Defining The Holy - Visions of The Ascetic in Late Antiquity

INFORMATION TO USERS
This manuscript has been reproduced from the microfilm master. UMI films
the text directly from the original or copy submitted. Thus, some thesis and
dissertation copies are in typewriter face, while others may be from any type of
computer printer.
The quality of this reproduction is dependent upon the quality of the

copy subm itted. Broken or indistinct print, colored or poor quality illustrations
and photographs, print bleedthrough, substandard margins, and improper
alignment can adversely affect reproduction.
In the unlikely event that the author did not send UMI a complete manuscript
and there are missing pages, these will be noted. Also, if unauthorized
copyright material had to be removed, a note will indicate the deletion.
Oversize materials (e.g., maps, drawings, charts) are reproduced by

sectioning the original, beginning at the upper left-hand comer and continuing
from left to right in equal sections with small overlaps.
Photographs included in the original manuscript have been reproduced

xerographically in this copy. Higher quality 6” x 9" black and white
photographic prints are available for any photographs or illustrations appearing
in this copy for an additional charge. Contact UMI directly to order.
ProQuest Information and Learning

300 North Zeeb Road. Ann Arbor, Ml 48106-1346 USA
800-521-0600
Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission.
DEFINING THE HOLY:
VISIONS OF THE ASCETIC IN LATE ANTIQUITY
Christopher T. Lee
A DISSERTATION
PRESENTED TO THE FACULTY
OF PRINCETON UNIVERSITY
IN CANDIDACY FOR THE DEGREE
OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
RECOMMENDED FOR ACCEPTANCE
BY THE DEPARTMENT
OF CLASSICS
June, 2002
UMI Number: 3041845
UMI*
UMI Microform 3041845
Copyright 2002 by ProQuest Information and Learning Company.
All rights reserved. This microform edition is protected against
unauthorized copying under Title 17, United States Code.
ProQuest Information and Learning Company

300 North Zeeb Road
P.O. Box 1346
Ann Arbor, Ml 48106-1346
© Copyright by Christopher Thomas Lee, 2002. All rights reserved.
ABSTRACT
Late antique asceticism is a desert, filled with the hidden and unknown,
the mysterious and undiscovered. Modem scholars have turned this desert into a
library, with a ready-made card catalogue listing all the categories into which late
antique asceticism should so neatly fit. Late antique asceticism has thus eluded the
limits o f scholarly imagination, as its underlying spirit has been distorted, if not
neglected. In an effort to turn away from the assumptions which have slowly
accumulated over time, my dissertation aims at re-exploring late antique asceticism,
but from the vantage point of late antique audiences. These audiences present the
keys to cracking the puzzle o f late antique asceticism, as our best evidence o f the
movement, the texts portraying late antique ascetics, craft a deliberate language and
picture of asceticism with the audiences in mind.
To understand how an audience would have used the texts, how an
audience would have reacted to the text, how an audience would have emulated or
even imitated the contents and teachings of the text is what is at stake in my
dissertation. To give the discussion a more dynamic focus, my dissertation
analyzes asceticism from the perspective of lifestyle, the most basic quality of the
ascetic. Lifestyle captures the daily rhythms of the ascetic life; it identifies the
qualities which could lead the ascetic to greater prominence as a teacher, exemplar,
preacher, or holy man.
Lifestyle brings us back to the ascetics themselves, as it enables us to
examine the language and context o f the ascetic’s life, two features which are far
from uniform and which are extremely revealing. Taking a careful look at this
iii
language and context, we see a complicated picture of asceticism emerge, a picture
which texts such as the Historia Monachorum, Life o f Antony, Lausiac History,
Apophthegmata Patrum, Panarion, Life o f Hilarion, Life o f Augustine, and Life o f
Macrina paint with rich brushstrokes, but brushstrokes which bring to light a new
vocabulary and a new understanding of asceticism, an asceticism which is
thoroughly late antique and not at all modem.
iv
Table of Contents
Abstract................................................................................................. iii
Table of Contents.................................................................................. v
Acknowledgements............................................................................... vi
Introduction........................................................................................... 1
Chapter One:
Monk Defining and the Monk Defined.................................... 8
Chapter Two:
Asceticism as a Way o f L ife...................................................... 54
Chapter Three:
Ascetic Notions in the D esert.................................................. 109
Chapter Four:
The Church and the Ascetic..................................................... 136
Chapter Five:
Macrina and the Communitas o f Sanctity............................... 161
Chapter Six:
Ecclesiastical Asceticism......................................................... 193
Conclusion.............................................................................................. 225
Bibliography........................................................................................... 233
Acknowledgements
A dissertation, much like life itself, does not take place in a vacuum.
Several people played a pivotal role in bringing my dissertation to completion.
Ruth Webb, Peter Brown, and Elaine Pagels gave me valuable feedback and
authoritative guidance. James O’Donnell and Claudia Rapp made numerous
suggestions at an early stage, suggestions which helped me clarify and articulate
my arguments. Susanna Elm kindly took time to meet with me and discuss
Epiphanius; Yannis Papadoyannakis provided critical information throughout the
research and writing process. To all of these, as well as the Department of Classics
and the Graduate School o f Princeton University, I owe an immense debt of
gratitude. I would also like to thank John Zagas, Paul Levin, Sam
Bakhshandehpour, Deborah Gibbons, John Lee, Emily Tse, Warren Petrofsky,
Troy Smith, Estella Turla, Paul Henderick, Beverley McKeon, Cliff Meyer, Jesse
Lee, Mary Lee, Arthur Rimbaud, Rainer Maria Rilke, and Anna K.
vi
Introduction
What's past is prologue.1
One o f the truly amazing achievements in human history is that o f the
Christian religion. Originating from the teachings of an itinerant preacher and his
twelve disciples, the movement eventually conquered the greatest empire hitherto seen
on earth and dominated the next seventeen hundred years of western civilization.
How in the world did this happen? There are many answers, answers which fill
journals and keep scholars glued to their library seat, reading book after book after
book. No single answer will ever suffice, but perhaps the most interesting answer
deserves the most attention. That answer is the one every Christian child knows, the
answer that has become the most prevalent answer, the answer of inevitability.
Christianity triumphed because it was supposed to; the Roman empire was meant to be
Christian, and so in the middle of Augustus’s reign, Jesus was bom, and the world
never was the same again.
This view o f Christian history has its charm. Its simplicity explains events in
such a clear manner that all possible objections are quickly brushed aside. The fact
that heresy might have preceded orthodoxy or that even the most zealous of early
Christians could never quite agree on who Jesus was are facts that can be ignored,
relegated to scholarly arguments and irreverent footnotes. These facts have no bearing
on history, the history Christianity cast a shroud over and enveloped in its wake.
Underlying this Christiano-centric interpretation o f history is the belief that the
Christianity o f the past is the Christianity o f the present. What scores of faithful
1 W. Shakespeare, The Tempest.
worshippers see in their churches, their Sunday schools, and their prayer groups is
exactly what took place two thousand years ago. Social context, historical
circumstance, and geographical setting have done little to alter the unassailable truth
lying at the religion’s core.
Yet the simpler the appearance of reality, the more complex it may prove to be.
The story of Christianity is a story that fascinates and perplexes, a story o f not one
religion, but of many religions, each laying claim to the title Christian, evolving and
changing, from Marcion and Clement to Athanasius and Evagrius to Luther and
Calvin to Jaspers and Merton. For every truth that one group espouses, a sea of
arguments exist, arguments which divide other groups and point out the intricacy of
Christian history.
It would be impossible to study all these arguments and do justice to the rise of
western Christendom. I would like to cover one small comer, one area in which the
study and practice of the Christian religion frequently collide and occasionally unite.
This area is one that is rich with historical complexity and theological intrigue. It is
late antique asceticism, the phenomenon that would launch a movement capable of
dominating the Middle Ages and igniting the ire o f Enlightenment philosophers and
French revolutionaries.
The study of late antique asceticism has become a very exciting study. The
field is exploding with fresh ideas, innovative work, and scholarly enthusiasm.
Historians like Susanna Elm and Peter Brown have offered sophisticated critiques of
late antique texts, critiques which have totally redefined much o f the work of previous
scholars.2 These older scholars, who tend to come from monastic circles, have put
forth a corpus of articles and books with much to commend, but their work often falls
prey to a couple o f fundamental errors.
These errors involve history, context, and language. Immersed in a monastic
culture, it is often difficult for these scholars to separate their own background from
that of the late antique ascetics. In so doing, these scholars frequently seek to use the
late antique ascetic texts as practical manuals for guiding and prescribing behavior.
This desire has its share o f complications, as these scholars live in an era that is far
removed from that of late antiquity, and ideas that did not bum up the late antique
airwaves suddenly become the fundamental truths o f late antique ascetic literature. As
a result, the original audience o f the text becomes neglected, and the spirit of the text
becomes far too modem. One of the aims of my dissertation, therefore, will be to
focus on the late antique audience and ask how this audience interprets and makes use
of ascetic texts, texts which usually read more like esoteric stories than recipe books
for following the monastic discipline.
In order to answer this question, it will be crucial for my dissertation to rectify
a second error permeating scholarship of late antique asceticism. This is an error of
language. The annals o f scholarship are annals in translation, and they often refuse to
include ancient translations o f the ascetic texts, let alone critiques which show a great
deal o f sensitivity to and understanding of the ancient terms. Needless to say, such
critiques cannot adequately explain the words of Cassian or Evagrius, since they are
2 See S. Elm, tfrgins o f God: The Making o f Asceticism in Late Antiquity. (Oxford: Clarendon P.
1994); P.RL. Brown, The Body and Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early
Christianity. (New York: Columbia U P. 1988).
not studying Cassian or Evagrius7 words. They are focusing on the words of others,
words that modem translators have used to bring Cassian and Evagrius into a modem
tongue. It seems extremely difficult, if not impossible, to get a sense o f either author
by turning away from his text and looking to a modem guide, a guide whose
translation is always an interpretation, making decisions about how to understand an
ancient author at every turn.
It also seems difficult to get a sense o f ancient ascetic authors by failing to
analyze the social and historical world they inhabited. The work of Philip Rousseau,
Peter Brown, and Susanna Elm has made tremendous strides in fleshing out this world
and bringing late antique asceticism into a thoroughly late antique context.3 This work
has shown that political regimes, theological controversies, and geographical
surroundings can play a decisive role in the creation of a monastic text. These factors
may even give rise to and shape the message an individual author is trying to relay.
No one, after all, studies the Life o f Antony without knowing about the Arian
controversy or reads the Pachomian vitae without thinking o f Pachomius7 defense at
the Council of Latopolis. It would be extremely shortsighted to read these texts
without keeping the historical circumstances of an ascetic's life in mind. History, one
must always remember, is not created in a bottle, and monastic texts do not exist
without their share o f influences.
It is my hope to build upon the work of Rousseau, Elm, and Brown by taking a
closer look at some o f these influences. In addition, I intend to improve upon the
3 In addition to the works cited above, see P. Rousseau, Ascetics, Authority, and the Church in the Age
o f Jerome and Cassian. (Oxford: Oxford U P, 1978); P.R.L. Brown, Society and the Holy in Late
Antiquity. (Berkeley, CA: U of California P, 1982).
work of previous monastic scholars and show the importance of language to
understanding asceticism in late antiquity. Both methodologies will lie at the heart of
my dissertation, a dissertation which will attempt nothing less than a re-assessment of
late antique asceticism itself. This re-assessment will involve breaking down the
scholarly categories that have developed by analyzing the texts through their authors
and audiences, their words, ideas, and contexts.
To this end, the central question of my dissertation will be what qualities
define the ascetic in late antiquity? How is asceticism legislated and delineated, and
how important is the notion o f lifestyle in this process? Following upon these
questions, what are the words used to describe the ascetic lifestyle, and how do they
change from author to author or region to region or bishop to layman? What factors
govern this lifestyle, and how we can account for the similarities or differences in the
ascetic life? These questions are o f overwhelming importance for a variety of reasons.
Most significantly, the scholarship o f recent years has focused on the holy man in late
antiquity. Peter Brown’s ground-breaking article, “The Rise and Function of the Holy
Man in Late Antiquity”, an article which offers a wealth o f insights on Theodoret of
Cyrrhus and Syrian asceticism, has been used by many scholars as the "gospel’ on the
late antique ascetic. Yet, such a use seems unfair both to Brown and to Theodoret.
The process by which ascetics in late antiquity came to be recognized as holy is not
the same in Syria as it is elsewhere, and its meaning is not identical either. What
exactly was this process, and how did the meaning evolve from one context to
another? How did some ascetics come to be perceived as holy, and how did others
lose their claim to this title?
These questions should loom large in scholarly circles but they seem to fall by
the wayside. My dissertation will bring them front and center, as it focuses on the
ascetics’ lifestyle, the quality which marked his daily life and promoted the ascetic as
a man o f consequence in his immediate surroundings. It is the lifestyle o f the ascetic,
after all, which brought him attention and scrutiny from the church as well as visitors
and disciples from the ends of the Roman world. How is the lifestyle of the ascetic
defined, legislated, and modified?
Answers, as always, are elusive, so my dissertation will consist of a series of
case studies, studies which will use both the texts that have become the "classics’ of
late antique asceticism and the texts that are rarely, if at all, studied. It will examine
ascetics outside the church, ascetics inside the church, ascetics in the words o f others,
and ascetics in their own words. Chapter one will depict Antony, the model ascetic. It
will compare various hagiographical accounts of the monk, asking what it means to
call Antony the model ascetic. To whom is he a model, how is he a model, and why
do the accounts offer such a different model? How do the various accounts of Antony
use or not use his lifestyle to promote him as an ascetic exemplar? The second chapter
will continue with external accounts o f the monk, comparing two pilgrimages, that of
Palladius and the Historia Monachorum, and their notions of the ascetic lifestyle.
How can two accounts purporting to describe the same phenomenon read so
differently? Why do Palladius and the Historia Monachorum have such divergent
understandings of the ascetic lifestyle? The third chapter will take us to the ascetics
themselves, examining their own words and conceptions of the ascetic lifestyle. What
words do the ascetics use, and what do these word choices reveal about the ascetics’
conception o f their own lifestyles versus the conceptions o f others? The fourth
chapter will describe the efforts of a one-time ascetic turned bishop, Epiphanius, to
define asceticism. It will take a careful look at the factors influencing his definition
and at the types o f lifestyles and behaviors he decrees are acceptable and the types that
receive the heretical tag. What anxieties does a bishop have about asceticism, and
how does he define the movement so as to pacify his concerns? The fifth chapter will
examine Gregory o f Nyssa’s Life o/Macrina , a life written in accordance with the
provisions o f a church council. How does the council shape the picture of the saint,
and how does Gregory negotiate the tension between orthodoxy and heresy in his
portrayal o f the lifestyle o f the saint? The last chapter will take a look at Augustine
and his ecclesiastical asceticism. We have seen asceticism from a variety of angles,
how does it look inside the church? How does Augustine modify the ascetic life from
other ascetic authors, and what place does he envision for it within the church? The
conclusion will take stock of everything we have seen so far and attempt to answer the
questions laid out in the preceding paragraphs.
These questions will help give asceticism a more solid context in modem
scholarship. The answers will reveal anything but a consensus. They will show that
asceticism seems far more complex than we have imagined, but this complexity will
serve to reveal the need to study the phenomenon: to realize how integral a role
asceticism played in shaping notions o f religion, holiness, and authority in the late
antique world.
Chapter 1: Monk Defining and the Monk Defined
I. Introduction
One o f the most enduring creations in late antique literature is the saint. The
picture hagiographers offered of this holy man captured and enraptured readers from
the end o f the Roman empire to the golden days of the Middle Ages. With its simple
language and vivid imagery, hagiography reached beyond the educated man and
touched the religiosity of the everyday Christian, inspiring and edifying, sermonizing
and proselytizing. Hagiography ensured that asceticism was not simply the province
of spiritual enthusiasts in isolated areas o f the Roman Empire but also that of
mainstream Christians, as some of the most popular hagiographies depicted ascetic
heroes, heroes like Martin of Tours, Pachomius, and Antony.
This chapter will analyze the picture o f Antony which emerges in Athanasius’
hagiography as well as the hagiographies and ascetic writings of Jerome. It will
attempt to come to terms with a question which frequently eludes modem scholars:
what exactly are we seeing in the hagiographic portraits o f the saints? What qualities
o f the ascetic emerge, and how does the writer o f the text mold these qualities to fit the
needs of his audience? More importantly, how exactly is the audience supposed to
respond to the text? How is it supposed to use the text in its day to day life?
At the heart of these questions lies the concept of iiipqais or im itatio1 This
concept is a very slippery one in antiquity, with a number of definitions.2 Plato alone
uses the term with ten definitions in Book 3 of his Republic, many o f which “fluctuate
' For a more detailed discussion of these concepts in ancient and modem literature, see G. Gebauer and
C. Wulf, Mimesis: Cullure-Art-Society, trans. by D. Reneau. (Berkeley, CA: U of California P. 1995).
and contradict each other” .3 Aristotle would revamp Plato’s m'nrjoi$ in his Poetics,
but neither Aristotle nor Plato would match the literalism of Thomas a Kempis’s
imitatio in his Imitatio Christi. Modem scholars o f late antique asceticism, heirs o f
Kempis, tend to use the term in this latter manner, indicating “imitation” in its most
direct and exacting sense. For Jerome, the concept seems very appropriate, as his
ascetics often attempt to mirror the qualities of the saints, replicating their lifestyle,
diet, and clothing. For Athanasius, it seems less appropriate, as Antony’s lifestyle is
not given a great deal o f attention in the text, and the qualities which do emerge seem
to lend themselves less to direct imitation than to a looser understanding o f the term,
emulation, as Athanasius’ Antony is a model not simply for ascetics but for Christians
throughout the empire, and as such, Athanasius’ portrayal of Antony tends to focus
more on the abstract than on the concrete. The first chapter o f my dissertation will
attempt to make this point clear. It will begin with a discussion o f Athanasius’ Antony
and the ramifications o f Athanasius’ portrayal before proceeding to analyze Jerome’s
ascetic writings and their implications for Athanasius’ portrayal o f Antony,
implications which will redefine the nature of Antony’s sanctity and clarify the
emulatory nature o f Athanasius’ aoKrjoi$.
Q. Athanasius’ Antony4
1 See Gebauer and Wulf. pp. 27-75.
3 Gebauer and Wulf, pp. 35-37; 53.
4 Athanasius’ text can be found in Patrologia Graeca 26.835-976. An English translation was made by
R. Gregg, The Life o f Anthony and the Letter to Marcellinus. New York: Paulist Press, 1980. I will
follow Gregg’s translation, making occasional changes.
The story of Antony bristles with drama, and to understand his place in late
antique literature, it seems significant to come to terms with the sweeping nature of his
story. The story, at least in Athanasius’ hands, starts with the circumstances of
Antony’s situation. A farmer in Egypt, he seemed to take leave of his senses in his
late adolescence. Seeking a solitary life devoted to prayer and fasting, he wandered
off into the desert. In the minds of his contemporaries, Antony had essentially
committed suicide. The Egyptian desert was notoriously brutal, and its harsh elements
had scared native Egyptians for centuries.5 Antony’s decision to brave these
conditions seemed to make no sense at all, and many people, or so Athanasius seems
to suggest, presumed that they would never hear of him again. Yet, a hundred years
later, Antony’s name reverberated throughout the corners of the Roman empire.
Christians everywhere looked to him as the paragon of asceticism and the founder of
the monastic life. No less a figure than Augustine of Hippo was inspired by Antony’s
example to abandon his ‘pagan’ religion and embrace the Christian faith.6
This picture of Antony is that which we know from Athanasius, as Antony is
the romantic hero of Athanasius’ hagiography.7 Antony transformed the late antique
world and set off a monastic movement that lasts till the present day. Yet, it is not so
much Antony who gave monasticism its founding father, as it is Athanasius’ Antony.
5 cf. I. Keimer, “L’Horreur des Egyptiens pour les demons du desert”. Bulletin de I ’Institut d 'Egypte 26
(1944): 135-47.
6 Augustine. Confessions 8.14,8.29.
' On the scholarly controversy surrounding the attribution of the Life o f Antony to Athanasius, see R.
Draguet. La vie primitive de saint Antoine conservee en syriaque. (Louvain. 1980); T.D. Barnes,
“Angels o f Light or Mystic Initiate. The Problem of the Life ofAntony", Journal o f Theological
Studies, n.s. 37 (1986): 353-386; R. Lorenz, “Die griechische Vita Antonii und ihre synsche Fassung”,
10
It is not necessarily the ‘real’ Antony, nor does it bear strong similarities to the
historical monk.
The real Antony, much like his literary counterpart, was concerned with the
ascetic life, but his views sharply contrast with those ascribed to him by Athanasius.
In seven letters which he has left behind, Antony puts forward a series of teachings
with a decidedly Origenistic slant.8 He places a heavy emphasis on yvcoois, a term
which is nearly invisible in Athanasius’ text.9 At times, he even contradicts key points
of Athanasius’ hagiography. The most striking of these contradictions involves his
perception o f demons, perhaps the most memorable aspect of Athanasius’ work. In
letter six, he asks “who ever saw a demon fighting against us and preventing us from
doing good, or opposing us, standing somewhere in the body, so that we should
become afraid and flee from him? No, they are all hidden, and we reveal them by our
deeds” . 10 Antony’s viewpoint is nothing like that of the great ascetic in the Life o f
Antony who combats demons on a daily basis and later sermonizes to his audience,
telling them that the demons shook his cell and made crashing noises, leaping out
against him. 11
Zeitschriftf i r Kirchengeschichte 100 (1989): 77-84; D. Brakke. “The Greek and Syriac Versions of the
Life o f Antony", LeMuseon 107 (1994): 29-53.
8 S. Rubenson, The Letters o f St. Antony: Monasticism and the Making o f a Saint. (Minneapolis:
Fortress P, 1995), pp. 59-88.
9 Rubenson. p. 133. cf. B. McNary-Zak, Letters and Asceticism in Fourth-Century Egypt. (Lanham.
MD: U P of America, 2000), pp. 17-16; M. Williams. “The Life of Antony and the Domestication of
Charismatic Wisdom”. In M. Williams, ed.. Charisma and Sacred Biography. (Chambersburg, PA:
American Academy of Religion. 1982), pp. 30-31.
10 Translation in Rubenson. p. 220.
11 Athanasius, Life o f Antony, 39.
11
Antony’s letters are instructive because they point out the degree to which
Athanasius is shaping and even manipulating his portrayal of Antony. 12 The letters
are also instructive because they have essentially become a footnote to the history of
late antique asceticism. Antony of the Life stands at the forefront of one of
Christianity’s great movements. Antony of the letters is a blip on the late antique
radar. It is not at all certain that his teachings made a dramatic impression upon the
minds o f his audience, most likely his immediate disciples in the desert, let alone
aspiring Christians like Augustine of Hippo.
The Antony o f the Life is a pioneer, a teacher, a spiritual father, and a monk.
So much attention has been devoted to him that it is impossible to study late antiquity
without knowing who he is. In the midst of all this scholarly excitement, perhaps it is
time to step back and reflect. A great deal of reflection has proven useful in recent
years. Scholars have shown that Antony was many things, but he was almost certainly
not the first monk. Susanna Elm has astutely pointed out that asceticism seems to
have existed from an early point in church history. Virgins, living in households, were
ascetics years before Antony came long. 13 Other scholars have taken a more careful
look at the language o f doKrjoifand found a variety o f terms designating the ascetic
life. Three terms in particular - yo va xof, avaxcoprjrt]^ and airorccKTiKOS -
appear in fourth-century papyri. 14
12 For a more detailed explanation of this idea, see D. Brakke. Athanasius and the Politics o f Asceticism.
(Oxford: Clarendon P. 1995), pp. 1-16,201-272.
13 S. Elm. Virgins o f God: The Making o f Asceticism in Late Antiquity. (Oxford: Clarendon P. 1994).
14 E.A Judge, “The Earliest Use of Monachos for "Monk" (P. Coll. Youtie 77) and the Origins of
Monasticism”. Jahrbuch fu r Antike und Christentum 20 (1977): 72-89; J. Goehring, Ascetics, Society,
12
Differentiating these terms can be an extremely complicated task. Scholars
have reached somewhat o f a consensus that crnoraKTtKO^ is a term identifying males
adopting lifestyles equivalent to those of the female virgins Elm has studied. 15 Men
embracing such a lifestyle predate Antony by several years, if not several decades.
M ovaxos appears on the scene at a later date and is originally synonymous with
anoTaKTiKos'6 The first monk we know of is Isaac of Karanis Isaac was an
“apotactic type of ascetic, ranking alongside the ministers of the church” 17 Isaac was
almost certainly not alone. He probably was one of a number of male ascetics living
such an apotactic existence. 18
One such male might have been the historical Antony. If the historical Antony
was living this type of life, it seems difficult to understand how he stood out from all
the other ‘monks’. Why did Antony become universally recognized as the founding
father o f monasticism, while ‘proto-monks’ like Isaac languished in obscurity? It is
here that we need the Antony o f Athanasius’ text. This literary Antony would reach
far more people than the historical Antony and would offer a new definition of
(jovaxo?. Instead of simple ‘renunciation’, the term, thanks to Athanasius’ efforts,
seems to identify those ascetics who have withdrawn from society, as this was the
and the Desert: Studies in Early Egyptian Monasticism. (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity P International,
1999), pp. 13-35; 53-72. See also F. Morrard, “Monachos, moine: Histoire du terme grecjusqu’au 4*
si&cle”. Freiburger Zeitschriftfiir Philosophie und Theologie 20 (1973): 333-412: F. Morrard. “Encore
quelques reflexions sur Monachos”. Vigiliae Christianae 34 (1980): 395-401.
15 Judge, pp. 85-86.
16 Goehring, p. 22.
17 Judge, p. 88.
18 Ibid.
13
distinguishing characteristic of Athanasius’ Antony. 19 Interestingly, auaxcopnrfig
begins to become more prominent around this time in the documentary evidence, as it
too identifies the group of ascetics isolated from society.
To say the least, it seems like a great leap for Athanasius’ Antony to go from
withdrawing from society to redefining the late antique world’s understanding of
aoKrjoi? It is here that one must recognize the significance of Athanasius’
achievement. This is no mere hagiography; it is the hagiography. Every saint’s life
after Athanasius is essentially an attempt to create a work like Athanasius’.20
Athanasius is so skillful in crafting an image of Antony that it is worth asking how he
is able to attain such success. How does Athanasius create such a compelling version
o f monasticism that the phenomenon suddenly seems to rise from the margins of
society to assume a pivotal position in the religious landscape of the late fourth
century?
This question is not easy to answer, so we must start with the literariness of
Athanasius’ text. Early Christian literature is filled with marvelous stories, tales of
martyrs and apostles defying ‘pagan’ oppressors, performing miracles, and living lives
that set the standard for their communities. None of these tales is anything like
Athanasius’, as none o f them enjoys the historical advantage Athanasius’ Antony
possesses. Athanasius’ work details the story of a monk whose life bridges the divide
between the persecutions and the conversion of Constantine. It establishes the
authority o f the monk by defining him as a transitional figure in church history who
19 Judge, pp. 77-78.
14
will bring the glory o f the martyrs into the age o f Christian triumphalism.21 In so
doing, the text establishes a public stature and authority of some weight for the monks.
In the past, these holy figures might have been involved in church controversies and
played a role in the squabbles between 'orthodox’ and ‘heretical’ factions for
legitimacy. It is far from certain, however, that any o f these monks could make the
type o f lofty claims that Athanasius' text secures for Antony. A monk is now someone
and something.
Even more than that, the monk is someone and something not simply in his
immediate area, but throughout the empire, and it was the text that was largely
responsible for making Antony a man of consequence throughout the Roman Empire,
as the text was a technological tool, capable of reaching far more people than any
monk ever could.22 The monk was local; the text spanned the regions of the Roman
empire.23 Athanasius’ text was more than a literary and technological innovation,
however. It was a verbal relic. It does not simply depict the life of Antony. It is the
life o f Antony. That is, the text is very aware o f competing claims on Antony’s
legacy, claims which often involved making Antony an all-powerful holy man in
direct opposition to the church, a figure o f immense gravitas whose charisma
exceeded that of any institution.
20 cf. G. Harpham, The Ascetic Imperative in Culture and Criticism. (Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1987),
p. 5.
21 See E. Malone, The Monk and the Martyr: The Monk as the Successor o f the Martyr. (Washington,
DC: Catholic U of America P, 1950).
22 See J.J. O’Donnell, Avatars o f the Word: From Papyrus to Cyberspace. (Cambridge. Mass: Harvard
U P, 1998).
15
Reproduced with permission o f the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission.
To counteract these claims, the text takes two vital steps. First, it expands the
parameters o f Antony’s influence, thus lessening his local importance and the possible
influence o f his immediate disciples by making him not simply a man of the desert but
a man of the entire church, a man who belongs to the east and west.24 This expansion
and the emphasis on church in Athanasius’ depiction of Antony act as a social control,
pinpointing a place, context, and definition for Antony. The larger implication of this
control is that since Antony is the 'father of monasticism’, the legislation o f the father
is the legislation of the movement. Second, the text eliminates the possibility for cult,
the possibility that Antony’s power could continue to flourish and reside outside the
text. For this reason, Athanasius declares that virtually no one knows the place of
Antony’s burial.25 The absence of Antony’s body ensures the absence o f a locus for
prayer, miracle, and pilgrimage. The only access to Antony, then, lies in the text
itself. It preserves and promotes Antony. It defines who he is, how he is to be
understood, and what his legacy should be. The text carried its portrayal o f Antony’s
life to people across the Roman empire, and it was only through these people’s contact
with the text that the praesentia o f the holy man was made clear.
What portrayal o f Antony did the text offer, though? To answer this question,
we need to come to terms with two other questions which shed light on the nature of
Athanasius’ work. How exactly does he define Antony as a monk, and what are the
implications of this vision for our understanding o f monasticism? Scholars have
23 It seems relevant to note here that a Latin translation of the Life o f Antony appeared nearly a decade
after the ‘publication’ of Athanasius’ work.
24 A point the address to the audience of “monks abroad” in the prologue makes clear.
23 Athanasius, Life o f Antony. 92.
16
indirectly addressed these questions in scores o f studies. These studies have
contextualized Athanasius’ Antony, giving us a lens for perceiving Athanasius and his
work as a whole.
Athanasius wrote the Life o f Antony during his third exile.26 Waging a fierce
war against the Arians for theological supremacy, his hagiography reflects his
struggle, as it is part o f a vast literary output Athanasius produced in his campaign on
behalf o f the orthodox faith.27 Scholars in recent years have argued with much gusto
that Athanasius’ anti-Arian views inform and define his picture o f Antony.28 Antony
is not so much a teacher, a spiritual patron, or a party leader, as an ideal Christian, “the
most dramatic example o f someone who, thanks to Christ’s victory on the cross, is
making his journey on the way up to heaven” .29 For this reason, Athanasius rarely, if
ever, gives credit to Antony for performing any miraculous acts. Instead, it is Christ
who acts through Antony. This relationship is fundamental to the text, and it
represents a radical re-interpretation o f the holy man. Instead of acting as a
thaumaturge who performs miracles on his own, the monk is tamed, domesticated, and
put under the authority of Christ and the church. We are to interpret this move as a
political one, Athanasius latching onto the authority o f the ascetics by making Antony,
the most significant ascetic, the spokesman and exemplar o f his theological aoKTjots.
3 For a more detailed study of Athanasius’ life during this time, see T.D. Barnes, Athanasius and
Constantins: Theology and Politics in the Constantinian Empire. (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard U P.
1993), pp. 121-35.
27 Brakke. pp. 129-135: B. Brennan, “Athanasius’ VitaAntonii: A Sociological Interpretation”, Vigiliae

