 201n105, 273, 274, 275 Motius: 244–45 Narcissus: 70 Netras: 140–41, 154 Nicon: 152 Nisterus: 212 Or: 30, 222 Pambo: 130, 144, 148n79, 151, 242– 43, 246 Paphnutius: 131–32, 218 Palladius, Lausiac History: 36, 57–58, 59–63, 69, 105–6, 110–15, 117, 120, 138n48, 222n91 Paul: 128 Paul of Constantinople: 89 Paul the Simple: 210, 214 Peter: 106–7 Peter of Dios: 156 Phocas: 148 Pior: 150 Pirke Avot: 49, 53–55 Plato, Alcibiades I: 171n1, 183, 192n73, 259

index of persons and texts Plotinus, Enneads: 181n28, 187n52, 188n55, 264, 267, 269, 275, 278 Plutarch, Moralia: 49, 50–53, 54–55, 181, 182n30, 185–86, 188n57, 191–92, 192nn72–73, 193, 194–96, 197n89, 199, 200n100, 235, 263, 265–66, 266–67, 268, 269, 270–71, 271–72, 273–74, 275, 276, 278, 280 Poimen: 28–29, 31–36, 130, 147, 151– 52, 159, 207, 210, 215, 216, 219, 224–25, 239, 241 243n171, 244, 248, 254, 256 Porphyry, Life of Plotinus: 181n28, 188n55, 192, 195n82, 267, 268, 271, 273, 278 Proclus Commentary on Alcibiades I: 181n28, 189, 192n73, 201, 267, 271 Elements of Theology: 181n28, 187n52, 267 On the Existence of Evils: 181n28, 185n46, 195n82, 264, 267, 278 Rules of Pachomius: 118 Sabas: 44–45, 158, 161–64, 256 Sallustius of Jerusalem: 162 Seneca De brevitate vitae: 200n100, 265, 268, 270, 277, 279 De clementia: 185n44, 188n56, 265, 266, 275 De consolatione ad Helviam: 186n51, 272, 273, 277 De consolatione ad Marciam: 263, 265, 274, 279 De consolatione ad Polybium: 267, 279 De constantia sapientis: 191n69, 199n96, 200n99, 264, 266, 275, 276, 277 De ira: 184n40, 184n42, 188n55, 197n89, 200n100, 264, 266, 268, 270, 273, 275–76, 279 Letters: 181n28, 185nn43–45, 187nn52–53, 189, 193, 195n83, 196, 197n88, 198–99, 200n99, 222,

319

223n97, 263, 265, 266, 267, 268, 269, 270–71, 271–72, 273, 274, 275– 76, 277–78, 279 De otio: 199n98, 270 De providentia: 187n53, 266–67, 270, 272, 275–76 De tranquillitate animi: 185n44, 195n83, 265, 270, 273, 276, 277, 279 De vita beata: 187n52, 195n83, 266, 270–71, 275, 276, 277, 279 Serinus: 245 Sextus Empiricus, Outlines of Pyrrhonism: 180n26 Silvanus: 45, 214, 216, 246–47 Sisoes: 39, 45, 143, 213, 237, 245, 246, 247–48 Spyridon: 155 Socrates (Scholasticus), Historia ecclesiastica: 70–71, 76, 82–88, 92–93, 94, 106, 107, 120 Sozomen, Historia ecclesiastica: 70–71, 76, 88–93, 94, 106, 107, 120 Syncletica: 214, 239 Tertullian: 251 Theoctistus: 160–61 Theodora: 146, 214, 239 Theodore of Pherme: 45, 139, 151n90, 154–55, 243n171 Theodore of Scetis: 230 Theodoret Historia ecclesiastica: 70–71, 105–8, 117 Religious History: 118–19, 119n168, 120 Theodosius (bishop): 44, 147, 160 Theodosius (monk): 162 Theophilus of Alexandria: 40–41, 46, 85–87, 91–92, 107, 142–46, 155, 167, 226, 252, 254 Timothy (archbishop): 143 Timothy (monk-priest): 151, 155 Valens (emperor): 40, 107 Valens (monk): 112 Zacharias: 213, 216, 247