Christianae 39 (1985), p. 210.
3 Brakke; R. Gregg and D. Groh, Early Arianism - A View o f Salvation. (Philadelphia: Fortress P.
1981), pp. 131-159.
17
David Brakke is the latest proponent of these viewpoints. His opinions have
taken the scholarly world, at least in the States, by storm and launched a new Antony
onto the scene. Yet even Brakke admits that there are some problems with his model,
not the least o f which is the tension in Athanasius’ own mind between the holy man as
a benefactor o f mankind with special visionary powers and the holy man as a
subordinate to Christ, acting as a model for the virtuous life.30 Philip Rousseau has
given a more detailed account o f what these problems are, stating that Antony is
“more than an ‘ideal human being’. So simple a distinction between articulate
reflection and an exemplary life was not available at the time” .31 Rousseau’s work
raises the question o f what does it mean for Antony to be an exemplar? Rousseau
contends that it is more precise, if not correct, to label him a teacher, and that this is
the view the text offers. What does the text actually state?
The text begins by introducing Antony’s life as a sufficient picture for ascetic
practice, sa ri uovaxoT sittavosxaPaKTftp npos a o K T jo iv o ’A v t o j v i ' o v Bto$n It
notes the desire o f the monastic audience Athanasius tells us he is addressing to
emulate Antony’s purpose, deA ijo sT e < a l ^ A a b o a i r/ 71/ e k e iv o v npddE O tv, and it
tells us that the audience wishes to learn about the iroAtTEta of Antony so that the
audience can lead itself in emulation of him, i'vaicai irpds t o v e k e i v o v £fjAov
3 Brakke. p. 216.
30 See Brakke, p. 253.
31 P. Rousseau, "Antony as Teacher in the Greek Life”. In T. H2gg and P. Rousseau, eds.. Greek
Biography and Panegyric in Late Antiquity. (Berkeley: U of California P. 2000), pp. 89-109.
32 Athanasius, Life o f Antony, prol. 3.
18
ia v ro v s d yayrjre.33 These sentences are revealing since they set out the language
o f emulation, a language which is crucial to the text. Reading through scholarly
studies o f Antony, however, one might expect much stronger language. Imitation is,
after all, an important word for Brakke who avows that “by writing the Life o f Antony,
Athanasius hopes to contribute to the formation o f a Christian woAiTeta by fostering
an ethic o f imitation that reflects his own program o f self-formation through imitation
of the saints” .34
Athanasius in the Life o f Antony never seems to assert this position as
forcefully as Brakke does. The sine qua non of imitation, the word itself, uiuqcns, and
its derivations are surprisingly rare in the Vita. There are only five instances in which
the verb mveioQai appears, a stark contrast to the word m e n s and its verbal
counterpart m oreustv which appear over thirty times throughout the text. Even
within these five manifestations o f mueioBai, it is not so clear that any of the citations
espouse direct imitation o f Antony himself, and two of the five depict demonic
behavior. When one reads Athanasius’ Letter to Dracontius, a letter in which the
language o f viuT]OiS abounds, the contrast is not only resounding but deafening. The
letter states:
O f whom do your advisors wish for you to be an

imitator (fji/jnrriv)? For it is necessary for us to live by
the standard of the saints and the fathers, and imitate
{mueiaQai) them, and to be aware that if we depart from
them we put ourselves out of their fellowship. O f whom
then do they wish for you to be an imitator (î/jrjTnv)?
33 Athanasius, Life o f Antony, proi. 4.
34 Brakke, p. 245.
19
The one who hesitated, and while wishing to follow,
delayed.. .or blessed Paul... Whom are you imitating
(m vouvevof) in your present action? Paul, or men
unlike him? For my part I pray that each of us may
prove to be an imitator {miuqrriv) of all the saints.33
It is striking to read this paragraph and see so much emphasis on m'uqois and in
particular ut'fjrjois o f all the saints. Clearly, Athanasius was not unfamiliar with the
term. Why does Athanasius fail to apply his words here to Antony in the Vita? If he
believes so strongly in imitation, why does he not frame his work as such?
The most logical answer to this question is that Athanasius is not as concerned
with imitation as emulation. Certainly, that is what the sentences near the beginning
of his work seem to imply. Brakke argues otherwise, and it is illuminating to look at
the portions o f the text he uses in support of his thesis. Brakke points to a number o f
sentences as crucial to Athanasius’ “ethics of self-formation”. We will examine a
couple o f these. The first occurs in an early part of the text. Athanasius notes that
Antony “used to tell himself that from the career of the great Elijah, as from a mirror,
the ascetic must always acquire knowledge of his own life”, Sef t t j u a o K J ir f] V s k
rf\s TToXiTeias tou iteyaAou HAi'ov KaTavavdaveiv, iv iaoirrpcp
toveauTov fifov d el36 From this sentence, Brakke posits that Athanasius is stating
that “the goal o f imitating Elijah, whether in words or deeds, is to make oneself so
much like Elijah that observing one’s own way of life is like looking into a mirror and
35 Athanasius, Letter to Dracontius, 4. Translation loosely follows that in the Nicene and Post-Nicene
Fathers o f the Christian Church Series, Volume 4 by A. Robertson.
20
seeing Elijah” .37 Brakke’s statement seems to make a great deal o f sense, but it
overlooks one key point. If Athanasius has such a vested interest in making Antony’s
life as similar to Elijah’s as possible, why does he not mention Elijah again in the text
and why does he not flesh out the parallels he wishes to make so painfully clear?
Where are the concrete details from Elijah’s daily life and Antony’s daily life which
so closely resemble one another? It seems far more likely, then, that what Athanasius
is trying to do is present Elijah as one o f several models of instruction for Antony in
the formative stage o f his aoKnoi$. Antony might learn from and even emulate
several o f these models, but it is far from certain that he imitates them in such a direct
manner as Brakke indicates, as Brakke’s vision o f piur]ois is far more exact and
modern than the ancient term, with its wealth of meanings.
Ascetic education through emulation, however, seems to lie at the heart of a
second passage which Brakke cites.38 After Antony becomes a distinguished figure in
the desert, he tells his fellow monks that they must take to heart the precepts of the
scriptures, flee vanity, and “keep in mind the deeds o f the saints, so that the soul, ever
mindful of the commandments, might be educated by their ardor”, pvrjpoveueiv
tc o v npa£ecov tg o u ayicov np6$ t o rep QfjXcp t o u t c o v /5udp(£eodai rrjv
lyuxnv uTTopipvrjOKOfjevrjv etc t c o v ivroA cjv?9 It seems interesting to read this
passage and to see that Antony places more weight on the zeal o f the saints than on
their commandments. What Antony seems to be doing is identifying sources of
37 Brakke, p. 259.
38 Brakke, p. 258.
21
instruction and guidance. These sources provide broad outlines for the Christian life,
as the monks emulate their zeal or even imitate their courage.40 The monk does not,
however, get such a detailed list of instructions, like we will later see in Jerome’s
hagiographies, that his life becomes an exact duplication of the saints’ lives or even of
Antony’s life. Imitation in this strict sense seems to make the scope o f the text far too
narrow.
A third part o f the text underpinning Brakke’s argument actually helps to
explain the nature o f ’imitation’ at stake in the hagiography. Brakke devotes special
attention to a few places within the text, including a sentence from the prologue stated
above, which define Antony as the model of imitation for all Christians. One such
citation occurs after Antony is unable to fulfill his desire to become a martyr.
Athanasius notes that the Lord was protecting Antony, so that he might be a teacher to
many in the discipline that he had learned from scriptures, Tva Kai iv rfj aoKijOEi,
fjv a v ro s sk tcju ypaq>cdv vsiiadriKEV, noAAoTs SiSdoicaAos ysvrjTai. For
simply by seeing his conduct, many aspired to emulate his way of life, Kai y a p Kai
(jovov pAiw ovres a u ro u ttjv arycoypv, rroAAoi rffs ttoAiteios a v ro v
ioirouSaôv £rjAcoTai ysvEoSai.4' What exactly is this way o f life that the crowds
learn from Antony? Most likely, it is the discipline which he teaches from scriptures,
as the previous sentence indicates. It is hard to believe that it could be anything else,
since Athanasius does not provide us with more information about their ’education’.
40 Athanasius, Life o f Antony, 27. Here, the word mueiaQai does appear.
22
In fact, even though Athanasius occasionally invokes terms like troXi t e i q to
emphasize the lifestyle of Antony as a source of emulation, he never gives a
sufficiently detailed account o f Antony’s practices that would allow the audience to
'imitate’ this lifestyle in any successful manner. There is very little emphasis on the
daily nuances o f Antony’s life. The focus is far more general, as is the language.
The effect Athanasius creates with this language and this focus is deliberate. It
is an effect which stresses not the lifestyle of Antony but his purpose, npodeots.
What exactly does this mean? TTpodeois, at least as Athanasius seems to understand
the term, brings to light the fundamental relationship in the text, namely that between
Antony and God. An early part of the text makes this point clear, as Antony’s
npodeois so astounds the people living around him that they give him one o f his first
epithets, ‘God-loved’, decxpiAf/S- The implication is that Antony’s eagerness to learn
from the other ascetics, to gather together the best qualities from them, and to make
these qualities manifest underscores his commitment to the divine.42 This
commitment even causes the devil a great deal of unrest, so much so that he launches
his first series o f attacks against Antony.43
Throughout the Life o f Antony, a language o f commitment seems to evolve, a
language which points out what asceticism means for Athanasius. This language puts
forward a simple equation: as the intensity o f Antony’s ascetic practices increases, so
too does the fervency o f his commitment to God. After the Lord appears to him and
43 Athanasius. Life o f Antony, 5.
23
advises him to go into the desert, to name one example, Athanasius describes Antony
as even more enthusiastic in his devotion to God, paAAov i r p o d u p o T e p o $ rjv eif
t t jv Q e o o ifie ia v * * Such language is characteristic of Athanasius’ Antony, who
continually strengthens his irpoQeais^ It comes as no surprise, then, to find Antony
augmenting the ascetic fervor o f others, as it is this fervor which is the hallmark of
one’s covenant with the divine. In fact, Antony seems to receive great delight at
telling the monks to increase their enthusiasm, w p o d v p i'a , and even greater delight at
seeing the monks exhibiting npoBupta *6 Athanasius identifies enthusiasm as a
fundamental part o f Christianity and thus the Christian ascetic life, as Antony’s
defiance against the prefect during the time o f persecutions is depicted as an
opportunity to put the T r p o d u p t a o f the Christians on display.
In light of these sentiments, it seems that asceticism for Athanasius has a great
deal to do with devotion, and emulation of Antony is, therefore, not so much about
Antony as it is about the divine. It is in many respects about devoting one’s life to
God, in accordance with the divine will. It is for this reason that Antony’s aoKrjois
begins in a church with the words of God speaking directly to him, giving him
instructions on the type o f life he should lead.47 Every step of his life seems to follow
this pattern. Antony moves from place to place, as the Lord sees fit. When throngs of
46 Athanasius, Life o f Antony, 15-16 ;54.
24
visitors start to overwhelm him, the Lord leads him to a safe haven in the mountains.48
The Lord’s guidance in these matters is not limited to simple geographic advice. It
extends to every aspect o f Antony’s daily life. It is in this sense that aoxrjoif is a
discipline, a discipline to live in accordance with the Lord minute by minute, hour by
hour. For this reason, Antony’s primary identification of himself is as a ‘slave of
Christ’, XpioroO SouA of, and one of his most basic teachings is to live as if dying
daily.49 Antony makes this teaching pivotal to his aoKrjoif, letting the monks know
that it signifies a firm recognition of the responsibilities of their commitment to God.
Antony expands on this teaching by stating that the monks must not grow weary in
their labors, that they must protea their soul from foul thoughts, and stay away from
heretics.50 Antony’s words focus on the need for the monk to commit himself to the
divine and not let any force interfere with this commitment. An earlier point in the
text lends support to this idea, as Antony notes that the basic premise underlying the
teaching to live as if dying daily is not to commit sin.51 By staying away from evil,
the implication is that one can build a more cohesive relationship with the divine.
This relationship is what is most important in the text, and it accounts for the emphasis
on m a n s throughout the work.
49 Athanasius, Life o f Antony, 53; 19; 91.
25
This emphasis is often overlooked, but it forms the basis of the text.52 Faith
abounds throughout the work because it is with faith that the Christian life must begin.
This is especially true in Athanasian theology, a theology which places a premium on
the recognition o f Christ as God and uses this recognition to distinguish his version of
Christianity from all other gestations of the religion which he labels ‘heretical’. As a
result, Athanasius depicts heretics as those of the wrong faith, those lacking true piety,
the aoefieorciToi.53 It thus seems to make a great deal of sense for Antony to exclude
himself from the unholy circles of Arians and Manichaeans, as any deviations in faith
could undermine Athanasius’ entire portrayal of Antony as a Christian. A few key
passages help illuminate this idea. The most prominent involves his quarrels with
philosophers. They visit him for an explanation of faith in Christ.54 He responds to
their request by asking which results in greater knowledge of God - faith through an
act or demonstration through arguments, S t‘crno8ei£eco$ Aoycov r} St ’ivepyei'as
moTEcos 55 The philosophers concede that faith leads to a greater knowledge o f god,
and they agree to a second contention that Antony presents: faith must precede
argumentation, as faith perceives that which argumentation tries to prove. Antony’s
case for faith is so convincing that he declares that Christians, teaching faith, strip the
‘pagans’, like philosophers, o f their superstition, qpevf tt\v Xptarrov m oriv
52 See for example, an insightful article on prayer in the Life o f Antony which neglects faith. M. Marx,
•incessant Prayer in the Vita Antonii”. Studia Anselmiana 38 (1956): 108-35.
54 Athanasius, Life o f Antony, 74-80.
26
SiSaoKovres, yiAoQuev... t t jv SeicnSaipovfav.56
Antony builds on his claims by offering a dramatic presentation of the power
of the Christian faith. He exorcises a group of people afflicted by demons. He caps
his presentation by stating that it is not Christians who perform such awe-inspiring
acts but Christ. 57 Antony’s words here perform two tasks: they bolster the role of
Christ in the narrative and they depict the proper relationship between the Christians
and Christ, a relationship which must be grounded, after all, in faith. With faith, all
things are possible, as Christ works through his servants. Athanasius tells his
audience near the end o f the work not to marvel at the wonders performed through
Antony because his life stands as an affirmation of the gospel promise that “if you
have faith as a grain o f mustard seed, you will say to the mountain, ‘move from here to
there’, and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you’’.
Faith thus underlies every action of Antony’s life. It makes possible his
efficacious prayers, prayers which are o f a great deal of importance throughout the
text. Many people travel to Antony asking for his prayers so that they can be cured.
He tells them that all that is necessary is faith.38 In so doing, he shows how powerful a
stepping stone faith provides for prayer. Faith is more than a stepping stone for
prayer, however, as it enables him to rise to the heights of Christian acncrjoi$■ Time
after time, Antony’s growth in the ascetic life is portrayed as a triumph of his faith.
His martyrdom, for example, is suggestively depicted as a martyrdom “in the contests
27
o f the faith”, t o T$ Tfj$ m'oreeos adAoi?.59 Since Athanasius weaves his presentation
o f Antony around his struggles against demons, faith forms one of his key weapons in
the battle. He unabashedly tells the devil that ‘"faith in the Lord is for us a seal and
wall o f protection”, Zcppayis ya p rjpi'v Kai teixo s ei$ aotpdAeiav ei$ rov Kupiov
qpcov m o r if60 When demons threaten him, his faith in Christ leads him to invoke
Christ’s name and remove any potential threat. Faith defines Antony, and it is for this
reason that when he advises philosophers to become like him, he advises them to
become Christians. He even uses the word mueiodai, telling the philosophers that
they must imitate the fine things, r a KaAabX In other words, they should follow the
example of the Christians, having faith in Christ.
Athanasius presents Antony as a Christian, that is, someone with faith in
Christ, but he also depicts Antony as a monk. How does the text depict Antony’s
ascetic practices? Interestingly, the text does not offer an avalanche of instructions on
how to live the ascetic life. The instructions it does offer are nowhere near as exacting
as those found in monastic rules. They provide few details on how to ‘imitate’ or even
‘follow’ Antony’s day to day regimen. It does not seem to be all that difficult to
account for this inexactitude, as the text is not interested in laying out a detailed
blueprint o f the monastic life. It is interested in establishing a relationship with the
divine, in defining a discipline, commitment, and attitude which inform and motivate
58 Athanasius. Life o f Antony. 47; 59.
59 Athanasius. Life o f Antony. 47.
28
exterior actions 62 It is for this reason that terms like npodeois and m oriâie so
important in the text and that Antony’s aoKrjcns, to our surprise, remains essentially
shapeless.
What, then, is Antony’s aoKqoift Athanasius speaks o f fasting, deprivation of
sleep, and the rejection o f bodily comforts, but most often, he frames his discussion in
terms o f labors, novo £ and in terms of struggle.63 Rarely if ever in his sermons to his
monastic pupils does Antony tell them how to fast, the amount of time to sleep, what
bodily comforts to embrace, and which to reject. Instead he tells them not to grow
weary in their labors, not to lose enthusiasm, and to be on guard against the attacks of
the demons.64 The demons seem to lie at the center of Antony’s asceticism, and
warfare against them is in many ways his fundamental definition of aoKrjcnz 65
'A oktiois is a lifestyle set in opposition to the demons.66 Perseverance in ao<T]Ois
enables one to avoid sin and triumph over them. This type o f perseverance, however,
requires great discernment about the means and methods of overcoming the demons.
Antony’s greatest ascetic gift in Athanasius’ eyes is spiritual discernment, since it
enables him to teach others how to win the fight against their oppressors.67 Antony’s
long sermon on the demons is such a teaching. It is a means o f introducing Christians
62 cf. Gregg and Groh, p. 149.
63 Athanasius, Lije o f Antony, 7.
64 See, for example, Athanasius, Life o f Antony. 16-43; 55; 89; 91.
65 Rubenson, p. 139; cf. R. Valenlasis. “Daemons and the Perfecting of the Monk's Body; Monastic
Anthropology, Daemonology, and Asceticism”. Semeia 58 (1992). p. 47.
29
to Athanasius’ a o K rjo is, an c c o k ijo is arising from Athanasius’ views of ascent. The
Christian must overcome demons in order to ascend to heaven, and armed with
aoKTiois, along with faith in Christ, they had the weapons with which the “contest
could be [theirs]”, as it was these weapons which turned back the assault o f the
demons and enabled Christ to guide the ascetic to the heavenly realm.68
Athanasius’ views on ascension seem to account for the language of contest
and struggle that runs rampant throughout the text. Antony’s foray onto the ascetic
turf is marked by contests with the devils, contests which assume center stage in the
narrative. In an early encounter with the demons, Antony is beaten, tortured, and
seemingly left for dead. The Lord does not intervene until he perceives that Antony
has persevered in his struggle. Antony’s perseverance marks a new stage in his
acncrjois, as the Lord’s help enables him to spend twenty years in a cave and walk out
looking exactly the same, his body not at all attenuated by years o f fasting and bodily
deprivation.69 Scholars have taken note o f Antony’s appearance and argued that it is a
direct result o f the intervention of the divine in Antony’s life.70 His prior struggles
lacked the divine protection the Lord now affords Antony. Antony’s prior struggles
are fascinating, however, because they seem to conflict with his message throughout
the text. He warns his audience that demons have no power over them, that they
68 Athanasius, Life o f Antony, 21; Brakke. p. 146.
70 Gregg and Groh, p. 147.
30
cannot harm those who believe in Christ in any way 71 Yet Antony believes in Christ
from the first moment o f his life, and the demons do harm him. What exactly does
this mean?
It brings to light two facets of Antony’s asceticism. The first is that it re
affirms the nature of imitation in the work, as imitation, in a very direct sense, is
clearly not at stake. No one will undergo the same torments Antony suffers. Antony
is, in many senses, a traiiblazer, clearing the way for other ascetics to enter the
monastic life and endure demonic warfare. His life and advice provide direction and
clarity, as the ‘monk’ whose demonic struggles are far more intense and dangerous
than those o f any other ascetic.
The second facet is the character of Antony’s a a K T j a i It is the building block
of his Christian faith. It enables Antony to act in accordance with virtue, apern.72
Virtue is, after all, the achievement o f the Christian life, and an achievement grounded
in the divine. Antony stresses that “virtue is not distant from us, nor does it stand
external to us, but its realization is within us”. Virtue is the product o f the soul
maintaining its intellectual part in accordance with nature.73 To make sure that virtue
shines through one’s heart, aoKqois seems to be necessary. When Antony first
departs and meets ascetics, he learns from them, Athanasius tells us, as if taking
supplies on the road to virtue, cocnrep itpoSiov rfj$ ei$ aperqv oSou n a p ’
1 Athanasius. Life o f Antony, 24; 40-41.
2 cf. J. Roldanus, Le Christ et I 'homme dans la theoiogie d ’Athanase d'Alexandre. Leiden; Brill, 1977.
p. 301.
31
a uro u Aaficbv /71/ 74 *'Aotcrjois equips Antony with the instruments to make virtue
resound in himself.
Virtue is significant because it is the goal of the ascetic life. It is what the
ascetic strives after, and it is what he achieves. In a work espousing Christ as the
prime mover and dispenser o f divine grace, it is quite rare for Antony to have any
accomplishments to call his own. Yet, he does note that to have one’s name written in
heaven is a sign of one’s virtue and life.75 Similarly, Athanasius closes his narrative
by pointing out that the Lord made Antony famous because of his virtue and his help
to others.76 These sentences present the divide between the Lord and the Christian.
The Lord so dominates the work that nearly every action of Antony is the work of
Christ. Antony can, however, take credit for his faith, his prayers, his aoKrioif, and
his virtue.77 Through the first three, Antony reaches the end of the road to virtue,
namely God. The four qualities of Antony, then, provide a testimony o f his life, and
they mark what is at stake for the readers of the text. To adopt a life of o o k tjc is is a
resolution to life a live o f virtue. Virtue is important here because it is not the calling
of the elite few. Virtue is a door through which every Christian can pass.
If virtue, much like faith, is available to all Christians, how exactly does
Athanasius understand monasticism, and what makes it at all distinctive? Judge
observes that Antony becomes a monk when he engages with society, after he leaves
77 cf. Athanasius, Life o f Antony, 84.
32
his cave and resumes social interactions. It is at this point that po vaxo s first appears
in the text, the point at which Antony’s practice becomes the center “of public
excitement” and begins “to constitute a public movement” 78 Previously, others such
as Antony’s mentor, the old man on the edge o f the village, had lived a monastic life,
povf/pq^ fii'os, but they did not have the formal title that Athanasius gives to
Antony.79 Antony’s assumption o f this formal title marks his “identification of
himself in terms o f society”, viz. as someone who has withdrawn to devote his life to
God, and as the originator of a movement.
This identification brings us back to an earlier question in the chapter: what is
Antony, a model of imitation or a teacher? As we have seen, the first is clearly
unsatisfactory, as imitation in a direct sense is rarely present in the work. As for the
second, it seems more apt to state that what is taking place in the narrative is the
establishment of the monastic life. Antony is at the center of it, and it is for this
reason that his most appropriate title is that o f a father. He is addressed as such
numerous times throughout the work, and the work seems to promote him as the father
o f monasticism, showing the monks how to overcome the demons, so that they can
ascend to the divine.80 Rousseau desires to label Antony a teacher or master, but
ncxTf/p is the terminology o f the text.81 A father teaches, but he also sets the standard
and paves the way. No monk can imitate Antony, then, but many can emulate him.
This is what the hagiography seems to declare, as Antony’s life rises from the pages to
78 Judge, p. 77.
80 See Athanasius, Life o f Antony, 50; 54; 66; 81; 82; 88; 89; 91; 92.
33
make a dynamic impression o f Christian c c o k t jo i ^ for Christians, Neo-Platonists, and
Arians to behold.
The Life o f Antony offers the most powerful and perhaps most unique
hagiography in Christian literature. It is quite rare in any late antique work of similar
ilk to see Christ play such a fundamental role. In Possidius’ Life o f Augustine, for
example, he is mentioned less than ten times in toto.*2 Athanasius’ work puts Christ at
the center, and in so doing, offers a remarkably different notion of the monk and of
exemplarity than that to which modem scholars are accustomed. Much of Athanasius’
emphasis on Christ no doubt stems from his theology, a theology stressing Christ’s
role and nature as God. Arians identified with Christ as a model, not as a divinity;
Antony, by contrast, relies upon Christ to save, direct, and guide him. We are thus
faced with a work in which the movements of Christ dominate and the Christian holy
man is placed in a clearly subordinate position. The holy man is not the grand patron
of the Syrian pillars. He is the father o f a movement, a “virtual bishop” presiding over
his community. This only seems natural since Athanasius was more than a little
inclined to make monks into bishops and thereby give order to ascetic communities.83
Athanasius could not make Antony a bishop, but he could make him perform an
equivalent role as the father of the monasticism. Remarkably, this notion of a father
contrasts with the image o f Antony as a charismatic figure. Antony is not so much a
model for his supernatural power or his superhuman doKrjoif. Antony is a model for
81 Rousseau, p. 106.
82 With the exception of chapter thirty, the chapter of the text which basically consists of Augustine’s
own words. It seems interesting to see Augustine place so much emphasis on Christ and for Possidius
to ignore him.
34
his devotion, for his faith, for the fervency with which he fights demons and dies daily
for God. He is not so much a model because he was a Christ-carrying man but
because he was a Christ-obedient man. Antony’s willingness to brave the terrifying
confines o f the Egyptian desert shows the depth of his obedience. It also shows the
depths of his fame. Many would look upon Antony’s life and be inspired to a greater
level of religious devotion. Perhaps this is all Athanasius ever wanted, an Antony for
whom fame as a monk derives from his status as a man of God, a God-loving
Christian whose thoughts, beliefs, and attitudes, even more so than his actions, would
lead Christians to a greater intimacy with the divine.
HI. Jerome and the Grand Experiment*4
If a late antique man is the sum of his writings, Jerome stands as a giant. His
biblical commentaries, letters, and moral treatises tower over western Christendom.
With his contemporary, Augustine, Jerome’s light would blaze upon thousands of
Christians for centuries to come. He would take on such illustrious titles as church
father and Saint Jerome. If Jerome were alive today, he would no doubt smile upon
his legacy. He spent so much o f his own lifetime trying to secure it. In fact, Jerome
might have written saints’ lives, women’s lives, and scriptural lives’, but his most
enduring creation is his own life.83
83 Brennan, p. 219.
84 Jerome’s ascetic writings and hagiographies can be found in Patrologia Latina 22 and 23. The Lives
o f Hilarionis and Malchus are in Volume 23,23.29-54, and 55-62 respectively. English translations,
which I loosely follow, are in R. Deferrari. ed.. Early Christian Biographies. (Washington, DC:
Catholic U of America P. 1952). Translations of the letters are numerous, including that in the Nicene
and Post Nicene Fathers, Vol. 6. which I have greatly modified in this chapter.
85 M. Vessey. "Jerome’s Origen: The Making of a Christian Literary Persona.” Studia Patristica 28
(1993), pp. 135-7.
35
Jerome thus challenges us at every step along the path of reading his works.
His views often oppose and contradict each other, as Jerome constantly creates and
recreates himself. How, then, can we possibly make sense of his views on <7 0 x77015;
views which are not simply scattered over different genres and regions, but also over
different decades? This question is not easy to answer. The only means of coping
with a figure o f such vast proportions as Jerome is to narrow the focus. For this
reason, I will devote the bulk of my attention to Jerome’s hagiographies, attempting to
assess his understanding of doKrjoi$ in light of his interpretation of Antony. If
scholars have devoted so much ink to debunking the traditional view of Antony, it
seems significant to understand how Jerome shaped this view. The hagiographies, in
this sense, are quite valuable, since they provide a response to and interpretation of
Athanasius. Obviously, this interpretation did not take place in a vacuum, as Jerome
himself was a practicing ascetic and builder of ascetic communities. In order to
understand some o f the underpinnings of Jerome’s portrayal o f Antony, then, one first
must comprehend Jerome’s own views o f aoKrjoifso as to come to terms with how
these views are transformed into saintly ideals.
Jerome’s letters to women provide us with a provocative entryway into
Jerome’s a o K T j a i s ■ Most, if not all, scholars find Jerome’s letters to women far more
appealing and comprehensible than his lives. The lives are shrouded in mysterious
creatures, miraculous events, and vituperative preaching. The letters, at least those
addressed to women, are instructional and deliberately so .86 Jerome’s lives tend to
focus on broad themes of the monastic life - solitude, poverty, and chastity. His
letters micromanage the ascetic life. They dictate when to pray, what to wear, how to
visit the martyrs’ shrines, and how to fast. Jerome sets himself up as an ascetic master
and a builder of communitas, advising women how to lead a Christian life. In so
doing, Jerome provides a detailed blueprint o f a conversatio to God, a conversion to
the ascetic life.
This blueprint reminds us a great deal of Tertullian. In Tertullian’s writings,
the Christian must always be wary of his pagan surroundings. Tertullian draws a
sharp line between the Christian and society, putting forth a moral code which will
define the Christian against the heathen civilization which is always endanger of
engulfing him or her. He strongly avows that “there is nothing which hints of
opposition to God which is not assigned to demons and unclean spirits” .87 For
Tertullian, every aspect of Roman society hints o f opposition to God. The spectacles,
military garb, the presence of statues to pagan gods, the crown; in short, every visible
part of the city offers a potential danger. To be a Christian, then, demands strict
opposition to these dangers. In many senses, it demands opposition to the Roman
empire, although Tertullian tries to downplay the rebellious overtones of his message
by stating that God has placed the emperor on the throne, and the Christians pray for
his continual safety.88 Nonetheless, the basic implications o f Tertullian’s message are
86 cf. E. Clark. Jerome, Chrysostom, and Friends. (New York: Edwin Mellon P, 1979), p. 47; P.
Rousseau, Ascetics, Authority, and the Church in the Age ofJerome and John Cassian. (Oxford:
Oxford U P, 1978), pp. 109-133.
87 Tertullian. On Idolatry, 1.
88 Tertullian, Apology. 30; 33; 36.
37
insularity and isolation. Only by closing himself off from society can the Christian
hope to live a life worthy o f his or her faith.
Jerome would take this message, in the Christian empire, to its next extreme.
His message is one that takes account of society at every turn. One might argue that
the same could be said for every piece of extant ascetic literature. This is not the case,
however. It is true that the vast majority of ascetic literature rejects society and fears
its dangers. This rejection usually consists of isolation or alienation from civilization.
Much less frequently does ascetic literature attack society. Jerome’s asceticism is
such an attack. It is a radical break from society, so radical that nothing society could
possibly offer is of any merit to the aspiring ascetic. An ascetic must live completely
oblivious to the world, shunning its clothing, its diet, its mode of life, and even its
company.89 For a monk like Antony out in the desert, this was not so difficult. For a
wealthy woman like Marcella living in Rome, the first woman to embrace the
monastic life, it was far more complicated.90 Her behavior shocked her
contemporaries. This is exactly what Jerome wanted, or at least, wanted to convey.91
So sharp is the line o f demarcation between society and the ascetic that Jerome
even goes so far as to lay out a physiognomies o f asceticism. That is, Jerome
emphasizes physical characteristics o f the ascetic which point to his or her sanctity.
For this reason, he portrays Paula as least remarkable in speech, gesture, and gait
89 Jerome, ep. 22,24,108,127.
90 Jerome, ep. 127: nulla eo tempore nobilium feminarum nouerat Romae propositum monachorum nee
audebat propter rei nouitatem ignominiosum. ut tunc putabur, et uile in populis nomen adsumere.
91 cf. M. Vessey, “Jerome’s Origen: The Making of a Christian Literary Persona”. Studia Patristica 28
(1993): 135-145.
38
among the company o f virgins, et cum frequentibus choris uirginum cingeretur, et
ueste et uoce et habitu et incessu minima omnium erat92 Jerome implies that by
drawing no attention to herself, she draws the attention of the divine and thereby
dislodges herself from societal trappings. In an earlier letter dating from the
intervening years between his writing o f the Life o f Paul and that of Hilarion, Jerome
gives an extended account of what a saintly woman should look like. He states that
“Asella’s face is plain enough to indicate continence but not ostentatiously to display
austerity. Her speech is silence and her silence speech. Her walk is neither fast nor
slow. Her appearance is always the same. She neglects neatness and her dress is
untidy”, ita pallor infacie est, ut, cum continentiam indicet, non redoleat
ostentationem. Sermo silens et silentium toquens, nec citus nec tardus incessus, idem
semper habitus, neglecta mundities et inculta ueste93 Every aspect o f Asella’s
behavior makes clear her status as an ascetic and her separation from society. In
effect, her outward behavior points to her internal sanctity. It points to her soul. Care
o f the soul seems to underlie Jerome’s advise to Eustochium that she let her
companions “be those pale of face and thin with fasting, approved by their years and
their conduct”, sint tibi sociae, quas uideris quod ieiunia tenuant, quibus pallor in
facie est, quas et aetas probauit et uita.94 The alternative, the corpulent and thus
lascivious women in society is simply unacceptable and could prove a grave danger,
corrupting the soul.
91 Jerome, ep. 108.
93 Jerome, ep. 24.
94 Jerome, ep. 22.
39
Jerome’s women are a far cry from Antony whose body looks exactly the same
after twenty years of fasting. Asceticism for Jerome, then, involves a revolutionary
change in appearance, a change which makes clear the rejection of all worldly
ornamentation. This change contains a number of important implications. The first is
that Jerome is not adopting Athanasius’ theological schema. The Lord intervenes to
ensure the preservation o f Antony’s body in Athanasius’ hagiography. His body is
rarely pale or decrepit. The Lord does not intervene in Jerome’s letters, so ascetic
bodies are worn out by their physical labors. The markings of these labors point to a
greater independence o f the ascetic in Jerome’s writings than in Athanasius’, as
Jerome’s ascetics do not receive the same degree of divine attention and guidance that
Antony does.
One o f the ramifications of this independence lies in the conception of imitatio.
For Athanasius, it is more implicit than explicit, far from exacting and more abstract
than prescriptive. Jerome’s imitatio appears throughout his letters, as he constantly
exhorts them to model themselves on the lives and behavior of others. He advises
Demetrias not simply to imitate Jesus but also to imitate her mother and grandmother,
auiae tuae tibi semper ac matris in ore dulcedo uersetur, quorum imitatioforma
uirtutis est9i Jerome’s panegyric on Marcella also puts forth a distinct focus on
imitatio, as Jerome begins by stating that he is responding to Principia’s desire to
describe Marcella’s goodness so that others may enjoy and imitate it, ceteris
noscendum imitandumque describam.96 This language o f imitatio is much more
95 Jerome, ep. 130.1
40
precise than we find in Athanasius, and it brings to light a fundamental difference
between the two writers in their conception o f ascetic behavior. Athanasius is not so
interested in giving a detailed account of the daily actions in Antony’s life. Jerome
takes a passionate concern in outlining every nuance of daily behavior, setting out
times to pray and to eat. In his panegyric o f Marcella, the level o f detail is so acute as
to include an outline of her clothing, her visitations to martyr shrines, and her poverty.
So elaborate is Jerome’s portrayal that it is possible to mirror Marcella’s lifestyle,
using it as a guide to every attribute of the ascetic life.
Another significant implication of Jerome’s physiognomy is the understanding
of virtue. Jerome’s ascetic virtues seem much more practical than those of
Athanasius. That is, they do not seem so concerned with understanding the intentions
of the ascetics as much as the actions of the ascetic. For Jerome, the intention seems
to lie in the extremity o f the ascetic’s action. Intense fasting or complete renunciation
measure the ardor o f one’s faith. Virtue is defined through poverty, chastity, fasting,
and the like. Jerome is not so much interested in intention, as fulfillment of these
virtues. The intention gives rise to the action and thus the virtue. For this reason,
Jerome relishes the opportunity to tell his audience about the length of Paula’s
devotion to Christ, noting that she licked with her mouth the very spot on which the
Lord’s body had lain, like one athirst for a river.97 Jerome’s words testify to the
extremity of Paula’s devotion. Such an extremity underlies Paula’s asceticism, an
asceticism which demanded that she never bathe and reduced her to abject poverty.
Poverty and the refusal to bathe are virtues for Paula on a scale o f absolutes. They do
96 Jerome, ep. 127.
41
not exist in moderation, only in drastic actions, such as her licking of Christ’s tomb,
showcasing her virtue and shaping her aaKrjoi
One of these actions, poverty, receives a great deal of emphasis throughout
Jerome’s letters. Jerome does this as part and parcel o f his critique o f the secular
world. By narrowing the dimensions of the Christian lifestyle to such an extent as to
allow it little room to maneuver, Jerome brings to light the underlying message o f his
asceticism: to take aim at the elite members of society, those members who oppose
aoKqoisand have the most to lose in Jerome’s ascetic vision. Jerome’s message is
thus profoundly social, far exceeding the terms Athanasius lays out. Athanasius seeks
inclusion, Jerome exclusion. Athanasius inspires, Jerome chides. One factor which
may account for this discrepancy is that Jerome can stand as a prophet, ignoring the
needs o f a larger community; whereas, Athanasius the bishop must chart a far more
moderate course. Jerome tears apart the community a bishop like Athanasius would
lead, setting up an alternative community in his letters for the female ascetics to
embrace, a community that represents a complete revision and rejection of society as a
whole.
It should come as no surprise, then, that Jerome’s hagiographies are scathing
criticisms o f his society. They define the holy man as a redeemer, a patron, a
visionary, and a model. They transform late antique understandings o f the ascetic, the
monk, and the saint. They transform our picture of Antony. The Life o f Paul presents
Jerome’s first image o f Antony. This image seems to be a deliberate rewriting of
Athanasius’ Antony. It places Antony in a much more subordinate position to Paul. It
97 Jerome, ep. 108.
42
also explicitly criticizes some of the details in Athanasius’ work by stating that no one
has discovered how Paul lived during his middle life and what snares of Satan he
endured, quomodo aiitem in media aetate vixerat, et quas Satanae pertulerit insidias,
nulli homimim compertum habetur98 This criticism brings to light a striking contrast
between Jerome’s hagiographies and Athanasius’ text. Demons are barely present in
Jerome’s monastic lives, hovering on the edge of the hagiography and only getting
significant attention in a few sections of the Life o f Hilarion. The constant struggles
against demons which mark Antony’s life are deliberately removed from Paul’s life,
and they play a significantly less important role in Hilarion’s. This divergence points
to a completely different view o f the soul, as Jerome does not embrace the Athanasian
theological schema, a schema predicated on ascent. Jerome does not seem to believe
that the ascetic is struggling with demons at each stage of his or her existence, relying
on Christ to overcome these oppressors. Instead, the ascetic stands on his own two
feet in the hagiographies, and in so doing, his behavior and life become a model for
others. For this reason, Christ steps off the center stage in Jerome’s hagiographies. In
his stead, the monks assume the pivotal role in the text, as they are the ones who are
often credited with performing miracles, exorcizing demons, or achieving numerous
virtues. They are not so much defined, as Antony is, by their relationship to the
divine, as by their extraordinary achievement. This extraordinary achievement
presents a very different interpretation of the saint, as someone whose life and actions
imitate or represent those of Christ. The saint now sets the standard, because he
defines a standard as opposed to defining an attitude or the terms of a relationship.
98 Jerome. Life o f Paul, I; P. Leclerc. “Antoine et Paul: metamorphose d’un heros”. In Y.-M. Duval,
43
His actions govern others. Antony’s actions are never so important. His intentions,
his piety, and his obedience to the divine are. Athanasius seems to tell us that all his
actions are products of these three attributes. Jerome might agree, but he presents the
actions above intention and devotion. He uses the saints to offer a commentary on the
virtues, showing how their virtues should become a model for others.
How does Jerome’s Life o f Paul flesh out this picture? Jerome’s hagiography
achieves a couple o f important aims. The first is that it suggests Paul is the oldest
monk. As such, his behavior should govern the perception of monasticism. This
perception is grounded in solitude. Paul’s defining characteristic is his total isolation
in the desert. This isolation accounts for the strange beings we see in the text. Patricia
Cox Miller can state that “by introducing the centaur into the desert and by asserting
the appropriateness of its presence there, Jerome has intensified the significance of the
desert by giving it an imaginative dimension drawn from myth”, and this statement
may prove insightful." It might make much more sense, however, if we perceive
Jerome’s portrayal o f the desert in the work as a commentary on Paul and Antony.
Paul is so far removed from Antony, and from Jerome for that matter, that a centaur
lurks in his desert, a being not at all familiar to Antony. Antony ventures into
unknown territory and is completely lost. Only through the guidance o f the spirit does
he end up finding Paul, and once he finds him, he is four days removed from his
retreat in the desert. Jerome thus heightens Paul’s solitude by placing strange beasts in
ed., Jerome entre I 'Occident et I 'Orient. Paris: Etudes augustiniennes, 1988, p. 259.
99 P. Cox Miller. “Jerome’s Centaur A Hvper-Icon of the Desert”. Journal o f Early Christian Studies
4 (19%), pp. 220-1.
44
the desert and by making Antony so disoriented. To round out this dislocation, he has
Paul, the monk in solitude, ask Antony, the man traditionally perceived as the first
desert hermit, about society. Irony is in full force, as Paul states, “I beg of you, how is
man faring in the world? Are there new roofs rising in the ancient cities? What power
rules over them? Are there still some ensnared by the error of demons?”, narra mihi,
quaeso, quomodo, ut se habeat humanum genus. An in antiquis urbibus nova tecta
consurgant: quo mundus regatur imperio: an supersint aliqui, qui daemonum errore
rapiantur 100 Paul’s questions resemble those of a man completely removed from
society confronting a visitor from the city. Paul’s isolation makes Antony serve this
role, Antony who is supposedly the first monk to wander off into the desert and sever
his ties with society. Paul is so removed that Antony, by comparison, is his link to the
outside world.
Paul’s removal from the world and from Antony signals his heightened
sanctity. Antony longs to join Paul on his journey to the afterlife and does not want to
return to his monastery, Jerome implies, because he has met someone of a higher
spiritual stature. Antony in effect becomes Paul’s disciple, looking after and burying
his body upon Paul’s death. He even receives Paul’s tunic, a veritable symbol o f the
legacy Paul now passes on to Antony.
Paul’s superiority to Antony offers a commentary on society. Jerome seems to
suggest, at least in this monastic work at an early stage of his life, that the greater the
solitude, the greater the monk. Hilarion will veer from this message, but Hilarion’s
biography is still years away, in a time when Jerome himself had left the desert and
100 Jerome, Life o f Paul, 10.
45
visited the city.101 Jerome makes explicit the critique Paul offers to society at the end
o f the work. He writes that
I should like to close ... by asking those whose heritage

is so vast that they cannot keep account of it, ... if there
was anything wanting to this naked old man... You
wear tunics interwoven with gold; he did not possess
even the covering of the meanest of your slaves. On the
contrary, paradise opens for him, a pauper; hell awaits
you, robed in luxury. He, naked, has preserved the
garment of Christ; you, clothed in silks, have cast off the
vestment of Christ. Paul, who lies covered with the
lowliest dust, will rise again in glory; you, pressed down
by mighty sepulchres of stone, will bum with your
riches. Have mercy, I beseech you; at least, spare the
riches which you love so much... Why does not your
ambition cease with grief and tears? 10
Jerome’s words vehemently denounce the wealthy. They establish Paul as a complete
contrast to societal wealth, emphasizing his nude body, lacking any ornamentation,
and his lowly state in the dirt. Jerome never mentions the soul in this message, but the
implication is that salvation hinges upon one’s behavior. Spare the riches and
embrace the dirt. Put on Christ and remove the trappings o f society. This is the means
to salvation. It is truly a contrast to Athanasius who urges faith in order to overcome
the demons. Here, the message is to overcome society in order to find the kingdom of
heaven.
101 cf. P. Rousseau. Ascetics, Authority, and the Church. (Oxford: Oxford U P. 1978), p. 136.
102 Jerome, Life o f Paul, 17. [iibet in fine opusculi eos mterrogare, qui sua patrimonia... huic seni nudo
quid unquam defiuit... Vos in tunicis aurum texitis, ille ne vilissimi quidem indumentum habuit mancipii
vestri. Sed e contrario illi pauperculo paradisus patet, vos auratos gehenna suscipiet. Illevestem
Christi, nudus licet, tamen servavit; vos vestiti sericis, indumentum Christi perdidistis. Paulus vilissimo
pulvere coopertus iacet resurrecturus in gloriam: vos operosa saxis sepulchra premunt cum vestris
opibus arsuros. Parcite, quaeso, vos parcite saltern divitiis quas amatis... Cur ambitio inter luctus
lacrymasque non cessat?]
46
The Life o f Hilarion written significantly after the Life o f Paul would offer a
different picture. It would offer a picture of a saint who spends some time in society.
It would offer a different portrayal o f Antony which thrusts Antony into the forefront
of our understanding o f a late antique saint. To achieve this end, it presents Hilarion, a
monk whose life imitates and thus interprets Antony’s. Jerome makes explicit the ties
between the two o f them in a very early part of his work. He notes that upon meeting
Antony,
Hilarion changed his whole mode of life and remained

close by him for almost two months, intently observing
his way of living, the gravity of his conduct, his frequent
prayer, his meekness and humility in dealing with the
brothers, his severity in correcting them, and finally, his
stem continence and mortification in eating, which no
infirmity ever interrupted.103
Jerome’s words here portray Hilarion as a follower and imitator o f Antony’s conduct.
These are the qualities Hilarion wishes to embrace in Antony, qualities which seem
quite removed from those Athanasius stresses. From Antony, Hilarion can emerge as
an ascetic leader, and this emergence forms the background of Jerome’s picture of
Hilarion and Antony.
The early stages o f Hilarion’s career are marked by imitatio o f Antony. He
receives a garment from Antony, his only clothing, which he wears. 104 This external
sign points to the spiritual direction Antony is imparting upon Hilarion. Like Antony,
Hilarion spends the first few years of his life battling demons. He lives in the desert
103 Jerome, Life o f Hilarion, 3. [Et statim ut eum vidit, mutato pristino duobusfere mensibus luxta eum
mansit, contemplans ordinem vitae eius morumque gravitatem; quam creber in oratione, quam humilis
in suscipiendisfratribus, sevens in corripiendis, alacer in exhortandis esset; et ut continentiam,
cibique eius asperitatem nulla unquam infirmitasfrangeret\.
47
for more than twenty years, reminiscent of Antony’s isolation in a cave, finally getting
a visit from a woman. His solitude points to his miraculous virtue, virtue which he
spends years developing. 105 Like Paul and Antony, he recognizes solitude as the basis
for his conversatio to the ascetic life. This solitude allows Hilarion the opportunity to
grow into the monastic life, into his role as a spiritual exemplar.
Hilarion’s life in the desert aliows him to become the founder o f the monastic
movement in Palestine, fimdator et eruditor huius conversations et studii in hac
provincia fitit, much as Antony was conceived of being the founder of the monastic
movement in the Egyptian desert.106 As such, his life provides the example for others
who embrace the monastic life. For this reason, Jerome provides an encyclopedic
description o f Hilarion’s diet, giving an extremely detailed account o f Hilarion’s
culinary habits so that others would know how to imitate Hilarion’s lifestyle and they
would recognize what it means to be an ascetic. 107 Hilarion is after all their model, as
Jerome makes clear, stating all the monks flocked to him, inspired by his example,
exemplo itaque eius per totam Palaestinam innumerabilia monasteria esse coeperunt,
et omnes ad eum monachi certatim currere.108 In the very next paragraph, Jerome
fleshes out one vital part o f Hilarion’s example, stating that he gave an example o f
humility and duty to all, exemplum eis dare et humilitatis et officii109 What is
104 Jerome, Life o f Hilarion, 4.
105 cf. Jerome, Life o f Hilarion. 14.
106 Jerome, Life o f Hilarion. 14.
Ia7 Jerome, Life o f Hilarion. 11.
108 Jerome, Life o f Hilarion. 24.
48
intriguing here is that this example actually brings us back to Athanasius’ Antony, as it
involves showing studium. Hilarion shows such studium that he does not neglect even
the poorest brother on his visitation to the monasteries. This zeal is put forward as an
example to the other brothers for their treatment o f one another, but one key ingredient
is missing from that which we find in Athanasius: the divine.
At other points, Jerome does invoke the divine, adopting the language o f faith
in his hagiographies and letters. Clearly, faith and zeal were of some importance, as
was Christ. Hilarion gets a village to convert to Christ by promising to return if it
embraces the savior. 110 Christ is obviously the centerpiece of the Christan faith for
Hilarion, and Hilarion occasionally calls upon Christ to make effective exorcisms and
healings. What is fascinating, however, is that it is not essential for Hilarion to invoke
the name o f Christ. Hilarion can perform miracles without divine intervention. He
does so on a number of occasions, healing a man of paralysis and exorcising a demon
from a man. 111 The absence of Christ in some of Hilarion’s miracles and the sheer
number o f them strongly differentiate Hilarion from Antony. This differentiation is
indicative of Jerome’s understanding o f sanctity. At times, the work reads as if it is a
long litany of signa which Hilarion performs. He exorcises and heals on a number of
occasions. These signa highlight the power of the saint and point to his stature as an
exemplar, a holy man who embodies Christ. Jerome even makes this embodiment
explicit at certain points, stating that following the example of the savior, Hilarion
111 Jerome, life o f Hilarion, 17; 19.
49
rubbed spittle upon a woman’s eyes and she was immediately cured, exspuit in oculos
eius; statimque Salvatoris exemplum virtus eadem prosecuta est. 112 Such a statement
would be extremely out of place in Athanasius’ work. Antony does not follow the
example o f the savior; he follows the savior. There is a clear line of hierarchy
Jerome would recognize this hierarchy, but not necessarily in the same manner He is
free to equate the actions of his saint with those of the savior, highlighting the role of
the saint as Christ’s representative on earth whose actions make clear the presence of
the divine.
These actions mark a dramatic re-interpretation of Antony as a Christ-carrying
exemplar and late antique saint. We see this picture unfold in Hilarion, Antony’s
Palestinian equivalent arising out of Antony’s mold. At a key part of the work,
Antony chides the sick for visiting him when they have Hilarion in Palestine. 113 In
this brief sentence, Antony is represented primarily as a miracle worker. The Life o f
Antony also attributes this role to Antony, but it is one of a number of Antony’s
qualities and the role is always meant to place Antony in a subservient position to God
who uses Antony as his instrument to heal. Jerome is not concerned to make all these
distinctions and provisos apparent. One can visit Antony just for being Antony and be
cured.
In fact, one of the striking discontinuities o f the text involves its understanding
o f cult. Jerome presents a fascinating scene in which Hilarion visits Antony’s
disciples and basically treats Antony like a saint. He requests to know where Antony
50
prayed, what shrubs he planted, and where his cell was. Hilarion is enraptured by
each o f these sights, stopping to lie on Antony’s pallet and kiss it as if it were still
warm from his body, iacebat in stratu eius, et quasi calens adhuc cubile
deosculabatur114 This is exactly the type of activity upon which Vigilantius would
frown. 115 For more moderate sensibilities, the actions of Hilarion seem out of place
and even scandalous, particularly when confronted with Antony whom Athanasius
insisted had no place for cult. Jerome is quite aware of this, but proceeds anyway,
pointing out that Hilarion was eager to know where Antony’s body was buried. Of
course, Jerome is not entirely sure whether Hilarion was shown this spot or not. What
is certain, however, is that there was no shrine to Antony, since he did not want a
martyr’s shrine. 116
Curiously, however, Hilarion has two shrines which both seem to be focal
points for cultic activity. Jerome ends his narrative by claiming “to this day, you may
find a wonderful and holy rivalry between the people o f Palestine and the people o f
Cyprus, the former claiming to possess Hilarion’s body; the latter, his spirit. In both
places, great signs appear daily”, cemas usque hodie miram inter Palaestinos et
Cyprios contentionem, his corpus Hiiarionis, illis spiritum se habere certantibus. Et
tamen in utrisque locis magna quotidie signaJiunt.117 These two sites of supernatural
splendors are obviously a drastic contrast from Athanasius’ Antony. Antony is strictly
114 Jerome, UJe o f Hilarion, 31.
115 See Jerome. Against Vigilantius.
1,6 Jerome, Life o f Hilarion, 31.
51
presented as a servant of God through whom Christ performs an abundance of
miracles and whose body is deliberately hidden to prevent activity o f the sort which
becomes the norm for Hilarion’s afterlife.
Jerome’s Hilarion, then, is above all a saint. Jerome defines him as a
performer o f miracles. His role as a miracleworker attracts attention throughout the
work - whether he is in Palestine, Sicily, or Cyprus. People constantly flock to him.
Jerome’s hagiography is in many senses a record of these gatherings, whether they
take place during or after his life. The specifically monastic qualities of Hilarion get
much less attention. What is stated is that Hilarion models himself on Antony. He
receives instructions from Antony, imitating his lifestyle and leadership over others in
the first part o f his ascetic career. Using these instructions, he forms a number of
monasteries throughout Palestine, which arise specifically through his example and
direction. Later, he leaves, bringing his saintly qualities to the world. These feature
his miracles. They also, however, present his rejection o f the world, his constant
attempt to shy away from attention. He has little success, but Jerome emphasizes that
what is most amazing is how Hilarion tramples all glory and honor. 118 In spite of his
number o f visitors, he thought of nothing but solitude. This prompts his departure
from Palestine and his constant wandering. In this sense, he is very much like Paul.
Solitude meant isolation from the world in Jerome’s terms. It was a way o f rejecting
the world. Hilarion’s presence in the world, though, lacks the powerful connotations
o f rejection in the Life o f Paul, but it does establish an alternative power to the world
1,8 Jerome, Life o f Hilarion. 30.
52
in his innumerable miracles. These miracles make clear the divine in a world craving
for spiritual intervention. Hilarion is the one who provides this, marking his role, and
thus Jerome’s conception of a saint.
IV. Conclusion
To say the least, Jerome’s conception o f a saint is remarkably different from
Athanasius’ Antony and re-shapes the picture Athanasius offers. No longer is a saint
simply someone who is devoted to the divine. Now the saint stands on his own, a
powerful figure who is a Christ-carrying exemplar. This picture of the saint is the one
late antique scholars are accustomed to, and one which pervades the Middle Ages.
In reading Jerome, then, we must be aware of the importance of the saint in his
hagiographicai writings. The writings operate on two levels: the ascetic mimetic and
the saintly. The emphasis on the first, on imitating qualities of the saint on a daily
basis provides the opportunity for the second. It is this second which marks the
ascetic as a person of distinction of late antiquity. It is the first which probably
dominated the historical landscape, as Jerome’s letters definitely suggest. The rest of
this dissertation will deal predominantly with the first, trying to understand what
asceticism was, to whom, how ascetic behavior could be imitated, and of what this
imitation would consist. The second will appear intermittently, in times when the first
question became much larger and more political than any desert ascetic could ever
imagine.
Chapter 2: Asceticism as a Way of Life
I. Introduction
Pilgrimage was the great limirtal experience o f the