Subject Index Alexandria: 32, 39, 41–42, 84–87, 90–91, 107, 126, 143, 145 angels, angelic battles with demons: 209 monastic fraternity with: 216 greeting monks: 248 guidance: 132–33, 236–37 ministration of the Eucharist: 112– 14, 149, 150 models of ascetic life: 127 monks as angelic: 216, 246, 247 singing with monks: 126 apophthegms, apophthegmata: 47–56, 64, 73–75, 122, 164–65, 236–37 rhema as origin: 47–49 text and production of the AP: 25–31 apostles: 100–102, 104, 164, 248 Arianism anti-Arianism: 39–40, 80, 82, 85, 107, 116, 159, 163, 164 Arian accession to see of Alexandria: 40, 90, 106–7 Arian attacks: 84, 90 Arian debate: 39, 41–42, 45, 81, 83, 89–90, 92, 107, 116, 163, 166–67 exile of monks: 40, 85, 90, 106 Antony’s solution to: 116 asceticism, askesis, ascetics: 190–202, 219–34 ability to practice: 140–41, 243 angelic appearance of ascetics: 216. See also angels, angelic angelic demonstration of: 127. See also angels, angelic Antony as “father of”: 78 apostles, ascetics as equal to. See apostles ascetic maxim to avoid bishops: 73–75

ascetic pilgrims and pilgrimages: 20, 69n6, 94–103, 108–15 ascetic priests. See ecclesiastics authority from practice of: 109–10, 125, 144–46, 156 cell as ideal location for: 127, 136– 37. See also cell charisma of ascetic authorities: 37 church-centered (in VA): 126 correction of: 145, 154–55 definition of: 177, 253n4 difficulties of: 115, 132–33, 146, 152 discipline: 79, 80, 103 divine connection: 103–5, 113–14, 127, 132–33, 140, 143, 151–52, 246 ecclesiastic authority determined by: 109, 118–19, 125, 141–42, 144– 45, 152–54, 156 ecclesiastic practice of: 91, 126–27, 129, 136, 139 education through example: 57–61, 64, 77–78, 104, 109, 127, 134, 136, 177, 240–41, 244, 248 effect of ecclesiasticism on: 15, 104–5, 119, 121, 140–41, 154–57, 159 episcopal distrust of ascetics, 68: See also ecclesiastics Evagrian mysticism: 61 gifts of: 126, 134, 216, 231, 246 imperial power as separate from: 128 individual asceticism: 130–31, 134, 243–44 isolation: 233n133 liturgical roles as: 98–99, 149, 152– 53 location of: 127, 136–37 “manliness” as virtue of: 59–60

subject index mainstream Christianity (in con­ trast to): 74 metaphysics of: 116 metric of: 109 middle-road asceticism (Poimen): 36 modification for less experienced practitioners: 131 monastic autonomy through: 21, 23, 128–29, 141, 154, 156, 202, 205, 234–36, 244, 247, 249, 254, 257 monk-priests as defenders of: 91, 149 mutual asceticism (between ecclesiastics and monastics): 124, 146, 148–49, 152–53, 157 mutual respect due to shared asceticism: 124, 152–53, 157 obedience: 90, 104–5, 126, 145, 156, 237 origins of: 89, 127. See also divine, the “old men” as teachers of: 155, 241, 241n160, 255n10 overzealous asceticism: 112–13, 119, 237 politeia: 115 practice in presence of others: 245 requirement for ecclesiastical positions: 119–20, 144–45 revelation-centered: 126 rigors of (compared to bishopric): 108 self-care, in relation to: 16, 116, 167, 171, 171n1, 190, 201n105, 220n83, 239 separation of ascetic practitioners from other Christians: 22, 74 severe asceticism: 142–43, 152, 155 spiritual child-parent relationship: 103–4 teaching of: 96, 108, 115, 122, 128, 130–31, 134, 136, 142–44, 146, 151, 153, 155–57, 182, 214, 235– 37, 240, 245, 248–49

321

technologies of: 136, 218–20, 224, 225–26, 231, 234, 239 training in: 96, 110, 146, 151, 152, 154, 157, 248, 249n196 virtues of: 91, 115, 118, 126–27, 136, 140, 156, 220, 230, 231, 231n129 visible asceticism: 182 visitors, treatment of: 152 Brakke, David: 77–8, 80, 80n37, 125, 129n12 cell: 73, 99, 119, 127, 132, 136–37, 145, 156, 219–20, 232–45, 250. Chalcedon Chalcedonian debate: 22, 29, 31, 44, 46, 147–48, 160–63, 251–52, 255–56 Council of Chalcedon: 39, 43–44, 147, 160, 162, 165–66 Christian, Christianity anti-Christian uprising: 163 authoritative figures of: 158 Christianizing: 251 Fall, the: 210, 211, 213, 217 monasticism as separate in Christian society: 167, 204, 234 official religion of (late) Roman Empire: 251 replacement of philosophy as dominant thought system, 235–36, 248, 251, 253 salvation, 211–13 self-care, 179, 201–6, 211–13, 235– 36, 248 soul, 179, 205, 211, 217. See also soul unification of, 159, 162 Christological debate: 46, 63, 159, 166 Council of Chalcedon. See Chalcedon Council of Constantinople (Second): 163 Council of Ephesus: 43, 159, 165 Second “Robber” Council of Ephesus: 165 “cultivation of the self” (Foucault): 174–75

322

subject index

Delphic maxim: 188, 192, 192n73, 201, 211n43 demons. See Satan divine, the approval from: 127, 130, 143 asceticism: 105, 116, 131–34, 143, 151–52, 154–55, 237 audience with: 133, 213 cell offers access to: 137. See also cell commandments from: 155, 167, 219– 20 community: 237 companionship: 211, 237 connection with: 73, 101, 103–5, 114, 117, 129–30, 132–34, 137, 140, 148, 150, 155, 164, 167, 188, 211, 213–17, 223, 225, 230, 237, 242, 246, 249–50 connection with, ecclesiasticism’s effects on: 105, 113, 140, 150 contemplation of: 191, 217, 229 correction from: 148 divine inspiration: 213, 237 divinization, path to: 169 dwelling with: 246 Eucharist, role in, 149–50, 152. See also angels, angelic; ecclesiastics friends of God, monks as: 101–2 foresight from: 90, 101 forgiveness from: 237 gifts from: 101–2, 126, 145 guidance from: 235, 237 hospitality: 143, 152, 238 imitation of: 127–29, 192 intercession: 94, 100, 113 Jesus (vision of): 148 judgment from: 143, 237 knowledge of: 36, 101, 116–17, 176, 213–14 lineage of authority (monastic no­ tions of): 92, 103, 117, 120, 125 love of: 220 mercy: 213, 237 miracles: 82, 90, 149, 150, 154–56 mysteries: 101 near-divine state: 199

obedience and: 104, 231 ordination by: 113–14 prayer: 94, 223, 234 revelation: 101, 117, 127, 133–34, 151–52, 213–16, 223 salvation: 211–13, 217, 236, 246 soul’s relation to: 211, 213, 217, 229–30 teaching: 59, 130–32, 134, 136, 147, 167, 200, 229, 235–37, 244, 246, 249 temptation: 150, 206–8, 217, 225, 244 turning toward: 176, 186, 188, 195, 231 union with: 117, 187, 223, 231 visions: 213 Easter: 98 ecclesiastics abandonment of ecclesiastical dut­ies: 108–9 authority of: 37, 37n44, 38, 41, 68, 76–77, 80n37, 120, 156–57, 165 bishop-monks. See monastics: monkbishops coercion of Christian groups: 67 deacons: 81, 97–98, 111, 137–39, 154, 157 ecclesiastical oversight: 38, 38n45, 39, 40, 68, 80, 87, 93–94, 120, 157 exile of monks. See exile forced ordination. See monastics: forced ordination; self-mutilation hubris: 149 kenodoxia (vanity): 74 monastic legitimation of election. See monastics monastic recruitment (for ordination): 114, 156. See also monastics monk-ecclesiastic figures in AP: 110, 138n48 mutual asceticism with monastics: 124, 146, 148–49, 152–53, 157 mutual respect with monastics: 124, 152–53, 157