religious life. I f mysticism is an interior pilgrimage,
pilgrimage is an exteriorized mysticism.1
The first chapter grappled with one of the more fascinating relationships in late
antique literature, that between the saint and his or her hagiographer. The distance
separating them seemed so great, and as the works of Jerome showed, the pages in the
hagiography only served to magnify the separation. Closing the gap between the holy
man and his hagiographer ‘disciple’ was thus a most difficult task, and it often
required the most skilled of hagiographers, like an Athanasius, to present his audience
with a saint who seemed more accessible to his audience because the saint exemplified
qualities w hich appealed to and promoted a more general religiosity. Yet the fact that
it has taken scholars so long to perceive a far less superhuman Antony than the men of
Athanasius’ generation seems to prove Athanasius’ lack of success in winnowing
Antony down. No matter how much Athanasius wanted a more ecclesiastical friendly
Antony, he would always be the saint par excellent, the majestic man of the desert.
And it is the ‘desert’ which is the great wall o f late antique literature, dividing
saint from secular, holy from profane. The hagiographer tried to scale the wall with
his text; the pilgrim, the subject of this chapter, tried to scale the wall by climbing it.
1 V. Turner and E. Turner, Image and Pilgrimage in Christian Culture: Anthropological Perspectives.
(New York: Columbia U P, 1978), p. 7. Some of the more provocative studies of pilgrimage in light of
Turner’s work that have helped shape the conceptual framework of this chapter include C. Slater, Trail
o f Miracles: Storiesfrom a Pilgrimage in Northeast Brazil. (Berkeley: U of California P. 1986); J.
Eade and M. Sallnow, eds.. Contesting the Sacred: The Anthropology o f Christian Pilgrimage.
(London: Routledge. 1991); J. Dubisch, In a Different Place: Pilgrimage, Gender, and Politics o f a
Greek Island Shrine. (Princeton, NJ: Princeton U P. 1995).
54
By the late fourth century, many pilgrims would have made such a climb, as late
antique pilgrims traveled to places as exotic as the holy lands of Jerusalem, the remote
confines o f Syria, and the barren deserts o f Egypt, surveying the bizarre and
unfamiliar, the holy and the demonic.2 These pilgrims sought to come into contact
with the important artifacts o f the Christian past and the charismatic figures of the
Christian present, to experience the gospel stories firsthand, to meditate, contemplate,
and reach a greater intimacy with the divine. Their memoirs, letters, and tales bear
witness to the mysticism o f their travels, as the groans resounding throughout the
pages o f Egeria’s text, and the fervor pulsating with every beat of Jerome’s pen
brought their religious experiences into a nearly blinding light. With every word, the
readers o f their texts were taken far away to the shrines and sanctuaries travelers like
Jerome and Egeria visited, so much so that these readers ofien could re-create and
participate in the pilgrimage themselves.3
These re-creations lie at the heart o f pilgrim narratives. The effects they create
are deliberate, as ancient writers were very aware o f how powerful an impression they
could imprint upon the minds o f their audience.4 A profound reverence seems to
sweep through their writings, as the line o f demarcation between the holy and the
pilgrim is sharply drawn. Two sources capture this awe quite clearly: Palladius’
2 For a study o f these journeys, see E.D. Hunt, Holy Land Pilgrimage in the Later Roman Empire AD
312-460. (Oxford: Clarendon P. 1982).
3 By readers. 1 mean the audience of the text that the author imagines he/she is addressing. Most
pilgrim narratives are written with a definite audience in mind. For example, in the case of the Historia
Monachorum, the author is addressing the monks from his monastery in Jerusalem.
4 As the ancient genre of ecphrasis makes clear. See R. Webb. “Ekphrasis Ancient and Modem: The
Invention of a Genre”. Word & Image 15 (1999): 7-18.
55
Lausiac History and the Historia Monachorum5 Both works are not so much about
traveling to distant lands as traveling to distant peoples. They catalogue monks,
providing their audiences with a lens through which to view these eccentric, but holy
people. In so doing, they not only control the rhetoric of viewing; they also control
the means of understanding, reacting to, learning from, imitating, and interacting with
the monks.6 It is important to come to terms with the degree to which the writers
shape their ascetic texts. They are not mere memoirs or travelogues but attempts to
define the holy and define how their audience should understand the holy.
O f course, this begs the question: how exactly should the audience understand
the holy? In the cases o f the Historia Monachorum and the Lausiac History, the
answer is by no means clear. These texts present such a diversity of monks that any
attempt to create coherence from the text seems difficult, if not impossible. It should
come as no surprise, then, that these texts have been for the most part ignored, buried
amidst the ever-growing heap o f ascetic scholarship. Studies of the works are quite
rare, and our knowledge of the texts seems even more sparse.
5The standard edition of Palladius’ text is that by C. Butler, The Lausiac History. 2 volumes.
(Cambridge: Cambridge U P, 1989-1904). I will refer to the Italian edition of G. Bartelink, La Storia
Lausiaca. (Milan: A Mondadori, 1974) and the English translation of R. Meyer in the Ancient Christian
Writers series. The Lausiac History. (Westminster, MD: Newman P, 1965). The Historia Monachorum
receives excellent treatment from A Festugiere, Historia Monachorum in Aegypto. (Bruxelles: Soci&d
des Bollandistes, 1971). An English translation exists, edited by N. Russell, The Lives of the Desert
Fathers. (Kalamazoo, Mich: Cisterician Publications, 1980), which I follow with some modifications.
See R. Reitzenstein, Historia monachorum und Historia Lausiaca: Eine Studie zur Geschichte des
MOnchtums und derfrOhchristlichen Begrijfe Gnostiker und Pneumatiker. (Gottingen: Vandenhoeck &
Ruprecht, 1916) for a detailed treatment of the two texts.
6 cf. A. Cameron, Christianity and the Rhetoric ofEmpire: The Development o f Christian Discourse.
(Berkeley: U of California P, 1991), p. 57; G. Frank. The Memory o f the Eyes: Pilgrims to Living Saints
in Christian Late Antiquity. (Berkeley: U of California P, 2000), p. 5,51.
56
Yet the texts do provide us with a knowledge of monks in the late fourth
century, and this point should not be overlooked. The texts tell us who the monks are,
giving them names and identities. More importantly, the texts declare why the monks
are worthy o f being included in their narratives. That is, they proclaim the ‘holiness’
o f the monks. This holiness is measured on a scale which the preface of the texts puts
forward: lifestyle. Palladius writes immediately before beginning his narrative that he
“shall leave unmentioned no one in the cities, or in the villages, or in the desert. For
we are not concerned with the place where they settled, but rather it is their way of life
[ npoaipeois] that we seek” 7 In a similar vein, the author of the Historia
Monachorum ends his prologue by writing that “I shall begin this account with a
description o f the way o f life [ woAtreia] o f the holy and great fathers, and show that
even in these times the Savior performs through them what he performed through the
prophets and apostles” 8 What is remarkable about both statements is not simply that
the writers emphasize the lifestyles of the monks as a barometer for analyzing and
understanding them but that despite the diversity o f monastic lifestyles, the authors
believe that a careful study o f these lifestyles will enlighten and edify their audiences.
When one reads the stories within the texts, this belief seems absurd, as the monks
7 Palladius. Lausiac History, prol. 16. It should be noted that Palladius usually uses the term iroArrefa
as opposed to jrpoafpeaiy. This latter term has a variety of meanings, ranging from “will” or
“purpose” to “conduct”. It has a rich histoty in philosophical circles, such as that of Aristotle (see, for
example, Nicomachean Ethics 3.2-3.4), in which, at least in Sorabji’s view, it does not represent a kind
of 'will-power’. Instead it means “the desire for the means which will leads towards the ends”.
Epictetus, by contrast, or so Sorajbi argues, makes irpoafpeaiy free from all constraint, and it is thus
much closer to a concept of will in Stoic thought For a more detailed discussion of jrpoafpeav, see R.
Sorajbi, Emotion and Peace o f Mind- From Stoic Agitation to Christian Temptation. (Oxford: Oxford
U P. 2000), pp. 325-333; R. Dobbin, “Proairesis in Epictetus”. Ancient Philosophy 11 (1991): 111-35.
8 Historia Monachorum, prol. 13.
57
perform feats as extraordinary as fasting to the brink of death, converting the judges
presiding over their execution, taming large serpents, and enduring so many mosquito
bites as to become disfigured. The monks seem part of another world, and the author
o f the Historia Monachorum is more than willing to acknowledge this, stating that
monks “do not busy themselves with any earthly matter or take account o f anything
that belongs to this transient world. But while dwelling on earth in this manner they
live as true citizens o f heaven. Some of them do not even know that another world
exists on earth, or that evil is found in cities” 9 If the monks inhabit another world,
how are their lifestyles at all instructive? What can the audiences reading these texts
possibly learn from the monks? What does it mean for the monks to be models of
edification, when this edification is so far beyond the readers’ worlds as to be
impossible to comprehend or even believe? 10
This chapter aims to answer these questions. It will carefully examine the
words depicting the ascetic lifestyle and the connotations of these words, connotations
which present a cleverly crafted image of the ascetic to the audiences of the texts. In
so doing, the chapter will show that a great deal of the ascetic portrait hinges not upon
individual ascetics but upon the language of aoKT\ois, language which is deliberately
directed at the audience of the texts. Through this language and the picture of
ccckt]o is which it creates, the writers of pilgrim narratives attempt to give their
audiences an understanding o f the monk and o f what the monk should represent which
9 Historia Monachorum, prol. 5-6.
10 Although the ancient world lacked the religious skepticism of our world, this does not mean that
everyone believed the tales told about the saints and their miracles. Sulpicius Severus acknowledges
that many had doubts about the veracity of Martin of Tour’s exploits in his Dialogues, m.5.
58
crystallizes the ascetic life as a monastic teaching, impacts the audiences’ worlds, and
brings the audiences a greater awareness o f the holy life.
D. The Historia Monachorum11
In the late fourth century, a troop of monks traveled from Jerusalem to the
Egyptian desert. They came to see monks who, in many cases, lived far from the
civilized world, monks who had limited contact with outsiders, and monks who, in one
or two cases, refused to acknowledge that women even existed. The record of their
travels is a document we call the Historia Monachorum. Addressed to the monastery
in Jerusalem to which the monks belonged, it is an utterly fascinating text, and one
that is difficult to forget. It is nearly impossible to find a late antique text containing
more miracles or miraculous stories than the Historia Monachorum. Supernatural
exploits seem at home in the text, and the author narrates scenes like that of the monk
Patermuthius flying through the air and suddenly appearing before some of his fellow
monks on a roof-top, as if the event is a casual happenstance that is not at all
unusual. 12
For this reason, scholars have tended to dismiss the work. Most studies of the
text focus on the tangled web of its manuscript transmission. 13 Only within the last
couple o f years have more sophisticated studies emerged, looking at the work in light
11 It is a pleasure to acknowledge the substantial linguistic insights I have gained from conversations
with Yannis Papadoyannakis which have greatly aided my thinking about the Historia Monachorum.
12 Historia Monachorum, 10.20.
13 See, for example, C. Bammel. “Problems of the Historia Monachorum". Journal o/Theological
Studies, n.s., 47 (19%): 92-104; A.-J. Festugiere, “La Probleme litteraire de 1” Historia Monachorum”'.
Hermes 83 (1955): 257-284.
59
of its significance to our understanding of late antique asceticism. 14 These studies
have made clear an obvious point, the Historia Monachorum seems absolutely crucial
to any examination o f late antique asceticism as a whole. It is particularly illuminating
since it fashions itself as a narrative depicting the ascetic practices of monks in Egypt
and as a text responding to the needs of a monastic community in Jerusalem. This
audience, unable to make the journey with the monks, seeks, as the author o f the text
tells us, to know the voAiTEia of the celebrated monks in Egypt and receive the same
‘edification’ as their pilgrim brethren. 15
This desire seems to give us an entryway into the text, since it explicitly states
the aim o f the narratives in the work. 16 I will examine this entryway in the paragraphs
to follow. Unfortunately, this entryway does not seem to be that wide. Complications
arise, as iroXireia is a rather broad term, which often takes on very different
meanings. The author of the Historia Monachorum uses the term with at least two
connotations: lifestyle and citizenship; connotations which expand on the request of
the monastic audience in Jerusalem and have considerable consequences for the
aoKrjoifof that monastic community.
The first definition, that of lifestyle, has its share of complications, as lifestyle
is obviously a hard word to pin down. The author of the Historia Monachorum
14 See G. Frank, The Memory o f the Eyes: Pilgrims to Living Saints in Christian Late Antiquity.
(Berkeley: U of California P, 2000); P. Cox Miller. '‘Strategies of Representation in Collective
Biography: Constructing the Subject as Holy”, in T. HSgg and P. Rousseau, eds.. Greek Biography and
Panegyric in Late Antiquity. (Berkeley: U of California P, 2000), pp. 209-255.
15 Historia .Monachorum, prol. 3; cf. prol. 12.
16 cf. Cox Miller, pp. 231-2.
60
provides us with two features to zero in on. These are love and a o x rjo is, woAAft
ayaw rj Ka'i woAArt acncqois, two terms which are set in apposition to wo A ite i'o in
the very sentence from the prologue which explains how the text was crafted to meet
the wishes o f its audience, y p a y a i airrois ra$ tcov e v Aiy& m cp povaxcov
woAiTEtas a s Edsaoaprjv, rrju woAArjv ayaw nv a&rdbv xai woAAqv aoK qoiv17
Love receives far less attention in the narrative than do K rjo is , a word which seems to
typify wo A ite i'o throughout the text. 18 To cite one example, when describing the
Tabennesite monks, the author of the Historia Monachorum marvels at their
wo A ite i'o , a woAirsia consisting of such ascetic practices as wearing sheepskin
cloaks, eating with their faces veiled, keeping silent, and fasting. 19 In another
narrative from the work, the tight connection between d o K rjo is and wo A itei'o is
affirmed, as Patermuthius returns from the desert, giving proof of his aotcqois, an
d o K rjo is which inspired others to take up his woA ite i'o 20
What seems interesting about aoKqois and woAtTEia is the author’s use of
both terms. Neither term seems to carry a very strict meaning of a prescriptive nature.
That is, unlike later monastic rules - such as that of Benedict or the so-called Rule o f
the Master, or even rules contemporary to the Historia Monachorum such as found in
the writings attributed to Pachomius or Evagrius, the Historia Monachorum does not
18 Yet love, and particularly philanthropy, is important, as chapter 18 demonstrates.
19 Historia Monachorum, 3.1-2.
20 Historia Monachorum. 10.9.
61
adopt aoKnois’or no A its (am such an authoritatively didactic manner that the terms
could offer a step by step blueprint on how to live the ascetic life. Instead it offers
more general statements about aoxriois, such as that observed in the case of the
Tabennesite monks, and this point is pivotal for the Jerusalem monastery, as they do
not seem to be receiving edicts for their everyday life.
There are, however, exceptions to this 'rule’ and these exceptions are
revealing. The first chapter of the work on John of Lycopolis sets out several tenets of
aoKTjaig, many of which reappear later on in the text. John’s statements are fairly
general, but they do seem to carry the weight of guidelines to the ascetic life. They
stress humility, avoiding distraction in prayer, knowledge of God, and crrrddeia.21
John builds upon his statements on aoKrjois by offering examples of monks who fail
to live up to some of these precepts. What emerges from John’s speech is a broad
outline of doKrjotf. The succeeding chapters of the narrative do not seem to color in
this outline so well. They expand on or re-affirm some of John’s statements, but they
do not tie the themes John puts forward in such a cohesive or compelling manner as to
develop a consistent theory of aacrjais for the audience to embrace.
One chapter deviating from this trend is chapter eight, a chapter devoted to
Apollo. Apollo, one of the few monks in the work to receive nearly as much attention
as John, offers an extended oration on the nature of aoKqois, telling his fellow monks
to conquer the passions and drive away indecent thoughts.22 This oration is not nearly
as long as John’s, but like John’s, it is fairly unique in comparison to the narratives on
Historia Monachorum, 1.22-31.
62
many o f the other monks in the text. These monks remain fairly quiet, rarely uttering
more than a few sentences on any topic, let alone aoKnois.
The general silence o f the monks and the lack o f cohesion in developing a
strict set o f guidelines on how to live the ascetic life are important for our
understanding o f ascetic futuqoi^. A well-coordinated theory o f doKrjoi? and thus a
fully elaborated notion o f what exactly constitutes the ascetic noAiTEi'a would allow
for the audience to ‘imitate’ the monks in the work quite successfully. The author’s
failure on both these accounts seems to indicate that imitation, in the most literal sense
o f the word, is not what is at stake in the text. This idea seems surprising, since the
author stresses in the prologue that he derives much profit from the lives o f the monks
through imitation o f their way o f life, muqoaêvov aurdbv rffv noAiTEi'av12 Later,
he calls the lives o f the monks in Egypt a testimony for the perfect, uTrdfJvrjoi$
tcov teAeicov24 Some monks in the narrative even go so far as to state that it is
important to imitate the virtues o f the fathers or assert that it is the noAiTEta o f the
fathers that they themselves imitate .23
Faced with an apparent emphasis on vivricns and a relative dearth o f
statements detailing how to adopt a rule o f life consistent with every single aspect o f
an individual father’s aoKTjois, what does it mean to imitate the fathers, and how is
“ Historia Monachorum, 8.14-15.
23 Historia Monachorum. prol. 2.
25 Historia Monachorum, 1.23-24; 10.2.
63
the audience supposed to do this? The simple answer to these questions and perhaps
the most telling is that imitation does not imply an exact duplication of a father’s
aoxqcis. The language is more paradigmatic than dictatorial. That is, the father’s
rroAirefa is a model to use, not a statue into which each monk must be molded. The
clearest indication of this understanding o f uiur]o\s is in the prologue. The author
claims that the monks live in vfarjois o f Christ’s life, yet seldom does he make very
explicit and direct ties between the lives or even lifestyles of the monks and that of
Christ.26 There are similarities, such as Apollo’s feeding of the people during a
famine with only three baskets of bread, but rarely outright mimicry.27
Even the teachings of Christ, which the author cites in the prologue as a source
of fjfarja? for the monks, do not provide a definitive set of directions on the ascetic
life.28 Nor does Scripture, as the chapter on John of Lycopolis subtly reveals. John
tells the travelers to live their lives in accordance with the prophets and apostles,
claiming that these are the ones they must imitate and that there is no sufficient reason
to make a long journey out to the desert to see the Egyptian monks.29 Two sentences
later, however, he begins a long oration on the ascetic life and tells the monks to
imitate the virtues of the monks in the desert. If the apostles and prophets the travelers
26 Historia Monachorum. prol. 5.
27 Historia Monachorum. 8.44-46.
28 On the complications of using the teachings of Christ Paul, and the gospels as the basis for the
ascetic life, see E. Clark. Reading Renunciation. (Princeton: Princeton U P. 1999).
64
read about in the scriptures are sufficient for ‘imitation’, why does John deliver such a
lengthy sermon on the ascetic life?
Such a question seems to get at the purpose of ascetic, or perhaps more
accurately, hagiographic, writings as a whole. Ascetics might take on the charisma of
prophets, apostles, martyrs, or angels, but they needed to develop their own stature and
auctoritas. They needed a literature which testified to their own prominence and
importance, which defined their lives and made clear the power asceticism offered,
and which enraptured and edified an audience who became virtual pupils of the ascetic
heroes. The Historia Monachorum is such an example of this type of literature. It
promotes c x o k tjo is , and one o f the fundamental ways it does so brings us to the second
definition o f noAnei'a .30
This second definition follows a more traditional understanding o f noAireia ;
citizenship.31 The author o f the Historia Monachorum tells us that the monks live as if
true citizens o f heaven, ovrcas outco$ in i yfj$ £cjvt£$ iv ovpavoTs
noAtTEuovTai,32 They do not even know that evil dwells in the cities on earth, Kcm'a
iv noAeaiv ipnoAiTEUETat33 The language here is civic and deliberately so. The
30 On noAtm 'a, see A Biscardi. “Polis Politeia Politeuma". In^Jm del XVII Congresso
Intemazionale Di Papirologia, Vol. 3. (Napoli: Centro Intemazionale Per Lo Studio Dei Papiri
Ercoianesi 1984), pp. 1201-1215; C. Spicq, "Politeia. politeuma. politeuma, polites". In C. Spicq, ed..
Theological lexicon o f the New Testament, translated and edited by James D. Ernest. (Peabody. Mass.
Hendrickson, 1994), pp. 124-133.
31 cf. Cox Miller, p. 210.
65
author is setting up a contrast between asceticism and society.34 TToAireia suggests
the monk’s membership in a separate society. It indicates his citizenship in the
heavens. To be a citizen in heaven is to participate in the divine life. UoAiTei'a thus
implies a sense o f belonging. More actively, it reveals that to be an ascetic is an act of
participation. It is akin to joining a club, and for this reason, a group of ascetics, such
as one presumes, the Jerusalem monastery would be, are occasionally referred to as a
TToAtTEuva (a community) .35
At times, the strong sense o f group identity seems to go to extremes. These
extremes, however, are instructive for understanding the relationship between monks
and society. Chapter five o f the Historia Monachorum is devoted to the city of
Oxyrhynchus. The narrator tells us that there are so many monks here that they
inhabit every quarter of the city and nearly outnumber the other inhabitants.36 The
narrator suggests that the monks’ presence distinguishes Oxyrhynchus from ail other
cities. The city has no heretics or pagans, and all its inhabitants are either believers or
catechumens.37 This seems only natural, since the large number of monks creates such
an abundance o f sanctity that every single citizen is touched. The implication is that
every citizen participates in the sanctity of the monks, reforming their way o f life in
response to them.
34 Such civic language, separating church from society, underlies of course Augustine’s City o f God.
35 Historia Monachorum, 10.2; 11.7.
66
An even more striking example of sanctity can be found at Isidore’s monastery
in the Thebaid. This monastery truly seems to be part o f another world, as no monk is
allowed to leave. As a result, the monks are permanently severed from society. Their
separation serves them well, as each of them performs miracles and never falls ill
before he dies.38 It is crucial to notice the narrator’s emphasis upon the fact that these
features of monastic life in the Thebaid are available to every member of the
monastery. The implication is that all one needs to do to enjoy the health and divine
power the monastery offers is to join. The invitation is always present, and this seems
to be a key point for the Historia Monachorum and its audience. In spite of the fact
that the travelers journey to the desert and are at times far from civilization, the
monastic life, at least for men, is not a life relegated to the elite few. Anyone can
embrace asceticism and become holy. For the audience of the Historia Monachorum,
this message was no doubt inspiring. Of course, embracing the ascetic life is not so
easy, as the narrator states in his depiction o f the monastery at Scetis, a place lacking
all necessities of life. Nonetheless, the narrator also claims that everyone at Scetis is
perfect, since it is impossible to participate in the ascetic life there and not be so.39
Scetis, much like the desert as a whole then, is a springboard, propelling the monks to
the divine life. It is up to the individual to take part in this life, capitalizing on the
rewards of doKtjoif.
The promotion o f asceticism as a life open to all, offering heavenly glory
seems to account for the innumerable miracles throughout the text. These miracles
67
testify to the monks' status and participation in the life in heaven. To be an ascetic is
to make visible heavenly signs, a powerful message for the ascetics in Jerusalem, as
aoKrjoi? offers a direct route to the divine. The prologue stresses this, as does Abba
Helle who declares, “if you practice true aoKrjai^ then show the signs of virtue”, ei
K ara aXfideiav aoKevrs, raormeTa Aoiwov rfjf aperi)$ im Seiâre*0 A simple
equation seems to develop. A monk shows his aoxrjoiz or his woAirsia through his
holy power. The emphasis on the holy power makes abundantly clear the significance
of aoKrjois. Ascetics enable the power of God to be seen. In fact, the prologue goes
so far as to assert that it is through the monks that the world is kept in order and that
human life is preserved.41 Individual cases throughout the work, such as Abba Bes,
lend support to the words in the prologue. Abba Bes is so humble he can barely lift
his head to speak, but when a hippopotamus is ravaging the area, it is only through his
prayers that the hippopotamus can be thwarted 42 Abba Bes is not in any way unique,
as other ascetics exert power over wild animals. Amoun summons two wild serpents
who guard his door 43 Abba Helle commands a large crocodile, who had devoured
scores o f people, to give him transport to the other side o f the river. After it does, he
orders it to die in restitution for its ‘sins’.44 All three monks promote the virtues of
doKnois by performing acts worthy o f prophets or apostles. They are not, however,
40 Historia Monachorum, 12.1. One should note that in Christian writings ra arm eia usually means
“miracles”.
43 Historia Monachorum. 9.6.
prophets or apostles, but they do possess similar powers, powers a monastic
community in Jerusalem would have no doubt found intriguing. What the text seems
to be creating is a basis for comparison, accentuating and aggrandizing the ascetics’
powers to ensure their stature matches that of their biblical exemplars.
Such language seems to transgress the bounds of credulity, as the power of
monks reaches far beyond the mortal world. At times, the language seems straight out
of scripture, as Theon is called a prophet and Or takes on the role of Abraham, making
a great nation of monks.43 John, the subject o f the last chapter, even shares physical
attributes with biblical figures, as he looks like Abraham and has a beard like
Aaron’s.46 Georgia Frank points out that this description “is no description at all”,
since it lacks any “descriptive force” 47 Put simply, we are not told how John’s
specific physical features match those o f the biblical figures. Frank accounts for this
failure by positing that through his resemblance to Aaron and Abraham, John has
“appropriated the biblical past” .48 In Frank’s schema, this is part of the larger
objective the writer o f the Historia Monachorum sets out: to restore the biblical past
through the desert.49 Frank believes that the Historia Monachorum “wraps Egyptian
monastic culture in a biblical haze” .30 Her arguments here add weight to the
46 Historia Monachorum, 26. Frank, p. 61. Frank uses this example throughout her work.
47 Frank, p. 164.
48 Ibid.
49 Frank, p. 54.
50 Frank, p. 61.
69
contention that the author o f the Historia Monachorum wants his monks to share the
power and auctoritas o f prophets and angels; however, by stating so forcefully that the
text is shrouded in a biblical haze, Frank seems to diverge from the spirit and the letter
of the text.
While it is true that scriptural references run rampant throughout the Historia
Monachorum and that prophets and apostles play a role o f some consequence, angels
seem to assume an even more pre-eminent position in the Historia Monachorum.
Angelic language, in particular, looms quite largely, and this language seems to
transcend the scriptural realm and place the monks in a heavenly setting, a setting that
would further ensnare the Jerusalem audience in the grandeur o f the ascetic life. As
part o f this setting, it is only natural that angels, inhabitants o f heaven, are frequent
visitors to the ascetic environs. Their presence alongside that of the monks is part and
parcel o f the monks’ otherworldly citizenship. Abba Anouph seems to make this point
crystal clear, as he states that he has eaten nothing earthly, since an angel has fed him
each day with heavenly food.31 Other ascetics interact with angels, on a variety of
different levels. Angels carry food to Apollo; they transport the soul o f Amoun to
heaven; they aid Piammonas in his struggles against the demons, restoring him to
good health; and they tell Abba Or about his destiny as the leader of a nation o f
monks.32 Angels perform the simple and mundane as well as the powerful and
supernatural. Their range of activities gives us an idea of how embedded they are into
the ascetic landscape, and the effect the angels create of heightening the heavenly aura
70
permeating the text would have implanted an even deeper sense of awe into the
audience.
It is worth observing that some monks even become angels, further solidifying
the tight bond between the co-inhabitants of the heavenly world. Or is said to look
like an angel.33 Apollo leads such an impressive community of brothers that they look
like an army of angels. 34 The language here becomes so impassioned that the author
claims that through the efforts of monks like Apollo and his ascetic army, monks are
now as numerous as laymen. What is particularly important to notice is that it is not
simply Apollo who acts in this venture, assuming angelic status, but his entire
community. In fact, Apollo’s lifestyle requires others to share in it to give it ultimate
legitimacy and glory, as God declares that Apollo cannot enter heaven until he leads a
community, adopting a lifestyle similar to his own.33
Clearly, therefore, asceticism in the Historia Monachorum is a communal
venture, and the case o f Patermuthias expresses this idea convincingly. Patermuthias
was a celebrated monastic father who happened to hear that some of his former
disciples were sick. After stopping the sun so that he could arrive while there was still
light, he came upon one o f his disciples who was barely alive. This disciple was very
distressed, as he had not atoned for all his sins. Patermuthias intervened so that the
disciple could live a little longer and repent for his sins. Patermuthias’ intervention
52 Historia Monachorum, 8.5-6; 22.9; 25.3; 2.4.
ss Historia Monachorum, 8.17.
71
was so successful that the disciple is presented to Christ three years later not as a man
but as an angel.36 In a relatively short period o f time, the disciple has changed from a
lowly sinner into an angel. The unnamed sinner could be anyone, and that is precisely
the point that the author o f the Historia Monachorum wishes to underscore to his
audience of aspiring ascetics in Jerusalem.
The story o f Patermuthias’ disciple brings to light two themes vital to the
Historia Monachorum: conversion and repentance. Throughout the work, these
themes take on overarching significance. Patermuthias was originally a pagan and a
thief He receives a life-changing dream and quickly reaches the highest levels of
aoKTjois, performing miracles beyond belief.37 Other monks are directly responsible
for the conversion and repentance o f sinners. They even lead them to the ascetic life,
where these sinners often show proof of their aoKnoif by performing miracles.
Theon, for example, stops robbers in their track. They remain rooted to the ground for
hours and once freed, quickly enter the neighboring monasteries.38 John of Lycopolis
narrates the story o f a man who is struck with remorse for his sins and hides in a
cemetery. After withstanding the onslaughts of the demons, the man finally
overcomes them and decides to spend the rest of his life in a tomb. Shortly thereafter,
he performs so many miracles that others become envious o f him.39 Perhaps most
impressive is the story o f Apollonius. He converts so many people that they join him
51 Historia Monachorum, 10.3-7; 10.20-22.
72
in martyrdom. These include a flute player who originally accused him in court, the
judge presiding over his execution, and the soldiers escorting him to his death. All
end up in the same grave, a grave where miracles flourish, without a hint of ceasing.60
The great lesson o f Apollonius and the other sinners is that the fruits of aoKrjoi$aie
so great that the lowliest man can reach the highest states of sanctity. The lesson the
monastic audience receives is that all they need to do is participate in this life, like
Patermuthias the pagan thief or Apollonius the sinner.
The narrative o f Paphnutius makes this lesson even more apparent. One day,
Paphnutius asks the Lord who practices a life resembling his own. Suddenly, an angel
appears and answers his question. This cross-examination takes place three times. At
each successive turn, Paphnutius questions the man whom the angel declares to live a
life equivalent to his own. All three men are a part of society, citizens in the world
who have yet to embrace the ascetic life but who do perform acts of virtue similar to
the kinds o f actions which typify Paphnutius’ life. Yet they are not Paphnutius, and it
is Paphnutius who convinces them to change their life, to take their virtuous actions
one step further by embracing the ascetic life. Shortly thereafter, each man goes to
heaven. The last man is even described as a citizen of heaven, ovpavoiroXitt\s -61
This depiction hints at the newfound identity o f all three men. Their conversion to
asceticism allows them to become full-fledged members o f the heavenly realm.
The conversion of the three men at the prompting of Paphnutius seems to bring
into focus many o f the themes we have examined in the text. The Historia
60 Historia Monachorum, 19. l-l 1.
73
Monachorum promotes asceticism as a way of life providing a gateway to the divine.
This gateway is open to all, as many people throughout the text convert and
experience firsthand the power asceticism offers. In this sense, the text puts forward a
notion o f asceticism that it not so much about defining how each individual person
must live the ascetic life, although certain tenets of asceticism such as fasting, prayer,
and humility appear throughout the text. Instead, the author offers a view of
asceticism more along the lines o f acceptance into a community. Participation is, in
many ways, the defining term o f the text. Participation even sheds light, especially for
the audience of the text, on the understanding of ascetic uiw ois. To 'imitate’ a monk
is not only to embrace a life which is to some extent similar to his but to participate in
the citizenship in the heavens, making clear the divine power separating the monk
from society.
Ultimately, it is essential to bear in mind that there is a very clear line
differentiating the monk from society, and throughout the work, the author of the
Historia Monachorum is at pains to show how significant the divide is. This divide
separates the miraculous from the commonplace, the divine from the human. The
lesson is that even the lowliest monk is an avatar of the divine. This lesson is
hammered home repeatedly. Copres, for example, presents himself as a lowly ascetic
in comparison to his ascetic father Patermuthias. Patermuthias’ life, Copres tells us,
abounds in miracles, but interestingly enough, so too does Copres’. In fact, Copres
declares that he does miracles of seemingly less significance, healing the blind and
74
lame.62 Nonetheless, even as a monk of much less stature and authority than his
monastic father Patermuthias, Copres still performs these miracles.
One last example ties everything up. This is the example of the narrator and
his fellow travelers who after all their journeys fulfill one of the prophecies of Job,
overcoming death seven times. The travelers are even able to turn aside three gigantic
crocodiles staring them down.63 This takes place because the travelers have joined the
desert monks, participating in their aaKrjoif. God’s power thus shines through them.
As the text ends, the implication is that the audience can now participate as well, an
implication which the picture and language of amrjais, focusing on communal
TToXireia and not prescriptive m'unois, has made abundantly clear. The narrators
may be the last monks covered in the text, but the final chapter has yet to be written.
It is left to the audience to fill in this chapter, to complete the story, and thereby mark
their inclusion in the ascetic noXirefa.
01. The Lausiac History
Several years after the Historia Monachorum dazzled its audiences with
exciting tales o f ascetics interacting with the divine, a chamberlain in the imperial
court commissioned a bishop in Helenopolis to write a history of monasticism. Unlike
the Historia Monachorum, this history, at least as the chamberlain envisaged it, would
not simply be an account of male ascetics in Egypt. Instead, it would span the regions
o f the Roman empire, and it would devote special attention to women. The work
63 Historia Monachorum, epilogue 3-13.
75
which resulted is known as the Lausiac History 64 Its title identifies the fundamental
role the chamberlain played in the creation of the text, as the chamberlain’s name,
Lausus, is front and center 65 The author of the text, a bishop in Helenopolis by the
name of Palladius, was a friend of Lausus’ and even spent some time with him in the
desert. Palladius had once been an ascetic, sitting at the feet of the great Evagrius
Ponticus, before he left the desert to pursue an episcopal career.66 The tales Palladius
tells in the Lausiac History are very much his own, detailing his firsthand encounters
with ascetics in various parts of the empire.67 It is impossible to read the text without
noticing Palladius’ footprints every step o f the way, as he guides the reader to an
introduction to and an understanding of asceticism.
To enter Palladius’ world, then, it is first necessary to become acquainted with
the man himself. Palladius suffered from being friends with the wrong people. After
leaving the desert in 399, he soon found himself caught up in the throes of
ecclesiastical politics. John Chrysostom, the bishop of Constantinople, had supported
many of Palladius’ old friends in the desert, ascetics such as the “Tall Brothers” and
Isidore, in their struggles against the bishop of Alexandria, Theophilus. John,
however, did not enjoy much success. The imperial court turned against him, and he
64 The two main editions are that of C. Butler. The Lausiac History. 2 vols. (Cambridge: The U P,
1898*1904) and G. Bartelink, La Storia Lausiaca. Milan: A Mondadori, 1974. An English translation
can be found in the Ancient Christian Writers: R. Meyer, The Lausiac History. (Westminster, MD:
Newman P, 1965). I will generally follow Meyer’s translations with occasional modifications.
65 On the crucial role Lausus plays in the text, see C. Rapp, "Palladius, Lausus, and the Historia
Lausica". In C. Sode and S. Takacs, ed.. Novum Millenium: Studies on Byzantine History and Culture
Dedicated to Paul Speck. (Aldershot, UK: Ashgate Publishing Ltd, 2001), pp. 279-289.
66 On the life of Palladius, see B. Flusin, "Pallade d’Helenopolis”. In Dictionnaire de Spirituality XII/1
(1984), col. 113-126.
76
was soon sent into exile. After a series of misadventures and reversals of fortune,
John returned to Constantinople, only to be exiled again. By 407, John was dead.
One year later, Palladius wrote a biography of the bishop, dedicated to preserving the
sanctity o f John’s name.
With John’s death, it appeared that Palladius’ troubles would come to an end,
but over the last few years of Chrysostom’s life, Palladius had found himself involved
in another controversy of vast theological significance. This controversy, the famous
“Origenist” controversy, placed Palladius alongside his friends Rufinus and Melania
the Elder in a bitter battle with their one-time friend, Jerome. As the fires of the
controversy blazed, Rufinus, Melania, Evagrius, Origen, and even Palladius came to
be perceived in varying degrees o f disrepute.68 Origen, in particular, and his
sophisticated theological schema - a schema which greatly influenced Palladius’
teacher Evagrius - were the objects of intense vitriol.69
By the time Lausus commissioned Palladius to write a history o f monks, many
of the past controversies had died down. The memory o f John Chrysostom was
gradually being rehabilitated, as his name was entered into the diptychs of the
churches at Antioch and Constantinople, giving official recognition to the orthodoxy
o f John’s episcopacy.70 Rufinus had died several years before, allowing Jerome at
67 cf. D.F. Buck. “The Structure of the Lausiac History”. Byzantion 46 (1976): 292-307.
68 See E. Clark. The Origenist Controversy: The Cultural Construction o f an Early Christian Debate.
(Princeton, NJ: Princeton U P, 1992); Jerome, ep. 133.
69 On the relationship between Evagrius and Origenism, see M. O’Laughlin. “Origenism in the Desert:
Anthropology and Integration in Evagrius Ponticus” Th.D. Diss.. Harvard Divinity School. 1987. F.
Murphy, “Evagrius Ponticus and Origenism”. In Origeniana Tertia. (Rome: Edizioni dell’Ateneo,
1985), pp. 253-269.
77
long last to devote slightly less energy to besmirching his name. Jerome would die
shortly around the time Palladius would write the Lausiac History, and with his death,
the “Origenist” controversy came to somewhat of a lull, if not an end.71 Even the
imperial court looked quite different, as the empress Eudoxia, perhaps John
Chrysostom’s most bitter enemy, was dead, and Pulcheria had assumed control, giving
political and spiritual guidance to the young Theodosius II.
It is in this context that the Lausiac History was written. Lausus, as Claudia
Rapp has shown, held an important position at court as praepositus sacri cubliculi n
This position gave him control o f the women’s quarters. 74 It is thus not in the least
surprising that Lausus wanted a history o f monks that included women. Pulcheria,
after all, was a woman, and the ecclesiastical historian Sozomen depicts her as a
zealous ascetic, dedicating herself to virginity at an early age.75 Rapp convincingly
argues that Palladius could not have been unaware of Lausus’ connections at court and
his ties to the women of the household.76 She points out that Palladius states that he
hopes the work will reach not merely those around Lausus but those above him, i.e.
70 Rapp, p. 281. Theodoret, Ecclesiastical History V.34.12, V.35.5.
71 Evagrius would officially be condemned ISO years later, however.
*For biographies of both empresses, see K. Holum. Theodosian Empresses: Women and Imperial
Domination in Late Antiquity. (Berkeley: U of California P. 1982).
73 Rapp. p. 283.
74 Ibid.
75 Sozomen. Ecclesiastical History, 9.1; 9.3.
'6 Rapp, p. 284.
the rulers.77 Lausus wanted a picture of female ascetics, and Palladius, aware of how
powerful an impact he could make, was more than happy to create a lasting image.78
Palladius, however, did not seem to be the most likely o f candidates to produce
such an image. He was, after all, involved on the wrong side o f two ecclesiastical
controversies, and his biography of John Chrysostom did not exactly paint Eudoxia
and several members o f the imperial court in the best light. Yet it is precisely because
Palladius had such a fractured relationship with the imperial court and was such an
ardent supporter of John Chrysostom that he made an excellent choice for Lausus to
commission a history of monasticism. As Claudia Rapp contends, Lausus’ intention
was to generate an instrument of reconciliation to “heal the rift between the Johnnites
and the political and ecclesiastical establishment” .79
It seems curious that Palladius chooses to do so by creating a history of
monasticism with a distinctively Evagrian focus. In fact, Draguet has documented
nearly three hundred phrases o f Evagrian flavor within the Lausiac History 80 Other
scholars, looking at the Coptic fragments of the text, have shown that a great deal of
Evagrian content has been removed from the extant Greek edition of the Lausiac
77 Rapp. p. 284; Palladius. Lausiac History, prol. 3.
8 On women in the Lausiac History, see A Fisher, "Women and Gender in Palladius’ Lausiac
Historyr. Studia Monastica 33 (1991): 23-50.
79 Rapp. pp. 284-5; 288-9.
80 R. Draguet "L 'Histoire Lausiaque: line oeuvre ecrite dans respirit d’Evagre”. Revue d'histoire
ecclesiastique 41 (1946): 321-64; 42 (1947): 5-49.
79
81
History, making Draguet’s work all the more impressive. How will a work with
such a pronounced Evagrian vision act as an instrument of reconciliation?
Rapp answers this question by positing that the work does not simply present
an Evagrian vision o f asceticism. Instead, it bridges the divide separating the desert
from the city. It offers a vision of asceticism that accommodates both the Evagrians
and those people practicing a very different type of o o k t jo is in Constantinople.82
Rapp’s views have much to offer. It is my intention to take her argument one step
further by examining a figure o f overwhelming influence in Constantinople who had
much to offer Palladius’ audience in the court, as he had developed a monastic
philosophy with important repercussions for ascetics in an urban setting. This figure
played a key role in the evolution o f Palladius’ own views from a disciple of Evagrius
in the desert to an ascetic bishop in a major city, and he is John Chrysostom, the
subject of an earlier biography by Palladius. Chrysostom is easily overlooked, as he is
only mentioned a couple of times throughout the Lausiac History. To be fair, with the
exception of Melania the Elder and Evagrius, no ascetic appears all that frequently in
the work as a whole. Such prominent ascetics as Rufinus and Jerome are mentioned in
less than three passages throughout the text, and neither is important enough to be the
subject o f a single chapter. This has prompted even the best scholars o f Palladius to
81 G. Bunge, "PaUadiana I: Introduction aux fragments copies de I'Histoire L ausiaqueStudia