subject index obedience: 90 ordination: 113, 157 oversight of monasteries: 38, 38n45, 39 priesthood, monks as worthy of: 110–11 priests, ascetic: 64, 91. See also mon­astics: monk-priests priests as servants: 150–51 sacramental function (including in the Eucharist): 97, 99, 102, 103, 111, 111n146, 112, 124, 149, 152, 149, 157 separation from monastic authority: 105, 117, 154 suspicion of monks: 251–52 visitors, as: 143 witnesses, as: 150 education debate: 44–45 from advanced practitioners: 130, 136, 159 in asceticism: 235, 235n136 language of self-care in: 239 monastic authority established through: 204 system: 197n89, 215 Egypt, Egyptian: 13–14, 18–20, 28, 31–34, 39–44, 45, 46, 48, 56, 59, 63, 68, 68n5, 73–76, 76–82, 85–88, 88–92, 94–103, 106–8, 108–10, 117–18, 121, 123, 147n74, 165–66, 220n83, 224, 251–52, 253n5, 256 Enoch (biblical): 164 exile: 40, 83, 85–86, 90, 106–7, 145, 186–87 Foucault, Michel: 174–76, 178, 203 “cultivation of the self”: 171n1, 174–75 “culture of the self”: 175 Gaza: 46n83, 158n113, 165n139, 166, 255n10 God. See divine, the Hadot, Pierre: 172–74, 176, 178 critique of Foucault: 176 “spiritual exercises”: 171n1, 172– 74, 176

323

“training for death”: 173, 173n7 humanity aim of: 188, 210, 216 inheritance: 198 nature: 208 Hypatia: 42, 87 Jacob (biblical): 103–4 Jesus Movement: 67 John (biblical): 103 Kellia: 32, 42, 99, 132, 140, 148, 151, 256 kenodoxia (vanity): 73–74 knowledge: 187, 187n52 exile, acquired through: 186–87 from the divine: 117, 214 self-care, through: 179 self-knowledge: 116–17, 176, 183 sin as distraction from: 176 sources of: 213 Manes, Manichaeism: 83–84 Melchizedek (biblical): 164 debate about: 40–41, 146, 147 miracles: 90, 155, 156 monastics, monasticism, monks Antony as “father” of monasticism: 78 apostles, compared to. See apostles ascetic equality with bishop-monks: 158 authority through self-care. See selfcare candidates for ordination: 113, 144– 45 classes of thought: 206, 206n13, 207 confessor-monk: 101 conflicts with priests: 151–53 companionship: 237 destruction of pagan temples: 40, 166 ecclesiastical oversight: 38, 40, 68, 80, 87, 93, 157 forced ordination: 85, 91, 102, 139, 140, 154–55, 159, 162 imperial power, loss of authority to: 128 indifference toward ecclesiastics: 117

324

subject index

judgment: 237 kenodoxia: 73–74 legitimation of ecclesiastic election: 107, 117 lineage of authority (divine through monastic): 103 master-disciple relationship: 177, 235, 235n136, 238–41 mislabeled as ecclesiastics, 111 monastic autonomy: 21–23, 63–64, 94–95, 99–100, 103, 105, 113, 116, 120–21, 123–24, 137, 141, 156–58, 160–61, 166–67, 204, 220–21, 234–35, 235n136, 238, 240–42, 245, 248, 250, 252–53, 255 monastic communities: 43, 238 monastic migration: 166 monastic tourism/visitors: 33n32, 97, 232n132, 237, 243n171 monk-bishop relationships: 46, 106, 142 monk-citizen relationships: 94 monk-divine relationships. See div­ ine, the monk-ecclesiastic figures in AP: 138n48 monk-ecclesiastic relationships: 40, 42, 46, 94, 118–21, 137–39, 154, 252, 254 monk-monk relationships: 46 monk-official relationships: 46, 128 monk-priests: 90–91, 94–96, 110– 11, 151, 154, 157 movement of renunciation: 166 mutual asceticism with ecclesiastics: 124, 146, 148–49, 152–53, 157 mutual respect with ecclesiastics: 124, 152–53, 157 Nicene orthodoxy (defenders of): 78–80, 85, 89, 91, 106–8 obedience to monastic way of life: 104–5, 118, 144–45, 156, 216, 240 “old men”: 155, 241, 241n160, 255n10