Monastica 32 (1990): 79-129; A. de Vogue, “Palladiana II: La version copte de I ’Histoire Lausiaque”.
Studia Monastica 32 (1990): 323-339.
82 Rapp, pp. 285-9. On asceticism in Constantinople, see G. Dagron, "Les moines et la ville. Le
monachisme &Constantinople jusqu’au concile de Chalcedon (451). Travaux et Memoires 4 (1970):
229-276.
80
argue that he submerges his political role in the Lausiac History 83 Why else does he
fail to take one final swing at Theophilus? Why is John Chrysostom nearly invisible?
Yet, on closer examination, or so I will show, Chrysostom is ever present, as Palladius
skillfully develops an ascetic message to his audience in Constantinople which relies a
great deal upon Chrysostom’s teachings.
One needs, however, to step back before taking stock of Chrysostom’s
significance to the text as a whole. It is absolutely vital to get a sense of what
Palladius is trying to accomplish within the text and to pinpoint specific features o f the
ascetic life which appear throughout his work, features which form the essence of
Palladius’ ascetic vision to his audience at the court. Palladius, however, challenges
us at every turn, as his text, even more so than the Historia Monachorum, seems to
defy any attempt to sketch out a coherent reading. Palladius might show a tendency to
portray his ascetics according to their rank on his Evagrian scale, but parts of his text
seem to share little, if anything, in common with Evagrianism. His text is in no way
as systematic as Evagrius’ writings, which offer detailed guidelines on what the vices
are and on how to overcome them. Instead, Palladius hits upon key points
sporadically throughout his work, and much like the Historia Monachorum, he often
fails to develop these points into a consistent ascetic theory. More importantly,
Palladius limits his portrayal o f asceticism to a series o f practical teachings designed
to instruct an ascetic at the early stages of his or her development, a limitation which
fits the ascetics under Lausus’ care to a tee .84 The extremely intricate ascetic schema,
83 E.D. Hunt, ‘Palladius of Helenopolis: A Patty and its Supporters in the Church of the Late Fourth
Century”. Journal o f Theological Studies, n.s.. 24 (1973), pp. 479-80.
81
emphasizing cnradeia and yveooi$, particularly of the divine, which characterizes a
majority of Evagrius’ work is absent from Palladius’ narrative.
Still, much like the Historia Monachorum, Palladius puts forward his text with
an explicitly didactic objective. He sets up a relationship in the prologue between
Lausus, and by implication, the women in his charge, and himself as student to
teacher. Palladius directs the spiritual progress of Lausus, and the text is his method
o f instruction.83 To this end, Palladius fashions himself as a new Paul, only his
mission is not the spread of Christianity; it is the propagation of the ascetic lifestyle.86
He tells us as much in the closing o f the prologue, stating that it is not the locale of the
ascetics he seeks but rather their way of life, wpocu'peois. Palladius’ decision to give
careful attention to the ascetics’ way o f life brings us back to the Historia
Monachorum, although that text uses a different word, troAneia, to designate the
ascetic lifestyle. Palladius tends for the most part to use noAireia as well, with one
exception being the final sentence o f the prologue.87
Palladius’ conception of noAiTei'a seems, however, to diverge somewhat from
that o f the Historia Monachorum. The civic overtones o f the word are subtle if non
existent in Palladius. More importantly, the Historia Monachorum defines noAiTefa
in terms o f aoKrjoi$. Rarely, if ever, does the text flesh aoKTjoxs out. Palladius seems
to follow the Historia Monachorum in aligning noAireia with aoKqai^. Unlike the
84 cf. Flusin. col. 126.
83 Palladius, Lausiac History, prol. 2*3; prol. 6; prol. 14.
86 Palladius, Lausiac History, prol. 6-7; cf. Frank, p. 63.
82
Historia Monachorum however, he gives more than passing notice to defining
aoKrjois. Emerging from an Evagrian school of thought, Palladius shows a great deal
of concern with aperp. Palladius tries to spell out what behavior is consistent with
virtue, giving very specific instructions on which ascetic acts to embrace and on which
to eschew. In fact, it is not so much aoKtjots that is at stake but virtue. In chapter
forty-one, for example, Palladius introduces a series o f women into his narrative. He
does this so that no one can plead that “women are too weak to practice virtue
successfully”, auras &S dodeveorepas ouaas np os K aropdcjciv rfjs dperfjs88
Palladius’ conception of the women’s lifestyle in terms o f aperi7, as opposed
to aoKqois, speaks volumes. This decision hints at the larger concern of his narrative
- that is the ends (dpenf) as opposed to the means ( doKrjais)• Other parts of his
work confirm this point. When Palladius travels to see John o f Lycopolis, he tells his
audience that Evagrius and his company of monks wanted to know precisely what the
virtue, apenj, of John was. For this reason, Evagrius sends Palladius to John with
explicit instructions to report back with information about John’s iroAirei'a89
Evagrius’ remarks suggest that an admirable noAtret'a must be grounded in aperrj.
The story o f Nathaniel bears this out. When Palladius tells this story, he states that he
spent time with those who practiced asceticism with Nathaniel, ouvaoKnoavres, in
87 A TLG search turned up more than thirty instances of iroX neiathroughout the Lausiac History.
88 Palladius, Lausiac History, 41.1.
83
order to inquire about the virtue, arpenj, of this man.90 It seems extremely telling that
in a sentence in which ooktiois is fairly prominent, Palladius gives greater priority to
aperr/ as the defining characteristic o f the ascetic life.
The importance of aperft in these examples lends weight to the argument that
virtue and vice emerge as essential factors in Palladius’ work, with allowance for a
wide-ranging notion of aoKrjoi$ filtering into the monastic iroXiTsia. For Palladius’
audience, this is significant, as it indicates that individual ascetic actions are not so
important; the consequences o f virtue or vice, however, are everything. It is for this
reason that Pambo can declare in chapter fourteen that two brothers have iroAtTsi'ai of
roughly equal value, even though both live extremely dissimilar lifestyles. One
brother sells all his goods and spends the rest of his time in prayer. The other brother
sets up a monastery in which he cares for every invalid, the poor, and travelers passing
by. The actions are not so important as the result. The result is entrance into paradise,
standing in the presence o f God .91
Other monks are not as virtuous as the two brothers. Nonetheless, Palladius
still reserves a place for them in his narrative. One such ascetic is a rich virgin who
refuses to give money to anyone except her daughter. Macarius shows her the error of
her ways by selling her precious gems. These gems are in reality patients in his
hospital. Upon seeing these patients, the virgin is struck with remorse and vows to
change her lifestyle.92 The virgin’s behavior is of some significance to Palladius,
91 Palladius, Lausiac History, 14.
84
since he avows that he “shall not pass over in this narrative those who lived in vain
contempt; this is for the praise o f those who lived righteously and for the salvation of
those who come across this account”. Palladius’ edification of Lausus and his female
ascetics, then, consists o f concrete examples highlighting virtuous and sinful conduct,
examples which clarify and dramatize his teachings.
Palladius’ focus on vices is striking because a discussion of vices is so
infrequent as to be non-existent in the Historia Monachorum. By defining behavior in
a more elaborate manner, Palladius can prescribe how one should live the ascetic life.
He seems keen on doing so, as the prologue reads like a long list o f instructions from a
master to a pupil. These instructions indicate that ytijqots 'in its most literal sense
might very well be at stake in the text. If this is the case, though, how can a
chamberlain and a group o f women living at the court palace imitate ascetics in the
Egyptian desert? Palladius seems prepared to answer this question, as his text starts
with the desert ascetics and ends with predominately urban ascetics, living in
households or organized communities. Both have a place in his narrative.
More to the point, Palladius places a strong emphasis upon encounter. Many
of the chapters throughout his text start with the word o w rv y xd v co or some
variation o f it.93 These chapters stress the importance of face-to-face interaction with
the ascetics. Much o f Palladius’ authority throughout the text seems to depend upon
this interaction, as direct interaction with the ascetics lends itself well to tsinqats. A
detailed knowledge o f how the ascetics live translates quite easily into an instructional
93 See. to cite only a few examples, Palladius. Lausiac History, 1; 4; 7; 18; 21; 47; and 59.
85
guide on how to pursue a life of aoKnois. Palladius’ work equips itself with scores of
ascetics as models for his audience to follow.94 It seems important to point out,
though, that these ascetics cover such a wide range of behaviors and lifestyles that
direct u(vt)oi<;o f all them would be impossible.
For this reason, Palladius does not rely on a vocabulary o f aifonoif. Instead,
his language is one o f exemplarity. The ascetics’ lives are models to embrace; they
provide outlines of sanctity which the readers can adopt, outlines which give these
readers in settings that are often far removed from those of the ascetic heroes more
flexibility. Still, Palladius’ notion o f exemplarity places a strong focus on encounter.
His viewpoint is that interactions are determinative; they shape one’s lifestyles and
behavior. His text is thus a method o f shaping the lifestyle of the court by allowing
them interaction, albeit indirect, with the ascetics throughout the empire.
It is important to bear in mind that his audience at court faced many dangers,
engulfed as it was in Constantinople, a major city rife with political intrigue. It was
Constantinople, after all, that Evagrius, Palladius’ teacher, fled to save his soul.95
Palladius seems well aware of the threats the city posed, devoting special attention to
the perils the people around Lausus and his subordinates represented. He advises
Lausus to
Avoid as much as is within your ability meeting with