ordination: 85, 89–91, 97, 107, 113n151, 139, 144–45, 151n90, 154–56, 162 ordination, uncanonical: 107 organized structure of monasticism: 39 originators of AP: 35 piety: 39, 83, 95, 133, 152, 157 priesthood, monks as worthy of. See ecclesiastics politeia: 40, 61, 115, 119, 167 “promotion” to ecclesiasticism: 76, 76n23. See also ecclesiastics recruitment by ecclesiastics: 114, 156 refusal to serve as ecclesiastics: 139, 151n90, 154–55 return to monasticism: 108–9 safe havens: 67–68 self-mutilation to avoid ordination. See self-mutilation (to avoid ordination) source of wisdom and truth: 215 spiritual child-parent relationship: 103–4 subordination to ecclesiastic hierarchy: 81, 85, 93, 119 suppression of monks: 40, 253 suspicion of ecclesiastics: 63, 251 tension in monastic-ecclesiastic rela­tionships: 73 theosis: 169 thought-action relationship: 230 “virtues” of monastic life: 88, 89 visitors (reception of): 118, 142–4, 156, 232n132, 243n171 Moses (biblical): 104, 134, 164, 214 Nestorianism: 147, 159, 163 New Testament: 214, 233–34 Nitria: 32, 42, 87, 102, 111, 121, 132, 256 Origen, Origenism asceticism: 249n196 Origenist controversy: 39, 41–44, 46, 63, 85, 148n78, 163, 167, 252, 256 teachings: 41

subject index Oxyrhynchus: 98, 100 Pachomian monasticism: 117–18 Palestine: 33, 42, 158–66 passions: 184–85, 193, 205–7, 207n19, 227, 249 Paul (biblical): 100, 104 philomonachos: 159 pneumatophoros: 133, 213 prophets: 100, 102, 102n116, 104, 164, 248 salvation gives angelic appearance: 216 Antony’s notions of: 130–32, 136, 155, 212, 236, 239, 246 AP depictions of: 211–13, 217, 246 asceticism as function of: 57, 247 humanity, as goal of: 216, 246 immediate salvation: 212 individual salvation: 130–32, 136, 212 language of: 205, 211–12 monastic life, as goal of: 212, 215– 16 self, as goal of: 211–17, 219, 249 self-care, as goal of: 175n18, 211, 213, 216–17, 219, 239, 246–48 soul, of the: 213, 217, 219, 239, 246, 248–49 teaching: 130–32, 136, 155, 236, 239 temptation as necessary to: 247 Satan: 101, 101n112, 150, 208–9, 213, 235 demons: 82, 105, 130, 150, 205–6, 208–9, 213, 235 human will as demonic: 208 Scetis: 43, 45, 144, 148, 152 connections with Egypt: 33–35 connections with Palestine: 33–35, 159 destruction of: 31, 33, 35, 41–43, 251, 256 location of: 31–32, 33n32 presence in A: 33, 35 settlement of: 13, 28, 31–33, 40, 243 Wadi al Natrun: 32

325

scripture commandment to know: 214 in AP: 285–86 source of wisdom and truth: 214, 214n59 self attention to: 175 definition of: 178n23, 183n33, 183n36 genuine self: 218 goal of: 186, 186n50, 188, 216 reformation of: 189, 218 salvation: 216 self-care ability to practice: 243 apatheia: 177, 255 art of living, as: 178–79 Christian modification of: 22, 167, 203–6, 211–13, 217–18, 233–34, 249, 253 classical notions of: 22, 47, 64, 167, 169, 171–74, 200–202 communal environment: 196, 196n87, 234, 236–38, 245, 249 control of actions and thoughts: 206 death: 173, 177, 198–99 definitions of: 16, 17, 167, 171, 171n1, 172–79, 178n23 desire to practice: 177 divine connection: 237, 249 divine forgiveness: 237 divine instruction: 236–37 divinization, as path to: 169 dual environment: 204, 235 dual techniques: 191, 193, 195 Foucault’s notions of. See Foucault, Michel Hellenistic notions of: 203, 210–11, 235, 239n153, 250 Hadot’s notions of. See Hadot, Pierre humility: 219 imperative of: 175, 204, 218 individual environment: 177, 196, 198, 236, 241, 245, 249 interior focus of: 177, 183n36, 230 mental techniques: 191, 192