men who can be no help to you, those who deck
themselves out in unseemly fashion, even if they be
orthodox, but especially more so those who are
heretical. They only harm you with their hypocrisy, and
94 Palladius, Lausiac History. 71.5.
95 Palladius, Lausiac History. 38.2-7.
86
they seem to be crawling along to a venerable age with
their grey hair and wrinkles. For even if you should not
be harmed by them, because o f your own innate nobility,
in lesser vein you will be puffed up and proud and will
ridicule them - that much will harm you too. Go to a
clear window and seek for meetings with holy men and
women so that you may see clearly your own heart as in
the case with a book of small writing. The comparison
will enable you to see your own sluggishness or
indifference.96
Palladius’ language is comparative, as he, much like the Historia Monachorum, sets
up a clear line of demarcation between the ascetic and society. Society is of no help in
Palladius’ view, as it will either drag the ascetic down to a lower standard of virtue or
fill the ascetic with arrogance at seeing the spiritually inept. It is thus of paramount
importance to encounter the holy, to compare one’s lifestyle to theirs. This interaction
provides an understanding of Palladius’ view of ninr]Oi5. It is not slavish imitation
but instructive admiration.
Instructive admiration is what Palladius wishes to convey to his audience with
the chapters in his text. His success at doing this can only be measured by looking
more carefully at his conception o f & okt\ois ’A o k tjo is, as we noted before, is
conceived o f in terms o f aperf}. At times, it seems possible to reduce the narratives
in his text into a series o f virtues and vices. To take chapters three through six, the
third chapter could be conceived o f in terms o f a discussion o f chastity, as Potamiena
rejects the lascivious advances of her master, the fourth in terms o f obedience, as
Didymus contrasts Antony’s obedience with Palladius’ reluctance to comply with his
instructions; the fifth in terms o f rejecting lust, as Alexandra locks herself in a tomb
rather than give lust the opportunity to scandalize another soul; and the sixth in terms
o f greed, as Macarius relieves the rich virgin o f her love of wealth. In each case, the
ascetic action is not as important as the effect.
The prologue sheds light on these ideas, as it states that many ascetics prided
themselves on their labors and almsgiving and boasted of their celibacy or their
virginity; they had every confidence in attention to divine prophecies and to acts of
zeal, and still they never attained a state of quietude.97 How does one achieve such a
state? Palladius argues that it is through intention, yvcbiir]?* The yvcouq determines
one’s relationship to the divine. It indicates whether one is acting in order to glorify
God, or one is acting to glorify oneself. This distinction is crucial, as it underlies
much of Palladius’ narrative. Paul can recite three hundred prayers a day, but his
despair at meeting a woman who utters seven hundred reveals a fundamental problem
with his asceticism. He does not pray with simplicity of heart, and thus his conscience
disturbs him .99 Palladius offers Paul as a powerful example o f action versus intention.
The intention must be rooted in the divine, or the action becomes meaningless.
Palladius’ notion of aaKijoiS, then, is not a simple list of actions, but actions
and the intentions behind those actions. Vainglory, tmepqtpavi'a, which Evagrius
labels as the worst o f vices, lurks in every comer o f Palladius’ writing, as he takes
96 Palladius, Lausiac History, prol. 15.
98 Palladius. Lausiac History, prol. 10.
88
many precautions to ensure that the monks do not succumb to this vice. 100 Vainglory
is significant in the sense that it brings out the merits of one’s aoKrtai$. To cite one
example, a virgin falls from grace because she becomes filled with pride. She seeks
human applause for her doKrjoif. This desire gives rise to sin. Her vanity has led her
astray. 101 Palladius’ sketch of the virgin’s behavior seems to leap out o f Evagrius’
Prakiikos, as he states that vainglory “induces the monk to deny that God is his helper
and to consider that he himself is the cause of virtuous actions” . 102 Vainglory, both in
Evagrius’ statement and in the case o f the virgin, acts as a compass of the heart.
Throughout the text, the compass of an ascetic’s heart is at stake. If the compass is
pointed in the right direction, then the acts of aoKrjoif become powerful tools to
achieving the ultimate goal. If the compass turns askew, no ascetic action will be of
any avail. For this reason, Palladius starts his discussion of the ascetic life by pointing
out in the prologue the significance o f performing ascetic acts for the right reasons.
Armed with these reasons, true aoKrjcns can take root. Palladius seems to
develop an aoKrjoi? out o f a few core lessons in the text, lessons which capture the
essence of the stories contained in the individual chapters. We see evidence of this in
his clustering o f chapters together to accentuate key themes. Pambo’s oration on the
TToXiTeiai o f equal value follows a chapter on Apollonius, a businessman who
renounces the world and spends his time going door to door on Mount Nitria,
100 Evagrius Ponticus, Prakiikos, 14; 29; 30.
102 Evagrius Ponticus, Prakiikos, 14.
89
delivering food and medicines. 103 Apollonius’ behavior matches that of the monk who
cares for the poor and for strangers. This similarity is not mere coincidence. Instead,
it reinforces a point Palladius is offering to his pupil, Lausus.
Other episodes throughout his work do likewise. Chapter eleven tells the tale
o f Ammonius. Among his many ascetic feats, he was known to heat an iron and apply
it to his limbs so that he becomes ulcerated all over whenever desire flares up in
revolt.104 Along similar but certainly not identical lines, Benjamin, the subject of
chapter thirteen, contacts dropsy. This causes his body to swell up so greatly that after
he died, the door to his cell had to be removed so that the monks could carry out his
body. Benjamin, much like Ammonius, is not in the least troubled by his bodily
suffering. He says that the body has not helped him when it was well nor harmed him
when he was ill. 103 Both chapters bring to light the insignificance of bodily suffering
in comparison to spiritual suffering. The particulars may differ - Ammonius must
overcome desire, while Benjamin must cope with sickness - but the essential point,
control over the body, does not. One case where the particulars do not differ can be
found in chapters sixty-three and sixty-four. In each chapter, a woman hides a holy
man during a time of persecution. They do so to protect the holy man, while the holy
man protects their souls. Palladius upholds the actions of each woman as an example
103 Palladius, Lausiac History, 13. Palladius uses the term drroTafdpevorto describe Apollonius’
decision to reject the world. This word usually means 'renounce’, although it often carried somewhat
o f a technical meaning. For the complexity in defining the term, see J. Goehring, Ascetics, Society, and
the Desert: Studies in Earlv Egyptian Monasticism. (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 1999),
pp. 53-72.
90
of virtuous conduct, as they risk their lives and reputations to help a holy man
overcome grave dangers.
Palladius’ emphasis on actions such as those of the virtuous women points to a
basic feature of the organization o f his work. Palladius seems to construct his
narrative around essential points that recur in each chapter, as he instructs his audience
on how to maintain an ascetic lifestyle. In fact, it is possible to chart the work with
several basic themes in mind. These themes often overlap, but they tend to be the
main ideas Palladius wishes to stress: control over the body and anadetcr, scripture;
teaching; the rejection o f lust and chastity; prayer; power over demons; arrogance and
its dangers; fasting and mortification; charity, renunciation, and repentance. Other
themes are certainly present as well, but these themes seem most prominent and it
might prove useful to chart these themes to get a sense of Palladius’ didactic mission
as a whole. The themes roughly break down as follows: control over the body and
aw adeia cover fourteen chapters (1,2, 9, 10, 12, 24, 29, 35, 36, 37, 38, 43, 51, 59);
scripture covers six (1,4, 8 , 11, 32, 37, 55, 58); teaching plays a prominent role in
eighteen chapters (1, 2, 8 , 10, 18,19,25, 26,27,28, 29, 30, 32, 33, 38,46, 54, 56); the
rejection of lust and chastity figures in fifteen chapters (3, 5, 8 , 11, 23, 25,26, 28,29,
30, 41, 45, 57, 61, 67); prayer plays a pivotal part in fifteen chapters as well (5, 7, 14,
16, 17, 20, 31, 38, 39, 43, 54, 60,65,69, 70); power over demons does not seem to
play such a large role as it figures in six chapters (16, 17, 18,19, 36, 44); arrogance
and its dangers also appears in six chapters (23,25,26, 28, 53, 58); fasting and
mortification come to the forefront in sixteen chapters (12, 35, 38, 39,42,45, 48, 50,
55, 57, 58, 59, 61,66, 67,69); and finally, charity, renunciation, and repentance, a
91
fairly broad category, are at the forefront of twenty-seven chapters (6 , 8 , 13, 14, 15,
21, 37, 40, 41, 44, 48, 49, 51, 52, 54, 56, 57, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 71).
What does all o f this mean?
There are several issues to sort out. The first is the range o f behavior. A
chapter on fasting is very different from a chapter about an ascetic devoting all his
energies to providing groceries for the monks in the monastery. Likewise, a chapter
on the power an ascetic has over demons seems quite removed from a chapter about a
monk’s vast knowledge o f the scriptures. In Palladius’ work however, all these
themes have a place. They often have quite a large place, as Palladius does not simply
list these qualities. He takes efforts to give the themes some context, to give them
shape and contours. He does not merely state that Evagrius fasts. Instead, he sets out
the theme as follows:
Evagrius said: T did not touch lettuce or any vegetable

greens, or fruit, or grapes, nor did I even take a bath,
since the time I came to the desert’.
Later, in the sixteenth year of living this way without

cooked food, his body required food prepared over a
fire, because of his weak stomach. He did not take
bread, but partook of herbs or barley gruel or porridge
for two years. This was his way of life. 106
The attention to detail Palladius provides is illuminating. It is illuminating for the
audience as it gains an understanding o f what it means to fast, and it is illuminating for
examining the lifestyle o f Evagrius. Palladius holds true to this form throughout the
work. He lists an individual behavior and then provides some details. It is these
106
Palladius. Lausiac History, 38.12.
92
details which the audience needs, and these details which mark the most instructive
portions of his work.
The work, as the thematic overview suggests, places a premium on teaching.
A number of ascetics are depicted as teachers of some auctoriias, while other ascetics
run into trouble when they reject teaching. Heron, for example, truly starts to go
astray when he insults Evagrius, stating, “Those who obey your teachings are
deceived. One need not pay attention to any teachers but Christ” . 107 Heron’s false
sense o f security in himself leads him into moral depravity. Similarly, Valens’ failure
to heed the lessons of Macarius causes him to acknowledge the demons as Christ. 108
Both ascetics’ blatant disregard of the ascetic teachings brings to light a fundamental
flaw in their noAireta. It stresses the point that teaching is a means o f imposing order
on ascetic lifestyles, a message Palladius would very much want his audience to
embrace, as it promoted the need for spiritual direction in the ascetic life and would
give Palladius a vital role in the imperial household.
Teaching is so important to Palladius that he makes sure to make its
significance clear in the very first chapter of his work. On the verge of death, Isidore
advises his sisters that “he who created you will regulate your life as he has ordered
mine”, oKTtaas uvasofcovofiijoet Tnt/^cjrju, aj? Katie'm Isidore’s final words to
his sisters frame Palladius’ narrative as a whole. An ascetic life needs structure and
regulation. The unregulated lives give provocation to sin. Abramius, for example,
108 Palladius, Lausiac History, 25.3-4.
93
lived a harsh life. It led him to think that he could go to church and perform priestly
functions on his own. It did not matter that he was not ordained. The fathers cure him
of his arrogance by bringing Abramius to a less ascetic way o f life. 110 Abramius’
failure to regulate his life, to follow the guidance o f an ascetic master, puts his soul at
risk. The fathers’ intervention gives Abramius a more moderate life which will not tax
the limits of his capabilities. Their intervention underscores the importance of
spiritual direction, as they allow Abramius to be saved.
The fathers’ intervention also raises the larger questions of what it means to
call Palladius a teacher, and what his message is. The thematic overview suggests that
Palladius’ teachings lie on two different poles. On the one hand, we have his Evagrian
focus. There are passionless monks spending time in prayer and contemplation.
Words like anadeia and yvcoois, the goals o f the Evagrian ascetic philosophy, play a
fundamental role in their life. Palladius’ discussion o f these ascetics tends to focus on
their sinless perfection. Lust, the physical needs of the body, or simple vices like
lying and cursing do not in any way trouble these monks who have attained such a
virtuous state. These monks are Evagrian to the core, and in the first part of the work,
these monks, as the outline o f themes suggests, find their place.
On the other pole lie the monks who perform works of charity. These monks
predominantly reside in the second part of the text. These are the monks whose lives,
as Claudia Rapp points out, seem at home in a Constantinoplitan locale. 111 These
monks define their lives through their wealth. Their renunciation becomes the first
1,0 Palladius, Lausiac History, 53.1.
94
step to their newfound lifestyle o f charity and poverty. Wealth and its uses do not
figure all that prominently in Evagrius’ writings, as there is not much need for money
in the desert. The presumption is that every monk has already disposed of his wealth.
The great Antony, after all, sells all his goods and then becomes an ascetic. For
ascetics in the city, surrounded by the rich and poor, renunciation was not so easy. It
was a much more complicated and pressing issue. For this reason, it plays a large role
in Chrysostom’s writings, as Chrysostom spent many years in Antioch and
Constantinople. In fact, wealth and poverty provides us with our first opportunity to
gaze at Chrysostom’s importance to mediating a version of aoKrjoi? amidst the
Evagrian extremes o f Palladius’ past.
Chrysostom’s views on asceticism are complex, to say the least.112 What we
can say for sure is that he favored a sharp divide between the ascetic and society.
Chapter forty on Ephraem would fit his model of asceticism perfectly. Ephraem
spends his time in silence, a deacon in a major city. One day, a great famine rages
throughout the city. Ephraem appears before the rich and chides them for not doing
anything. He wonders why they let their wealth rot and their souls too. The rich claim
they lack someone to manage their wealth, to make sure it is properly distributed to
those in need. Ephraem decides to take charge. He appoints himself caretaker, and
uses the funds gathered together for beds and for the nourishment o f the famished.
111 Rapp, pp. 285-6.
112 On Chrysostom’s and monasticism, see his A Comparison Between a King and a Monk and Against
the Opponents o f the Monastic Life. David Hunter has translated both works into English (Lewiston,
NY: Edwin Mellen P, 1988). Also worth consulting are I. auf der Maur. MOnchtum und
GlaubensverkUndigung in den Schriften desheiligen Johannes Chrysostomos. (Freiburg: Universitats
Veriag, 1959); and J. Leroux, “Saint Jean Chrysostome et le monachisme" In C. Kannengiesser. ed.,
Jean Chrysostome etAugustin. (Paris: Beauchesne, 1975), pp. 125-44.
95
Ephraem ends up helping a great host o f people, and when prosperity returns, he has
little to do. He decides to leave and dies in his cell. 113
Ephraem’s story captures Chrysostom’s views o f the ascetic in a powerful
vignette. As a deacon devoting himself to an ascetic lifestyle, Ephraem spends his
time, as Chrysostom desires, apart from society. It is only in a time of need that he
intervenes. Once he intervenes, he promotes a message that resounds throughout
Chrysostom’s writings. He chides the rich for not helping the poor, for failing to give
alms to those on the brink of death. 114 The rich respond that they lack a proper
manager o f their contributions, so Ephraem assumes this role. As a caretaker,
Ephraem performs innumerable works of charity, similar to those o f monastic
poorhouses in Constantinople and to those of the hospitals that John Chrysostom
himself set up . 115 When his work is over, he leaves the city. His decision to do so
would have found great favor with Chrysostom who believed that the ascetic can
perform works on behalf o f society, but he or she should remain apart from it.
Chrysostom saw society as corrupt, and with the ills surrounding the city, this
view made a lot o f sense. He writes that “often I have prayed that there would be no
need o f monasteries and that such good order would reign in the cities that no one
would ever be forced to flee to the desert. But now the reverse is the case” . 116
Chrysostom had a very distinct sense o f the place of the ascetic. He seemed to run
113 Palladius. Lausiac History, 40.
114 P. Brown, The Body and Society. (New York: Columbia U P. 1988) p. 309; B. Leyerle, “John
Chrysostom on Almsgiving and the Use o f Money”. Harvard Theological Review 87 (1994): 29*47.
115 Palladius, Dialogue on the Life o f John Chrysostom. 5.
into some trouble with monks in Constantinople because they infringed upon his
turf. 117 The ascetics in Constantinople were more public figures, making their
presence known and often challenging the authority o f the bishop. 118 Chrysostom
objected to this presence. Sozomen captures Chrysostom’s line of thinking quite well.
He writes that Chrysostom “highly commended those [monks] who remained in the
monasteries and practiced philosophy there; he protected them from all injustice and
supplied whatever necessities they needed. The monk, however, who went outdoors
and made their appearance in cities, he reproached and regarded as insulting
philosophy” . 119 To Chrysostom, these monks had violated the sanctity of the
monastery. They had transgressed the bounds of asceticism.
Palladius was well aware o f these bounds. His monks, for the most part, are
secluded. They rarely leave their locale, and when they do, they, like Ephraem,
remain in society for only a short time. Ideally, they, or at least Palladius suggests, do
not need to leave their home at all, performing acts of charity from the confines o f
their monastery. In fact, Palladius can praise the virgin Taor simply because she never
leaves the monastery. Her dedication to seclusion is an avenue to sanctity, as she
never wanted to have a new garment, hood, or shoes. She does not even need shoes to
go to church, as her isolation is such that she never attends communion. Instead, she
spends her time in the monastery, dressed in rags, working. One might expect
116 John Chrysostom, Against the Opponents o f the Monastic Life I, 7.
117 Palladium, Dialogue on the Life o f John Chrysostom, 5.
118 Dagron; J. Liebeschuetz, “Friends and Enemies of John Chrysostom”. In A. Moffatt, ed., Maistor:
Classical, Byzantine, and Renaissance Stiutiesfo r Robert Browning. (Canberra: Australian Association
for Byzantine Studies. 1984), p. 92; Rapp, p. 285.
97
Palladius, as a bishop, to chastise Taor for her misguided priorities. This is not the
case, though. Instead, he suggests her lifestyle is worthy of praise, as he speaks in
glowing terms o f her chastity, oaxppoouvrj120 The implication is that Taor’s
decision not to venture outside the monastery is such a powerful one that it overrides
anything else - including going to communion. Palladius is not sending any mixed
signals with this message. Seclusion is absolutely indispensable - especially for
women.
Other women show us how unequivocal Palladius’ message is. The chapter on
Colluthus and the virgin, for example, tells o f a woman who never went outside until
the last day of her life. That day, the martyr Colluthus tells her that she will soon enter
into paradise. The virgin then goes outside and visits the chapel where she prays. At
night, she dies in peace, ready to claim her place in heaven. 121 Her life in seclusion,
devoting herself to asceticism, has clearly paid off. The lesson is that if the women in
Lausus’ quarters want to enjoy a similar reward, they should follow the example of
women like Taor and the unnamed virgin.
Palladius’ efforts seem to be directed towards carving out a sacred space in the
palace itself. It was one thing to turn the palace into a monastery; it was another to
treat it as a monastery. It seems difficult to believe that such a transformation was
possible, but Pulcheria seemed to make it, to some extent, a reality. The women under
her watch, Sozomen proclaims, were dedicated to virginity, refusing to allow men, for
119 Sozomen. Ecclesiastical History, 8.9.
120 Palladius Lausiac History, 59.2.
98
the most part, into the palace. 122 They seemed, in as much as it was possible, to
recognize the nature of asceticism as one o f seclusion. For this reason, they adopted
an asceticism with at least one major Chrysostomian tenet.
Chrysostom, we should remember, had devoted a great deal of ink to deriding
the evils o f mixed monasticism, a hallmark of the institution in Constantinople. He
took issue with the subintroductae, women living alongside men as ‘brother and
sister’. 123 He vehemently argues, “why do you live with a virgin? This cohabitation is
not based on law but on love and lust” . 124 Palladius understood Chrysostom’s words
well. He usually keeps men and women far apart. Two chapters about men
overseeing communities of virgins make his point, a point accentuating Chrysostom’s
views, clear. These chapters follow one after another and concern a monastery in
Athribe.
The first chapter depicts the story o f Elias. Elias uses his fortune to build a
monastery, and he gathers together a group o f quarrelsome women within its walls.
Despair soon sets in on Elias, as he is unable to act as a good leader. He wishes for his
passion to be taken away, so he decides to leave the monastery. That night, angels
visit him and castrate him. This castration takes place in his dream, but it serves the
purpose of a real castration. Elias’ passion disappears. He then re-enters the
122 Sozomen, Ecclesiastical History, 9.1; 9.3.
123 Palladius, Dialogue on the Life o f John Chrysostom, 5; John Chrysostom, Instruction and Refutation
Directed against those Men Cohabiting with Virgins. Translated by E. Claik in Jerome, Chrysostom,
and Friends. (New York: Edwin Mellen P, 1979), pp. 164*208.
124 John Chrysostom, Instruction andRejutation Directed against those Men Cohabiting with Virgins, 5.
99
monastery and stays in a ceil, giving the best advice he could offer. 125 His successor,
Dorotheus, follows his example, closing himself off in an upper story in the monastery
where no woman could visit him. Here, he exhorted the women to get along, acting as
their supervisor. 126
The cases of Dorotheus and Elias present a version of asceticism that deviates
from the model of mixed monasteries in Constantinople. Women live by themselves,
with a single male present as the supervisor of their community. He, however, takes
many precautions to be separated from them. This arrangement provides the least
amount o f opportunity for unseemly behavior and is consistent with the tirades of
Chrysostom against the subintroductae. Men and women need to be apart in the
ascetic life. Palladius directs this message to Lausus, so that he is aware of what his
role should be. 127 Lausus can act as an advisor, but even as a eunuch, he must take
careful steps not to give any opportunity for lust.
Asceticism in the court, then, involved chastity, but it also involved
renunciation. Both play a significant part in the latter half o f Palladius’ work, as he
seems to craft a very specific message for Lausus and his audience. Chrysostom’s
influence weighs heavily on both accounts. Even though an ascetic existence would
ideally be lived apart from society, it was at times necessary to intervene. Chrysostom
recognized this, and Palladius does too. Intervention meant charity, and both
!25 Palladius, Lausiac History, 29.
127 Rapp, pp. 286-9.
100
Chrysostom and Palladius, bishops living in the city, make allowance for charity as an
acceptable locus o f ascetic behavior.
Before one could adopt this behavior, the ascetic had to come to terms with
two fundamental problems. These are the love of money, e p c o s tc d v x p w c r r c o v ,
and the love o f glory, epcof tt]s Sa£rjf Tfjs Kevf\$ <a\ paraiag.128 For someone in
the imperial court, both posed serious risks, as both were often in great supply.
Chrysostom frequently rails against the rich, as he promotes a firm commitment to
almsgiving. Time after time, he exhorts his audience, in words like “wherever money
is stored up for the poor, that place is inaccessible to the demons” . 129 In much the
same vein, repentance was a major theme in his writings. The implication is that
repentance starts with almsgiving, as almsgiving becomes the means to salvation.
Chrysostom goes so far as to state that “almsgiving’s wings are great. She cleaves the
air, surpasses the moon, and goes beyond the sun’s rays. She rises up to the very
vaults o f the heavens. She does not stop there; rather, she surmounts heaven and
overtakes the multitudes o f angels, the choirs o f archangels, and all the higher powers,
and she stands next to the royal throne” .130
Almsgiving was the quintessential act of charity in Chrysostom’s view. It was
the most powerful demonstration o f one’s faith that existed. It seems worth noticing,
however, that charity, at least throughout the Roman world, frequently involved
13 John Chrysostom, Against the Opponents o f the Monastic Life III, 6.
129 John Chrysostom. A Sermon on Almsgiving, 15. This is homily ten in G. Christo’s translation. John
Chrysostom On Repentance and Almsgiving. (Washington, DC: Catholic U of America P, 1998).
130 John Chrysostom, Concerning Almsgiving and the Ten Virgins, 6. This is homily three in Christo’s
translatioa
101
euergetism, a notion which often consisted of performing a civic service - usually
making a substantial contribution of one's wealth • in exchange for honor.131 A statue
or other civic benefaction was frequently the reward for such philanthropic acts. Civic
glory was clearly at stake, although by the fourth century, this ideological symbolism
was on the wane. Instead, a more Christian notion of charity was coming into
existence, encompassing non-citizens and even the lowest members o f society and
moving away from the civic overtones o f the euergetical system. 132 Many o f these
overtones still lingered in the air, though, and Palladius and Chrysostom took aim at
them, making sure that divine glory superseded civic honor.
Pailadius tells Lausus not to build up his wealth and praises him for
performing works of charity. He warns Lausus, however, that some men do
occasionally bind their will and perform such acts to win the praise of men: 133 His
exact words are: pijre opuij r m tcai irpoXqyei aAoycp avdpco napeoKcos opKcp
m Sijoas rqv wpoaipeoiv Kadcbs nenovdaoi rives (piXoveiKcos <piAo6o£[g rou
PH tpayeiv rj meiv SouAcooavres to avregovoiov 777 avayKtj ro u opKou.: which
can be translated as “do not bind your will, in order to praise men, to an oath out of a
sudden impulse or with senseless reasoning just like some men do who strive with
their fellow men for the renown of not eating or drinking and enslave their free will to
the yoke of the oath”. Palladius’ words deride euergetical models o f charity and self-
131 See P. Vcyne, Le Pain el le cirque. (Paris: Seuil, 1976).
132On this, see E. Patiagean, Pauvreti economique et pauvrete sociale a Byzance (f -T siecies). Paris:
Mouton, 1977.
102
aggrandizing versions of asceticism, which bring great esteem in society. Such esteem
is misguided. We have already seen some examples of this and its perilous effects
throughout his work. More examples occur near the end of the Lausiac History, as
Palladius, using Chrysostom as a guide, defines the proper guidelines for renunciation
and disposal o f wealth.
A preview o f his later chapters can be found in one o f Melania the Elder’s
earliest appearances in the work. Melania gives Pambo a silver coffer containing three
hundred pounds o f silver. Expecting to be praised for her contribution, she is
surprised when Pambo says very little. Melania then speaks up and makes sure Pambo
is aware of the size of her contribution. Pambo responds that she has done well to
speak up if she is giving the coffer to Pambo, but if it is an offering to God, she should
keep her mouth shut. 134 Pambo’s words could easily be directed at Palladius’
audience. There are no earthly rewards for their contributions. There only exists the
glory of the divine.
For this reason, Palladius follows Chrysostom’s lead in telling his audience
how to make their contributions. He lays out a plan which emphasizes renunciation,
the church, and the divine. Melania, in later chapters, becomes the exemplar of this
plan. She sells all her possessions and dedicates her life to serving the monks. Later,
she builds a monastery and uses funds from relatives to support bishops, ascetics, and
virgins. 133 She bestows gifts on all, as her charity becomes a model for all women.
One such woman was her granddaughter Melania the Younger who sells all her
103
possessions for the endowment o f churches and monasteries. 136 These contributions
must not be overlooked, as the church needed to play just as prominent a role as the
poor in the ascetic’s benefaction. At the very least, the ascetic needed to recognize its
authority. Olympias, a close friend o f John Chrysostom, does so, disposing o f all her
goods and honoring bishops. 137
These two activities go hand in hand. Palladius accentuates their importance
by devoting considerable attention to them in the very next chapter, stating that
Candida attains the highest level o f sanctity by honoring churches and bishops and
then following the example o f her daughter in moderation and the distribution of
wealth. 138 By doing so, Candida and other ascetic women solidified the ‘sanctity’ of
their lifestyles. Their acts of generosity and obedience to the church gave their
lifestyles legitimacy and, just as importantly, strong and stable guidance. After all, the
ascetic, in Palladius’ view, who stands apart from the bishop, is not so much an ascetic
139
as an outcast.
An interesting case of ascetics who embrace Palladius’ message are Verus and
his wife. They practice such charity that they cheat their own children. They spend
their entire income on the needy, giving little, if anything, to their daughters and sons.
Instead, they distribute to the church and the poor.140 Chrysostom would have no
136 Palladius, Lausiac History. 61.3-5.
,3' Palladius, Lausiac History, 56.2.
139 This might explain why Theophilus, the villainous bishop, is absent from Palladius’ work.
104
doubt looked upon Verus and his wife with a great deal of approval. He had preached
“do you want to leave your children a good inheritance? Leave them almsgiving” . 141
At long last, his message was put into practice.
Disposal o f wealth was a key issue for both Palladius and Chrysostom, and it is
a recurrent theme in both of their works. Palladius can write about Sisinnus who has
little wealth but still manages to be hospitable to strangers and call him a reproach to
the rich who do not share their wealth because to have wealth demanded frequent
contributions. 142 The opulent members o f Lausus’ circle reading Palladius’ work
would shudder at such words. Even those practicing philanthropy seem small in
comparison to a poor man who gives away all that he has. It is for this reason that
poverty, at least for the ascetic, must accompany charity. These are the two facets of
an ascetic lifestyle in the city, and as such, Palladius places great stress upon them. In
doing so, Palladius establishes a lifestyle amenable to the spirit o f the desert fathers
while capable o f coping with the harsh realities o f urban life. Such a lifestyle could be
comprised of going out at night like the compassionate monk and exhorting the rich
and giving clothing to the poor.143 Or it could consist of simply giving a house of
refuge to the bishop. 144 Regardless, it was imperative to recognize aoKijoif as a
radical break from all the trappings of society - riches, power, and glory.
141 John Chrysostom. Concerning Almsgiving and the Ten Virgins, 13.
144 Palladius, Lausiac History, 63; 64.
10S
Palladius’ messages in his last few chapters, then, seem most relevant for
ascetics at court, ascetics who could make generous contributions, ascetics who could
make a vow of charity and have their vow emblazoned upon an altar. 143 They needed
to be reminded that no matter how prominent their activities seemed, to be truly
ascetic required recognizing the authority of the church and the authority o f God. It
meant submerging the self in order for the divine fruits to be reaped. In other words, it
meant living like a slave. Melania had once worn slave’s garments, showing the
extent o f her piety. The challenge for the imperial court was to do likewise. The
challenge was to emulate Sarapion, an ascetic who willingly embraced servitude and
lived such an admirable life that his masters recognized him as their true spiritual
master . 146 For Lausus, his master was close at hand. She was, o f course, Pulcheria.
He needed to offer such a powerful example that she would welcome his guidance,
much as he welcomes Palladius’. To achieve this end, he would have to accept the
one blueprint of ascetic living which was fit for the city. This was the model of
Chrysostom, a model based on withdrawal, renunciation, almsgiving, separation o f the
sexes, and recognition o f the church’s authority. To adopt this model was quite a
radical step. It meant replacing the nobility o f one’s stature with the nobility o f the
slave. It meant denying any earthly glory for heavenly glory. It meant to embrace, in
Chrysostom’s line o f thought, the poor because the poor man in his theological
schema was the one who would be saved. 147 It was the poor who inherited true riches.
145 Sozomen, Ecclesiastical History, 9.1.
147 Leyerle. pp. 37-43.
106
Much like the rich virgin who valued gems only to be taught by Macarius what true
gems are, Lausus and the women of the court would have to value true gems - the
poor and sick - and even become true gems if they were to live ascetic lifestyles. It
might be extremely difficult, but the first step was right at hand The Lausiac History
and the bishop Palladius had much to offer - their examples, their words, and their
teachings. The next step was up to Lausus and his fellow ascetics.
IV. Conclusion
Ascetic lifestyles were constantly in motion in the late fourth and early fifth
centuries. As church and ascetic quarreled over the exact role and exact definition of
asceticism, much ambiguity prevailed. So much depends on which ascetic one
encounters and where that ascetic’s life is being defined. For the pilgrims in
Jerusalem, Egyptian ascetics were citizens in heaven, angels on earth. For Palladius,
they were not so otherworldly. They were teachers, giving examples of virtuous
conduct for students to embrace. They were not the only ascetics, as Palladius, relying
a great deal on Chrysostom, sketches out an ascetic vision for monks in the city and
for women as well. Their aoKrjcns was quite different from that in the desert and
required a revision o f many basic precepts of desert monasticism. Palladius’ work
fulfills this need, as his emphasis on virtue as the key ingredient in the ascetic life
allows for different troXiTEiai. In the next chapter, a new vocabulary and
understanding o f the ascetic iroArreia'mW emerge, as we look at ascetics who have
very little concern with their reception outside their own environs. They are much
more concerned with their salvation. In a sense, they will mark the culmination of the
viewpoints seen so far: the hagiographer, the pilgrim, the former ascetic turned bishop,
107
and now the ascetics themselves. Their words and their concerns are as different
Palladius’ and the Historia Monachorum's conceptions of no Aire (a.
Chapter 3: Ascetic Notions in the Desert
I. Introduction
The first two chapters have painted a picture of ascetics with the brushstrokes
o f travelers and hagiographers, fledging ascetics and former ascetics. These
brushstrokes have shown a wide degree of coloration, with the monastic lifestyle
looking anything but uniform. The ascetic language, the ascetic preoccupations, in
short, the ascetic portraits have varied author by author, audience by audience. What
these portraits have shared in common is a desire to instruct and edify, to draw their
audiences into a holiness which shapes and articulates the understanding and practice
o f the Christian religion.
Unfortunately, these portraits seem to stand outside of ascetic circles, as the
authors have, for the most part, presented themselves on the periphery, removed from
the ascetics they depict. These authors have allowed the audiences to peer into the
center, to take in the ascetic aroma, but the authors seem to maintain a constant
awareness o f the fact that this aroma is not their scent, that these ascetics do not live
on the same plane they inhabit. What would it be like to stand on this plane, to live in
the ascetic circles the hagiographers and pilgrims so vividly describe?
The usual means o f answering this question is to examine monastic letters,
such as that of Jerome and even Antony, and papyri. 1 The study of these documents is
not without its share of benefits, but I would like to offer a slightly different approach
in this chapter by turning to a text which offers a broader perspective. This text is the
1 See, for example. B. McNary-Zak, Letters and Asceticism in Fourth-Century Egypt. (Lanham, MD:
University P of America, 2000) and J. Goehring, Ascetics, Society, and the Desert: Studies in Egyptian
Monasticism. (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity P International, 1999).
109
Apophlhegmata Patrum, a collection o f sayings from a number of fathers in the
desert.2 The Apophthegmata Patrum1s coverage of ascetics is extensive and
impressive, as we read the words o f monks as famous as Antony and as obscure as
Carion. Their thoughts and perceptions of the ascetic life are laid bare, and it will be
my task in this chapter to analyze one of the most ambiguous ideas in the text, that of
monastic work. Monastic work, as I will show, lies at the heart of the ascetic lifestyle
in the desert, but the range of terms depicting the idea exhibits such variation that it is
important to analyze these terms in order to understand how many of the monks use
the notion of work to define and legitimize their daily activity. Such an analysis will
reveal a great deal about desert asceticism and about the nature of aoKqois in late
antique Christendom.
D. A Monastic Work
One usually needs to take a step backward before taking a bigger step forward,
so before delving into the Apophthegmata Patrum, it is vital to get a sense of what the
text is and how it was put together. An insider’s guide to life in the desert, much of
the value o f the Apophthegmata Patrum lies in the fact that the text presents the
ascetic’s own words, the ascetic’s own understanding o f his actions and life. These
words clarify and vivify an ascetic teaching, a teaching which is chiefly that of the
individual father himself as opposed to being the conception o f a Palladius or an
Athanasius, subtly or not so subtly sculpting the message to meet a larger goal.
2 The alphabetical collection can be found in i. Migne, Patrologia Graeca, 65: 72-440. An english
translation by Benedicta Ward exists as well. The Sayings o f the Desert Fathers. (Kalamazoo, Mich:
Cistercian Publications, 1975). I use Ward’s translation throughout with significant modifications.
Yet, the text is not without its share of editors. These editors have left a lasting
imprint upon the work, an imprint that is not as pronounced as that of the hagiographer
or travel writer, but an imprint nonetheless. We must always keep in mind, therefore,
that far from reading an unfiltered collection of sayings from the desert fathers, we are
reading a collection that has been compiled by many a hand.3 Much of this
compilation seems to have taken place in the sixth century CE, as a group of
Palestinian monks, exiles from the Egyptian desert, gathered together the sayings into
the alphabetical collection which appears in the Patrologia Graeca. This collection
was derived from earlier collections which were divided into thematic subheadings,
such as sayings dealing with compunction or fornication. 4 The authors o f the
individual sayings appear throughout the collection, but their presence seems to be
diminished since the focus is primarily thematic. These authors, we should note,
originally lived in the fourth and fifth century CE, and their sayings were handed
down from one generation to another until literary collections gave them a more
coherent form.
The alphabetic opera of the sixth century present a dramatic reworking o f the
previous collections and a completely different means of reading the text. For this
reason, it is crucial to understand the organization of the alphabetical sayings in order
to come to terms with the work as a whole. This organization points to a misnomer in
the title o f the text, the Apophthegmata Patrum. To call the work the 'Sayings of the
3 On the evolution of the text, see R. Frazer, “The Morphology of Desert Wisdom in the
Apophthegmata Patrum”. PhD Diss, U of Chicago, 1977, pp. 82-114; D. Buiton-Christie. The Word in
the Desert: Scripture and the Questfo r Holiness in Early Christian Monasticism. (Oxford; Oxford U P.
1993), pp. 76-88; J.-C. Guy, Recherches sur la tradition grecque des 'Apophthegmata Patrum'.
(Brussels; Societe des Bollandistes, 1962).
I ll
Desert Fathers’ seems misleading and shortsighted. The work includes many sayings
o f desert fathers and, just as importantly, many sayings about these desert fathers. The
presence of both types o f sayings seems to indicate a more powerful phenomenon at
stake in the work than mere didacticism. The same could probably be said of the
collections preceding the alphabetic edition, but there is a significant change.
Although the individual sayings in the earlier editions of the text do contain narratives
about the fathers and stories about them, the impression one receives o f an individual
father is far less striking than in the alphabetical collection, as the individual father
appears in random sayings throughout the text of the non-alphabetical collections
instead o f appearing in a more cohesive organization of sayings. The clustering of
stories around individual fathers in the alphabetical collection allows for the narratives
about the father to come into a more prominent light, as the stories told about them
start to reinforce teachings from their life and episodes from their life which support
and dramatize the lifestyle he or she embraces.
The alphabetical collection, therefore, is just as much about the fathers, the
organizing spirit o f the text, and their authority as about their words; whereas, the
earlier collections emphasize the teachings of the fathers as opposed to emphasizing
their lives. The fathers in the alphabetical collection become the narrative instead of
being subsumed within it. In this sense, the alphabetical collection has a
hagiographical tinge to it, although it is never as thorough as a hagiography.
Nonetheless, it seeks the same end: to capture the essence of monastic lives. This
explicit ’biographic’ emphasis seems to make it impossible simply to read the text as
4 See J.-C. Guy, LesApophtegmes des peres. (Pahs: Les Editions du Cerf. 1993).
112
wisdom literature or as moral precepts giving instructions on how to lead the ascetic
life.5 In other words, it makes it impossible to read the text as a variation of the earlier
thematic collections.
The Apophthegmata Patrum, in its alphabetical form, is, then, an anthology of
excerpts detailing monastic lives, an anthology of ascetic instructions, and an
anthology of the desert. Inclusion in the work marks the monk as the 'holy’.
Individual sayings seem to flesh out what exactly holiness means. To say the least,
this definition varies a great deal, so much so that many scholars are quick to point out
that it is nearly impossible to see a consistent ascetic theory at play in the text.6 We
should hardly be amazed, since the landscape of monastic experiences in the text is so
vast that it would be remarkable if Abba Moses and Abba Arsenius had exactly the
same words to speak. Their words are dissimilar because their lives are so dissimilar.
Abba Arsenius once lived in the secular world as part of the imperial court. He
underwent a dramatic conversion in which he turned to God and heard a simple
message: flee from men, and you will be saved.7 The majority of sayings attributed to
Arsenius seem to reflect his life-altering conversion. His primary teaching, which he
repeatedly declares, is to flee from men, and he constantly expresses admiration for
the simplicity o f the Egyptian desert life versus that o f the lavish imperial
administration.8
5 My use of the term 'biographic’ is not meant to be as definitive as the modem use of the term. I am
trying to emphasize that monastic writings take place within the context of a life, and that this context
needs to be taken into consideration when reading the sayings as a whole.
6 Burton-Christie. p. 90; Frazer, p. 178.
7Apophthegmata Patrum, Arsenius 1.
113
Moses, on the other hand, was once a notorious robber, wreaking havoc upon
the Egyptian countryside. His sayings reflect his uneasiness with his newfound
occupation and his struggles to conquer the demons of lust and be accepted as an
Ethiopian in an Egyptian setting.9 They also promote his intense belief in the need to
die completely to the world in order to find salvation.10 This in a sense is Moses’ life,
dying completely to his old self in order to become a monk.
Arsenius and Moses promote different visions o f the ascetic life. The larger
brushstrokes look somewhat similar, but the finer details are quite different. Moses,
for example, welcomes visitors with open arms; Arsenius turns them away. They both
live in perfect peace.11 How is this possible? More to the point, how are we to
understand Moses and Arsenius along with the scores o f other monks throughout the
text since they all live such divergent lives? The prologue seems to make an important
suggestion when it states,
The virtuous asceticism and the admirable way of life is