326

subject index

monastic authority through: 21–23, 64, 167, 172, 204 monastic expression of: 218 monastic companionship: 237 monastic system of: 204–7, 234–35, 235n136 normalization of, in Christian mon­ asticism: 64 “old men” as teachers of: 241 operation of body: 209 opposition of: 180n26 perfection: 177. See also soul performances of: 179, 218, 245–46 physical techniques: 191, 193–94 practical concerns: 177, 199, 200, 233–34 practices: 191, 191n68, 243–45 prayer: 193, 222–23 Roman notions of: 203, 210–11, 235, 239n153, 250 salvation: 175n18 self-actualization: 216n71 self-examination: 192, 229 self-knowledge: 192, 192n73 Skepticism (opposition of): 162 soul (reconciliation through selfcare): 216 system of: 172 training in: 64, 167, 177, 197, 234– 35, 235n136, 237–40, 246, 248, 249 technologies of: 204, 219–33, 239, 241–42 249 training in: 64, 167, 177, 197, 234– 35, 235n136, 237–40, 246, 248–49 ubiquity of practice: 182 virtues gained through: 220 self-mutilation (to avoid ordination): 85n51, 91, 111, 111n142, 113. See also monastics, monasticism, monks Sermon on the Mount: 244 sin: 210, 217. See also Satan; temptation Sinai: 33–35, 42 Mt. Sinai: 34 Sinai Peninsula: 34 soul angelic: 247

apatheia: 177 Arsenius, visions about: 210 belief of: 184 care for: 239 Christian model: 179, 205, 211, 217 consent of: 184 corruption (sin): 176, 183–84, 188, 210 death: 246–48 definition of: 176, 183 deformity: 183, 204–6 divine connection of, 213, 217 Cicero, discussion of: 184 embodiment: 246 Evagrius, visions about: 210 harmony with body: 177, 209 imperative to care for: 217–18 magnus animus: 184 Paul the Simple, visions about: 210 perfection in death: 177, 198, 205, 246–48 Poimen, discussion of: 210 primary concern of monks: 216n71 psyche: 183 reformation of: 176, 188–89, 191– 93, 195, 204, 206, 218, 246 removal of passion and vice: 191, 194, 210, 246–47, 249 “spiritual exercises.” See Hadot, Pierre Stoics: 172–73, 181, 193–94, 199–201 Synaxis: 99 Syria: 33, 33n32 Tall Brothers: 87, 91, 107 temptation: 206–9, 244, 250. See also Satan Terenuthis: 33, 34 travelogues: 58, 69, 71, 110, 120 Trisagion, 126, 216, 246 Valantasis, Richard: 16n8, 190n65, 201n105, 220n83, 249n196, 253n4 vice effects on soul: 184–85 opposed to virtue: 188n55, 193 self-care: 194, 206–7 virtue ascetic practice: 230–31 self-care: 193–95, 206, 207, 242

subject index removal of vices: 193, 195 transformative: 189n63 Wadi al Natrun. See Scetis Women: 52n103, 53, 73, 74, 108, 111n146, 145–6, 210, 252 wisdom acquisition of: 179, 187, 196, 197, 249 angelic nature from pursuit of: 216 contemplation of: 174, 191–92 death, attainment in: 199 divine, as knowledge of: 176, 211 Hadot’s discussion of: 174. See also Hadot, Pierre

327

hindrances to: 179, 188 humanity, goal of: 16, 188, 200, 216 monastic life, derived from: 213, 215, 216, 246 philosophy, as goal of: 169, 174, 176, 196–200, 213 self, as goal of: 176, 186, 190, 200, 216, 249 self-care, as goal of: 169, 179, 190– 91, 200, 211, 213, 249 soul, as goal of: 179, 187, 198–99, 217, 246, 249–50 sources of: 213–16