written in this book, as well as the words o f the holy and
blessed fathers, for the inspiration, instruction, and
imitation of those wishing to manage the heavenly way
o f life and o f those wishing to make progress on the way
to the kingdom o f heaven.
’Ev T fjfie T fj (3i(3Acp a v a y E y p a i r r a i e v & p e t o s S o k t i

a iS K a i 0 a u p a o T T | (IMou B i a y c o y f i, x a l p q o e i s a y i'c o v
x a i (JcxK apicov T T a rE p c o v , i r p o s £ fjA o v te a t i r a i B e i a v
K a \ Ml'llTlOlV T U V TT)V OUpOVlOV TToXlTEtCXV
e B e A o v tc o v K d T o p B c o a a i x a i tt)V e is P a o i X e i a v
o u p a v u v a y o v o a v (U ouA ohevcov o S e u e iv 6 6 6 v .
8 See, for example, Apophthegmata Patrum, Arsenius, 2 ,3 ,4 ,5 ,1 3 ,3 1 .
9Apophthegmata Patrum, Moses 1 ,3,4.
10Apophthegmata Patrum, Moses 11, 13,14, IS.
11Apophthegmata Patrum, Arsensius 38.
114
The prologue clearly emphasizes the lifestyle o f the monks, and it is this lifestyle
which is a source of instruction, emulation, and even imitation. What exactly is the
monastic lifestyle?
The first saying in the text seems to make a decisive observation. In fact, the
placement of Antony as the first monk is hardly an accident, since Antony is usually
an instructive paradigm for monastic behavior. In the first saying, Antony asks the
Lord,
‘I want to be saved but these thoughts do not permit me;

what shall I do in my affliction? How can I be saved?’
A short while afterwards, when he got up to go out,
Antony saw a man like himself sitting and working, then
getting up from his work to pray, and then sitting down
again, plaiting a rope, and then getting up again to pray.
It was an angel o f the Lord sent for the correction and
reassurance of Antony. Antony heard the angel saying
to him, ’Do this and you will be saved’.
BeAco ocoBfjvai, Kai ouk ecooi he oi Aoyiopoi. t (

Troirioco ev Tfj OXivpEi mou; ircos acoBco: Kai pucpov
Biavacrras etti tcx e£cj, Becopei riv a o ’Avtcovios
cos eaurov, kccBeCouevov Kai Epya£opEVov,
Eira aviOTapEVov airo to u ipyou Kai
upooEuxoMEVov, Kai iraAiv koBeGouevov Kai ttiv
OEipav irXlKOVTa, eTto iraAiv eis trpooEuxfiv
avicrrapEVov. rjv 5e ayyeXos Kupiou, dirooraXEis
irpos SiopBcooiv Kai a o 9 aXEiav ’Avrcoviou. Kai
Hkouoe to u ayyEXou XEyowros' OCrrcos ttoi'ei, Kai
acbCiJ.
Antony’s words encapsulate several crucial features of desert life. The first is his
direct access to God. This access makes clear the abiding power of the Holy Spirit in
the text. The monastic world bristles with this heavenly presence, as the monk
constantly interacts with and has direct access to the guidance and wisdom o f God. In
us
Antony’s case, he turns to God and receives an immediate response. In a world where
prayers were often uttered but rarely answered in such a cogent manner, the power of
Antony’s prayer would have stood out, as he receives a dynamic and lasting
instruction from an angel in heaven.
This prayer and Antony’s request for salvation make up a second vital part of
the story. Many o f the sayings in the text start from this simple premise: how can I be
saved? The desert life is not so much about anything as salvation. The flight to the
desert is an attempt to save the soul, and most of the questions in the text attempt to
provide a response to this most basic o f questions. The twofold answer Antony
receives offers an illuminating view of the text as a whole. Antony is told to work and
pray. In Benedictine circles, the response makes a great deal o f sense, as both work
and prayer occupy large roles in their monastic rule. In the Apophthegmata, the same
holds true, although the definitions o f work and prayer are nowhere near as precise or
prescriptive as we find in the Benedictine tradition. For the desert fathers, prayer is
the focus of much advice, much intervention, and much scrutiny.12 So too is work
which appears under a number of different headings: ipyo v, ip ya o ia , ipyoxsipov,
ir d v o f, k o t t o s , ir p a fy s™ The range of words devoted to this idea seems to
underscore its significance.
12 See, for example, Apophthegmata Patrum, Agathon 9; Epiphanius 3: Theodore of Enaton 3.
13 It may be interesting to note the Latin translation of these terms, as this translation might help
confirm the ambiguity and richness of the concept of monastic work. The translation found in the
Patrologiae Graeca tends to use the following terms: opus for Ipyov, operatic for ip ya o ia , although
an interesting exception occurs at Antony 4 where opus is used instead; operor manibus for
ipydxetpov, labor for rrdvofw d tcorrof, and actio for npagif.
116
Work lies at the heart o f the monastic noAireia. This chapter will focus on
the conceptions o f work, its use as a didactic instrument, and its relation to ascetic
pfprjoif as part of our larger project of understanding how ascetic behavior is
negotiated and defined. Much o f this negotiation and self-definition seems to hinge
upon the speaker o f the statement, and the life he or she leads, so many o f the efforts
in this chapter will be directed towards understanding the Apophthegmata Patrum in
the context o f the individual speaker’s life. This context brings out the true value of
this chapter as a whole, as the chapter presents us with one of the rarest of
opportunities, an opportunity to set foot inside ascetic circles, sit at the feet of the
abbas, and hear their words.
In the alphabetic collection, work signifies the basic goal of the desert life. It
is what the monk does. The frequency o f the verb noieiv reflects this fundamental
premise. It is almost impossible to read any part of the collection without seeing this
word. Abbas like Isidore the Priest repeatedly give their disciples advice along the
lines o f the following: “do everything that leads you to salvation”, w avra notet
r a et$ [ocorripi'cnA a y o u ra as.14 The abba’s words emphasize action, since they
provide a direct response to the questions o f the petitioner, questions which can often
be reduced to two simple words: r f noirtoco. In essence, the spiritual father’s answer
provides direction to his disciples, outlining the proper ip ya xo undertake or the right
lifestyle to follow.
14Apophthegmata Patrum, Isidore the Priest 6.
117
The responses themselves are even a type o f ip y a as the abba displays his
‘holiness’ through his response, showing his humility, wisdom, and lifestyle with his
every word. At times, the abba could say nothing, and the listener would be
enlightened. Sisoes actually chides a disciple for requesting a word. He advises the
disciple: “do whatever you see”, t'Sou o fiX im is wofrjoov.15 Another brother
implicitly seems to understand what Sisoes’ disciple did not. This brother tells
Antony that simply seeing him was enough.16 The implication is that Antony’s
asceticism made such an impression that speech was irrelevant.17 Antony’s works
are that spectacular. Even the non-spectacular, however, is significant in Antony’s
world, as the world of the desert fathers is one in which the work of the abba never
stops and in which his works are always there to discover.
That does not mean, however, that they are always on display, as much o f the
‘game’ being waged in the text involves uncovering the abba’s ip ya a ia . Eulogius
visits abba Joseph in the hopes of being introduced to a more austere life. While he is
visiting, Joseph’s ip ya cn a remains completely hidden, and Eulogius witnesses
nothing out o f the ordinary. On his way back, he gets lost and has to return. Once he
returns, he unsuccessfully tries to gulp down water mixed with sand and mud, and he
hears continuous chanting. The contrast with his prior visit shocks Eulogius, so he
questions abba Joseph. Joseph instructs him that it is important to labor in secret,
<ai ipade <ai airrbs iv rep Kpinrrcp ipya& aQai. Joseph implies that monastic
13Apophthegmata Patrum, Sisoes 45.
16Apophthegmata Patrum, Antony 27.
118
labor is meant for divine, not human praise. Eulogius is forced to confess that this
ip y a o fa is genuine and clearly superior to his own.18
Eulogius’ encounter with Joseph presents much of what is at stake in the text.
In a recent article, Maud Gleason speaks of the significance of reputation in the desert
and documents how vital gossip is to transmitting information about the status and
stature o f the abba.19 To use her words, “gossip made possible the community-wide
enforcement of social norms”.20 In the desert, social norms focused on the sanctity of
the monk, so gossip served, or tried to serve, to define and redefine the holy.
Eulogius’ story reflects the dichotomy between the talked about and the real, and it
points to how strongly desert fathers value ‘true’ sanctity and ‘true’ asceticism. It is
this asceticism which Eulogius learns at Joseph’s feet, an asceticism which is, above
all, a life lived in secret. It is a life with an obvious resemblance to that of Poemen
who says his ip y a o ia is to do everything in secret, ira vra iv KpiffjTrrqj iroieiv:21
What these lifestyles suggest is that a life in secret is a life in devotion to God,
as this lifestyle in and o f itself was supposed to be a ‘continuous’ prayer.22 Another
saying in the text promotes the importance o f God and o f hidden sanctity, as Zeno tells
a man renowned for his fasting that in the village, he was fed through his ears. The
17 cf. C. Rapp, “Storytelling as Spiritual Communication in Early Greek Hagiography: The Use of
Diegesis”. Journal o f Early Christian Studies 6 (1998), p. 435.
18Apophthegmata Patrum, Eulogius 1.
19 M. Gleason, “Visiting and News: Gossip and Reputation-Management in the Desen”. Journal o f
Early Christian Studies6 (1998): 501-521.
20 Gleason, p. 504.
21 Apophthegmata Patrum. Poemen 138.
real path to God, however, involves doing everything in secret.23 The great lesson is
that what is done for God has no need o f human acclamation. A monk like Theodore
recognizes this, stating that the work o f the soul, ip y o v Tffs y v x w , is to do
everything through the commandment o f God.24 All else is irrelevant.
A monastic lifestyle is, therefore, a lifestyle which is generally hidden. Gossip
helps to clarify and codify the holy. Beyond gossip, there existed the simplicity of the
monastic daily life, the individual monk’s labor. As Arsenius tells a woman who has
made a visit to see him against his will: have you not heard of my ipyaft2i Arsenius
suggests that her visit could undermine all his works. His statement also seems to
reveal that a monk is a sum o f his labors, and it is this labor which distinguishes one
monk from another, as the quality o f the monk’s labor spoke volumes about his
asceticism.
Work was so basic to the monastic life that it essentially was the monastic
life.26 Achilles tells a visitor that he works non-stop lest God accuse him of not
working when he could have done so.27 His remark brings to light a fundamental
truth. The entire life in the desert is work and to stop working is to sever one’s tie to
22 cf. Apophthegmata Patrum, Lucius 1.
23 Apophthegmata Patrum, Zeno 8.
24Apophthegmata Patrum, Theodore 11.
26 cf. P. Rousseau, Ascetics, Authority, and the Church in the Age o f Jerome and Cassian. (Oxford:
Oxford U P, 1978),p. 25.
27 Apophthegmata Patrum, Achilles 3.
120
the divine. As Apollo so lucidly remarks, “I am going to work with Christ today, for
the salvation o f my soul”, peTct tov X picro u §xco armepov epyaaaaQai unip
rfjf y v x w y o u 1*
Needless to say, the opportunities to witness this life were fairly limited, as the
monastic life was grounded in the cell, in the day to day, in the hour to hour, and was
difficult to measure on a random stopover or chance encounter. In many ways then,
the goal o f the petitioner is to seek out an abba and learn what exactly he does in the
corners o f his cell, far from the eyes of other ascetics. The petitioner desires to know
what makes an abba an abba.
The abbas’ responses are quite powerful; they declare the abbas’ credentials
and document a way o f life completely divorced from the secular world or the lay
community.29 The only time these communities do impinge upon the desert, the
encounters are generally, to borrow Hobbes’ expression, 'nasty, brutish, and short’.30
The abbas’ encounters with his fellow ascetic, however, usually give rise to sayings
which can often tell a story from the abba’s own life, or they simply consist of a
response which offers a profound statement about their lifestyle. Macarius’ encounter
with Zacharius is illuminating in this regard, as he asks Zacharius what the work,
ipyov, o f a monk is. Zacharius tells him that it is to do violence to himself in
everything, to ia u ro v j3td£sodai ei$ w a v ra 31 Zacharius reveals his own work, his
own devotion in his cell, to Macarius. This is the lifestyle he embraces, and the text
28Apophthegmata Patrum, Apollo 1.
29 cf. Apophthegmata Patrum, Poimen 61.
30 See, for example, Apophthegmata Patrum, Isaac 8.
121
does not need to do anything more to elaborate on it, as what was hidden is now made
clear.
An interesting exception, however, is when a brother says something he
himself does not put into practice. This is considered in an extremely adverse light,
and monks like Isidore explain the negativity. Isidore contends that the
correspondence o f words with one’s life, @i'o& is the whole of philosophy.32 So
intricate is the link between speech and practice and wisdom and experience, that to
speak o f things one does not practice is essentially to utter empty or even misleading
words and waste one’s time in the desert.33 A real abba would never commit such a
fault, as these abbas, like Ephrem, have the Holy Spirit on their lips.34 The wayward
brother, by contrast, receives stinging criticism from the fathers for his spiritless
words. Theodore chides a brother for his preaching, telling him to do the work first
before hurrying along at such speed and speaking o f things of which he has no
experience.33 Without putting these things into practice, the brother is essentially
boasting, and boasting is always viewed with scorn, even if it involves speaking o f
one’s good deeds.36
Those acts which one does not boast o f however, remain below the surface,
and it is the task of the text to bring them into a more luminous light. The prologue
31 Apophthegmata Patrum, Zacharius 1.
32Apophthegmata Patrum, Isidore 1.
33 cf. Rousseau, p. 25.
MApophthegmata Patrum, Ephrem 2.
35Apophthegmata Patrum, Theodore 9.
122
recognizes this, as it states that the monks hid themselves away, and by their supreme
humility in keeping most of their works hidden, they made progress on the way to
God, AavdavovTE$ S i Kcri r a ttAeTotcx tcov KaropdcjpaTcov Si ’ unepfioApv
ranstvcxppooOvrjs ouyxaA utttovtes, oirrco ttjv K ara 6eov Sitjuuaav oSov.
Humility goes hand in hand with secrecy, and it is a key term in the text, repeatedly
emphasized as one of the true goals of desert life.37 Humility ensures a recognition of
the ascetic’s right place in the world, far below God, and it hints at one of the
fundamental objectives of desert life: the abnegation o f the will. So strong was the
rejection of the will that it underlies one of the core features o f the text: spiritual
fatherhood.38 To live in obedience to a superior, to renounce one’s will to follow his
guidance, this was the prima facie definition of virtue for the desert fathers.39 In fact,
Abba Rufus declares that obedience is the mother of all virtues and salvation o f the
faithful.40 Pambo says obedience is greater than poverty or fasting, and remarks that it
is the stuff with which one makes martyrs.41 Both monks recognize that to deny one’s
will is even more of an achievement than to deny one’s body.
Obedience and humility have long been recognized as significant virtues in the
collection. It is work, however, which unites them together and gives them shape. As
16Apophthegmata Patrum, Xanthias 1. cf. Agathon 1.
37 For just a sampling of passages on this, see Apophthegmata Patrum, Antony 7; Daniel 3; Theophilus
6.
38 cf. A Hamilton, “Spiritual Direction in the Apophthegmata’'. Colloquium 15 (1983), p. 33.
39 cf. P. Brown, The Body and Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity.
(New York: Columbia U P, 1988), pp. 227-8.
40Apophthegmata Patrum. Rufus 2.
123
Abba Poemen explains, “life in the monastery demands three actions: one is humility,
another is obedience, and the third which sets them in motion and holds the goad, on
account o f the work o f the monastery”, XP*)C£l T° <oivo(3iov ix £iv rpeis wpaêis,
pi'av Taneivrjv, <ai ptav e i$ OnaKonv. <ai ptav K£KtvT)pivT]v Kai ixo u o a v to
Kevrpov, Sia to ip y o v to O k o i vofii'ou.42 Poemen speaks of work as if it were the
rhythm o f monastic life. This rhythm provides an order to one’s life, and it places the
monk in harmony with the Lord. In essence, then, daily labor brings about the larger
goals o f obedience and humility because it announces the consistency of one’s
devotion and the ardor o f one’s faith.
Yet all daily labor, all monastic work is not the same. The range o f words used
to identify monastic labor reflects a variety o f interpretations of the monastic life. The
most obvious is that o f manual work, ipyox& pov. It carries a much more precise
definition than ip yo v ; but it is not as far removed from the term as we might imagine.
At most points in the collection, whenever an abba speaks of work, he denotes the
larger work of the soul, such as when Theodore contrasts this type o f work with
manual labor, stating that the former is much more important than the latter.43 Manual
labor, ipyox& pov, by contrast, is perceived as selfish and even impious.
Nonetheless, manual labor furnished the monk with his daily meals, his daily routine,
and although some monks lacked the energy or discipline to take it on, in general it
41 Apophthegmata Patrum, Pambo 3.
42Apophthegmata Patrum, Poemen 103.
43Apophthegmata Patrum, Theodore 10. cf. G. Gould. The Desert Fathers on Monastic Community.
(Oxford: Clarendon P. 1993), pp. 99-100.
124
went hand in hand with the monastic "work’, the work defining a monk’s lifestyle.44
A continuous labor, or ipyoxetpov, is, as Lucius shows, supposed to be a continuous
prayer. Lucius’ example is particularly telling since he chides monks for claiming
they abandon manual labor in order to pray without ceasing. Lucius views this type of
labor as essential to the monastic life since it provides the bare necessities to live. He
suggests that this labor can be itself a type of prayer, as the smallest parts of his
lifestyle are an act o f homage to God 45 Lucius’ words stand as a corrective to much
of the thought circulating in the desert, as many ascetics attempted to deny their bodies
entirely and become all flame.46 Only the true great fathers achieved this state, and it
is not so clear that this achievement lay in total deprivation.47 Of course, at other
times, the fathers chided their disciples for prioritizing bodily needs over spiritual
ones, such as the father who tells John the Eunuch that John is not able to carry out the
work of God, to ip y o v to G deou,; in peace for his failure in this regard.48 The words
John hears point to the stigma attached to ipyoxeipov more generally, as this type of
labor was usually viewed as secondary to the labor for God. Lucius’ words thus put
forth a significant difference o f opinion and a revealing statement about his own life
and asceticism.
44 cf. Apophthegmata Patrum, Biare I.
45Apophthegmata Patrum, Lucius 1.
46 Such as John the Dwarf, Apophthegmata Patrum, John the Dwarf 2.
47 Such as Antonv, Apophthegmata Patrum, Sisoes 9; and Arsensius. Apophthegmata Patrum, Arsenius
27.
48Apophthegmata Patrum, John the Eunuch 1.
125
Beyond the seemingly banal practice of daily labor, the main labor for the
ascetic was the spiritual and corporeal. Words like tto vo s and k o tto ? capture the
mentality o f this labor, and they provide a strong tie to the world of the Stoics, in
addition to that o f Athanasius’ Antony.49 For Antony and the Stoics, struggle was an
intensely athletic affair, a daily combat. The desert fathers, like Agathon, thought
likewise. He says that the hardworking monk is a warrior, o t o i o Ot o $ ep ya rrjf
io n Kai iroAeuiarf\s50 John the Dwarf elaborates on what Agathon means. He
defines a monk as “all toil. The monk toils at all he does. That is what a monk is”,
ko tto s. o n o (jovaxos s i s irav ip y o v Komqc. o u to j$ o uovaxo? 51 John’s
statement is crucial to the text, as it sets out his own lifestyle and that of many o f the
other monks. These monks toil. Arsenius even recognizes this toil as the distinctive
feature o f the Egyptian monks, contending that “we get nothing from secular
education, but the rustic Egyptians acquire the virtues through their labors”,
fmeTs a n d rf\s to Q koopou naiSeuoEca$ oirSev, ouroi S i aypoikoi Kai
Aiy&rrroi a n d tcov iStcov trdvcov iicnjaavTO ra$ aperdry.52 Both Arsenius and
John define the desert life as toil and point to its distinctive place as the striking
feature o f the ascetic lifestyle in Egypt.
This toil takes on many manifestations. At times, monks toil to conquer
passions, at other times in repentance, at times against demons, and at times simply in
49 P. Hadot. Philosophy as a Way o f Life, trans. A. Davidson. (Oxford: Blackwell. 1995), pp. 126-144.
50Apophthegmata Patrum, Agathon 1.
51 Apophthegmata Patrum, John the Dwarf 37.
126
their daily lives. Examples of these types o f sayings abound throughout the text.
Apollo once murdered a woman and a child and spends the next forty years o f his life
in the desert, seeking forgiveness for his crime. After this time elapses, an elder in the
area tells him that “God has forgiven you even the death of the child, but he leaves
you in turmoil because that is good for your soul”, <ai to natStou ouuexcoprjoe
001 o © e o s , aXXa atpt'et oe ev rep novcp, o ti ouptpipet T fj 'p u y f j aou.53 Apollo’s
toil here is expressed as physical and emotional trauma, but it ensures his salvation. It
undergirds his life and indicates the value of his asceticism. Other monks point out
that toil is a necessity on the path to God. Elias tells the story o f a monk who battles
the devil and only finds salvation when he turns to the Lord. Elias completes his story
by forcefully declaring, “it is necessary to take great pains, and anyone who does not
do so, cannot come to God. For he himself was crucified for our sake” k o tto u
i to X X o O x p n o , K a i ei p 17 yevrjTai. ou Suvarat n s ix e iv to v Q eov auroO.
A uto s y a p St ’ npas eoraupcodn 54 Elias’ words are a powerful statement about his
own life and point to a monastic worldview. To live in the cell is to toil. It is to take
vigilance over the soul and over one’s relationship with God.55 Agathon once tells a
story about his life in which he has a vision placing him before the judgment seat. He
wants to know if his work, to ipyov, is acceptable to God. As his disciples try to
question him further, he passes away, and all they have left is a lesson defining his
53Apophthegmata Patrum, Apoilo 2.
54Apophthegmata Patrum, Elias 7.
55 Hadot, pp. 133-4.
127
life.56 That lesson is to preserve the strictest vigilance in everything. This vigilance
ensures that one’s work, like Agathon’s, is acceptable.
Vigilance and toil, however, may not be enough, as other monks show. The
desert life for Antony of Athanasius’ hagiography is about a relationship with God.
Although the vocabulary in that work is not the vocabulary of the desert, the idea, in
the Apophthegmata Patrum, remains true. In a telling episode, Antony chastizes
Amoun. Amoun complains that his toils are stricter than Antony’s. Why, then, is
Antony’s name greater? Antony tells him it is because he loves God more.57
Antony’s words are a useful reminder that one’s way o f life is not everything; God is.
The way of life is a service to God. This lesson is reaffirmed by Carion. He says that
he has taken on more labors, kottou than his son yet not reached the same measure of
humility and silence.58 Carion has thus in a sense failed, while his son has not. Their
failure might be one of attitude, although this is not explicitly stated, as it is in the Life
o f Antony. One other saying, however, does seem to imply as much. This saying
comes from Copres who states that blessed is the one who bears toils, k o tto s , with
thanksgiving.59 The toils for Copres are less important than how one battles the toils.
This attitude may be confirmed in a saying o f abba Ares. He offers us some
fascinating insights on this relationship between the intensity of one’s devotion and
the rigidity o f one’s life. He dictates a series of hardships for a brother who seeks
56Apophthegmata Patrum, Agathon 29.
57Apophthegmata Patrum, Amoun 1.
58Apophthegmata Patrum, Carion 1.
59Apophthegmata Patrum, Copres 2.
128
salvation. Abba Abraham questions Ares, asking why the brother receives harsher
yokes, fia p ia tpoprt'a, than everyone else. Ares responds that the monk is a hard
worker, sp y arris, and does what is asked with zeal, percr anouSffs voter. As a
result, Ares speaks the word o f God, to v A oyov toO deoO, to him.60 Ares’ words
teem with significance, as they make a strong correlation between zeal, hardships, and
the divine. The intensity of the brother’s devotion leads Ares to reveal the word of
God to him. Ares essentially assumes a prophetic stance, a role in which the desert
fathers are often placed. Only in this case, the disciple’s efforts to ’perform’ his
commands, to give Ares’ words purchase, meet with a special reward. They enable
Ares to be a true spiritual father, and they enable the disciple to attain salvation. The
desert life has bom fruit. The disciple has proved the validity of Isaiah’s warning that
whoever has not worked will not receive a reward from God, ea v pi) ti$
ip ya a q ra t, ouAap(3duet piodov n a p a to u 8eou, as the disciple receives such a
reward that it touches his master as well.61
One final conception of work remains for us to examine. This is ip ya o ia . It
is the summation o f a monastic life, the fruit of ascetic endeavors, and the definition of
a monk himself. It is the work of the soul, the monastic devotion to God, and the
prime reason monks flock to the desert. ’E pyaoi'a identifies the quality of one’s
monastic life, and it is the feature that lies behind the gossip, shrouded in secrecy, as a
testimony to one’s relationship to the divine. For this reason, Silvanus says that the
60Apophthegmata Patrum, Ares 1.
61 Apophthegmata Patrum, Isaiah S.
129
monk is wretched holding a name greater than his ip y a o ia 62 An episode from the
life o f Poemen explains why. An old man has heard much of Poemen’s reputation, but
when he visits, Poemen’s humility and patience make his works one hundred times
greater, iK aTovrairAaoiova iv rep ipycp.62 These works underlie Poemen’s
ip y a o ia and explain his spiritual authority. This ipya ai'a is often very personal, as
it is a reflection o f the monk’s own life, and it is the reason I emphasize the context of
the speaker’s life so strongly. The monks reveal their own lifestyle with their works,
they dramatically demonstrate the lengths of their devotion, and they support their
standing as spiritual fathers.
These ip ya a i'a are obviously very different. Poemen can say that the
ip y a o ia are equal, that one monk can preserve interior peace and another gives
thanks to God in illness, and yet another serve the Lord with a pure mind, and all are
doing the same ip y a o ia 64 Nisterus can make similar claims, as the particular
ip y a o ia is not so important, as long as it is made in obedience to God and promotes
the well-being o f the soul.63 They both recognize the individuality o f the ip y a o ia ,
and they promote the extent of options available for a monk to live a life worthy o f his
divine calling.
62Apophthegmata Patrum, Silvanus 10.
65Apophthegmata Patrum, Nisterus 2.
130
What works should the monk embrace? This question seems to cause a great
amount of anxiety in the text. What troXtTsia should the neophyte follow?66
Answers vary considerably, and they are more abstract than concrete, as examples
take precedence over prescriptions. We have already encountered the example of
Eulogius and abba Joseph. Another example along this line is found in the sayings of
Eucharistius. Two fathers want to know how much progress they have made in their
spiritual life, and they are told that they do not compare with Eucharistius and his
wife. The fathers decide to visit the couple, and will not eat until they hear of their
ip ya o ia . Eucharistius obliges their request, outlining his humility, abstinence,
hospitality, care of the poor, and ending by stating that this is the first time he has
spoken of such things.67 Eucharistius confirms what we know quite well. He speaks
of the value of secrecy, of devotion, and of a monastic lifestyle, an ip ya o ia , that is in
total obedience to God. It is a very individual ip ya o ia , a dramatic portrayal o f the
force of his monastic endeavors, which allows his wife and him to make rapid spiritual
progress.
This progress is in many ways what the text is most trying to convey and what
the monks most desperately seek. The abbas’ disciples long for the right monastic
formula, but the text is painfully aware of the fact that there is no all encompassing
formula. The spiritual fathers understand the needs of the petitioners and try to cater
to these needs, and to do this, they promote their own ip ya o ia , an ip y a o ia which
expresses their sanctity, a sanctity that offers a powerful teaching about the ascetic
66 cf. Apophthegmata Patrum, Theophilus 4.
131
life. This accounts for the significance of work in the text and in the many stories
detailing monastic ip ya o ia . One such story is that of Antony who uses his ip y a o ia
as a lesson about the individual monk and his striving for spiritual glory. Antony
declares that his ip y a o ia is to take the blame for his sins before God and expect
temptation until his last breath.68 Antony’s work is a struggle, it is a labor to find God
and find perfection. It is also one in which he recognizes his place in relation to the
divine, as he defines himself and his life in terms of temptation and blame. This
definition reveals Antony’s own spiritual progress and explains Antony’s lifestyle to
his disciples. It understands that the desert is about hidden sanctity, as it is not about
the monks so much as the divine. Zeno observes that Egyptians hide their virtues and
accuse themselves of faults they do not have.69 Zeno knows the desert well.
What then, in this desert, is the place for yiuqoifl What would the term
mean? The term is fairly infrequent in spite of its prominence in the prologue. John
the Eunuch advises that everyone imitate the fathers, for they lived with much
austerity and peace in the desert, /tiurjocofjeda to v$ TTaripas rjpcjv, percr iroias
OKArjpaycoyias Kai nouxias itcaBtoav d$8e 70 John’s invocation o f viprjoif is
interesting, but so too is his commandment. His words seem difficult to translate into
as systematic an approach as monastic rules would imply, and for good reason. The
desert is about the individual monk, his labor, and his cell. The monk seeks advice, he
gets instructions, and he lives in obedience to a spiritual father. He encounters other
67Apophthegmata Patrum. Eucharistius 1.
68Apophthegmata Patrum, Antony 4.
69Apophthegmata Patrum, Zeno 3.
132
monks, has some difficulties, and some complications do arise, but he is above all a
monk with his own labors to fulfill. The spiritual father might set the agenda, but the
monk must do the work. In fact, one famous story involves Macarius who advises two
strangers arriving at his doorstep to take up a series o f monastic labors. Macarius does
not see them for years, and wonders what their ip y a o ia is. Macarius goes to
investigate and discovers two monks on the verge o f salvation. When they die, a short
time after Macarius’ visit, he goes so far as to call them martyrs.71 The point is that
Macarius might have told them what to do, but the monks did the actual work. This is
why work is so crucial, because it shows us that at root, desert life is about the monk
and his cell. Time after time, the monk is told, the cell will teach you everything or go
sit in the cell and meditate there.72 Life in the desert is learning to dwell in the cell
and learning to undertake the monastic labors there. The labors o f the desert are those
of the cell, living patiently, weeping, and devoting the soul to God.73 There is no rule
for the cell; there is no need to speak all that frequently of piunois. There is only the
monk and his labors, and the text as a whole tries to give guidelines for enduring these
labors, guidelines which have much to offer about individual monks and their lives
and must thus be read in this context, and guidelines which have much to offer about
what it means to be a monk at all.
DL Conclusion
70Apophthegmata Patrum, John the Eunuch 4.
71 Apophthegmata Patrum, Macarius 33.
72Apophthegmata Patrum, Moses 6; Hierax 1; Poemen 168.
73Apophthegmata Patrum, Gelasius 6.
133
To enter the world o f the desert fathers is to enter into the cell, sit down for
one’s labors, and discover the true meaning o f work. It is to find an ip y a o ia and
thereby find God. The stories in the text are stories o f aspiring ascetics looking for an
ip y a o ia , consulting an ascetic master about the right actions to take and the actions
which must be avoided. One might expect the text to resemble a monastic rule, with
strict guidelines and sophisticated instructions governing the day to day activities o f
the aspiring ascetic. This is not the case, as the monks recognize an individuality to
the ascetic labors. The implicit mantra seems to be that in the end, everything falls on
the shoulders o f the monk. It is up to him to cultivate his ip y a o ia and remain
faithful to the discipline it demands. The stories and sayings of the desert fathers are
the'stories and sayings o f how he does this, of how he embraces the monastic labors
and the authority of the abbas to find that ip y a o ia which would lead him to the
divine.
The Apophthegmata Patrum is thus a very weighty text, with the expectations
far greater than those found in hagiographies or pilgrim narratives. Yet along with this
gravitas comes a respect we do not often see in the hagiographies and pilgrim
narratives, a respect for the fellow ascetic, an independence given to him, even if he is
a disciple under the care o f a spiritual father like Macarius, to find his own way, to
find his ip ya o ia . As the church starts to occupy the forefront of our discussion in the
chapters to come, it will be important to remember this independence, an
independence the church would do much to minimize and alter to fit its own ends.
The church becomes in these chapters the ultimate arbiter. For the monk in the desert,
work was that arbiter. It judged and accused the ascetic, but it could also uplift him to
134
the heights o f asceticism, to the level o f an abba. How the abba maintained this work
would ultimately point to his sanctity, his place in the desert, his stature as a speaker,
as an authentic practitioner and teacher whose words and deeds are worthy of
inclusion in the “Sayings o f the Desert Fathers”.
135
Chapter 4: The Church and the Ascetic
I. Introduction
The age of Christian triumphalism was the age in which a single word came to
define everything. That word was orthodoxy, and it carried the authority of a rapidly
growing church, if not that of God. The years following the conversion o f Constantine
saw the drawing of battle lines, the staking out of territory. These years saw the
religion o f the few become the religion of the empire; however, it was not so apparent
which religion the majority were embracing. “Donatism” in Africa and “Arianism” in
Egypt, to name just two divergent branches of the Christian faith, proved that
Constantine’s conversion might have solved one problem, but there were many other
problems left to overcome.
These problems were the problems that polarized a supposedly universal
church. Uniting the church was far from easy, so a war for orthodoxy began to take
place, with nearly every comer of the Roman world a potential battleground. In the
midst o f this war, charismatic figures, like the ascetics of the first couple chapters,
would at times loom large. Bishops, like Athanasius, would start to write lives of
these men and even occasionally summon the ascetics into their city to lend support to
their cause.1 This support did not come without its share of difficulties. How does
one know that the monks supporting one’s cause are truly holy men? What makes one
bishop’s monks devout and another sinners in disguise?
1On this issue, see D. Brakke, Athanasius and the Politics o f Asceticism. (Oxford: Gaiendon P. 1995).
S.A. Harvey, Asceticism and Society in Crisis: John o f Ephesus and the Lives o f the Eastern Saints.
(Berkeley, CA: U of California P, 1990); and J. Binns, Ascetics and Ambassadors o f Christ: The
Monasteries o f Palestine, 314-631. (Oxford: Clarendon P, 1994).
136
No one was sure. Wherever the lines were drawn, they were never very clear.
What was clear was that ambiguity reigned, with ecclesiastical perceptions o f the
ascetic anything but uniform. Underlying these perceptions seemed to be a fear, a fear
of the competition which the ascetic potentially offered to the church, as he was often
able, or at least perceived to be able, to conjure God’s power in a dynamic and awe
inspiring manner. This power made the monks holy figures in contradistinction to the
episcopate, and it led to trying and tense relations between the church and the ascetic,
as the church began to legislate, if not mitigate, the ascetics’ power. Legislation,
however, was mired in complications, as the ascetic, with his exemplary life and
access to the divine, promoted rigidity where the church sought moderation,
exclusivity where the church sought inclusion. The ascetic could transform the
church. Yet, with the church becoming an institution of overwhelming proportions, it
became very difficult, if not impossible, for the ascetic to live without this institution.
Interestingly enough then, the late antique ascetic presents us with one of
history’s more intriguing paradoxes: standing far apart from the church, he, or in those
extremely rare cases she, is usually inside it. Negotiating this divide often proved to
be the most perilous o f tasks, and it was not in the least bit shocking that a fierce battle
over the position and definition of the ascetic began to take shape by the end of the
fourth century. At stake was nothing less than the meaning of Christianity itself. How
should one live the Christian life? Asceticism offered a powerful, if radical, response
to this question. It offered a vision of life outside society, of life outside the church.
In fact, in many cases, much of the authority and charisma which the ascetic possessed
seemed to hinge on his location outside the church. How was the church to bring this
137
authority under its jurisdiction? How does an institution control a phenomenon whose
existence is predicated on a lack o f institutional control?
The first three chapters have briefly touched upon these questions. The
questions have appeared in Athanasius’ depiction of Antony and even in Palladius, but
the questions have not occupied the center of our discussion, as we examined ascetics
who deliberately tried to live outside of the immediate area of the church’s influence
and thereby minimize its importance and relevance for their lives. What we need,
then, is to place the ascetic in the church and assess his definition and perceptions in
this context. The importance of such a venture cannot be overstated, so the rest of the
dissertation will attempt to analyze church-ascetic relations.
Q. Epiphanius, the Bishop Defining the Ascetic
To this point, we have examined a few writers, each offering their own
perception o f asceticism. This perception, we have found, relies a great deal upon the
writer’s context, his historical context, and his audience. It should not come as a
surprise that the same could be said o f the focus of the present chapter: Epiphanius.
Epiphanius was a bishop in Cyprus. He lived in the late fourth century and was a
central figure in the Origenist controversy.2 His most famous works, the Ancoratus
and Pcmarion, were written about twenty-five years before the controversy was in full
bloom, but both works take aim against heretics and the Origenists in particular.3
2 E. Clark, The Origenist Controversy: The Cultural Construction of an Early Christian Debate.
(Princeton, NJ: Princeton U P, 1992), pp. 86-104; J. Dechow. Dogma and Mysticism in the Early
Church: Epiphanius and the Legacy o f Origen. (Macon, GA: Mercer U P. 1988); R. Lyman. “The
Making of a Heretic: The Life of Origen in Epiphanius Panarion 64”. Studia Patristica 31 (1997): 445-
51.
3 K_ HoU, J. Diunmer, H. Lietzmann, and W. Eltester have edited the Greek text of the Ancoratus and
Panarion in Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten drei Jahrhunderte. Volume 1 was
138
Epiphanius’ works provide fertile ground for understanding the church’s
definition o f and relationship to ascetics. Epiphanius himself was an ascetic and even
an abbot before he became a bishop, and this fact seems to make his perceptions of
asceticism all the more fascinating.4 For whatever his early training or early life might
have been, his later writings as a bishop are strikingly and stridently episcopal.5 They
have a great deal to say about the church, the role of the bishop and priest within the
church, and the dangers of heresy. The Panarion is, after all, a catalogue of heresies, a
medicine chest offering remedies against these pernicious and dangerous groups.
What makes the Panarion's depiction of heresies particularly significant for our
purposes is its audience. The work was written at the prompting of two ascetics,
Acacius and Paul, who want to set their way of life, iroXneia, on a firmer footing.
To achieve this end, they crave the spiritual words of the new apostle, Epiphanius,
who will teach them about the heretics.6 Epiphanius’ work is thus conceived of as an
explicitly ascetic document, as it is written to instruct and protect ascetics from the
dangers surrounding them.7
Epiphanius has a great deal to offer about the church’s understanding of
ascetics. What place does a bishop conceive in the church for ascetics? How does he
issued in 1915, Volume 2 in 1922, and Volume 3 in 1933. F. Williams has made an English translation
of the Panarion, published by Brill which I generally follow in this chapter with occasional
modifications. Volume 1 appeared in 1987; the second volume was published in 1990.
4The evidence for Epiphanius’ asceticism is not overwhelming and some caution is required, as
Rubenson, p. 176, n.3, wisely urges. For the ancient evidence, see Jerome, LifeofHilarion, 1;
Sozomen, Ecclesiastical History, 6.32.3; and the Letter of Acacius and Paul preceding the Panarion.
5 P. Rousseau, “Orthodoxy and the Coenobite”. Studia Patristica 30 (1997), p. 247.
6 Letter of Acacius and Paul, 1.2*1.4,1.7-1.9.
139
define their lifestyles, and what factors influence this definition? Given Epiphanius’
ascetic background, we would expect him to give considerable attention to these
questions, to make penetrating insights on the nature of asceticism and ecclesiastical
asceticism. To our surprise, he has little to say. This fact, however, speaks volumes
about the church and asceticism. Bishops, for the most part, seem to leave ascetics on
the periphery, with relative freedom to establish their own lifestyles and govern
themselves.8 Despite this freedom, bishops and other church officials do impose
limits and strictures on the ascetic lifestyle to ensure that asceticism does not become
an island unto itself, entirely removed from the ecclesiastical main.
These limits and strictures present a means for us to come to terms with the
nature o f church and ascetic relations and the church’s understanding and definition of
asceticism. To say the least, this understanding and definition always revolve around
the church itself, as the church has little concern for the ascetic but a great deal of
concern for itself. Epiphanius holds true to this idea, as the fundamental premise o f
the Panarion is that asceticism has absolutely no value outside the church. For this
reason, faith, of the orthodox variety, dominates the work, with the ending a little
tractate entitled De fide, and each section of the work essentially a sermon on the
dangers o f deviating from this faith. Depicting the errors of Hieracas, an Egyptian
who believed that the flesh never rises, only the soul does, Epiphanius writes, “his
cf. R. Lyman, “Origen as Ascetic Theologian: Orthodoxy and Authority in the Fouith-Century
Church”. In Origeniana Septima, eds. W. Bienert and U. Kuhneweg. (Leuven: Leuven U P, 1997), p.
189.
8 cf. D. Caner. “Notions of 'Strict Discipline' and Apostolic Tradition in Early Definitions of Orthodox
Monasticism”. In S. Elm et al., ed.. Orthodoxy, Christianity, History. (Paris: Ecole de franâise. 2000),
p. pp. 33-34.
140
lifestyle is o f no avail; to settle for lifeless things coupled with wrong belief is no
school o f life and hope o f salvation” Kai aarrjv aurou Kai rj iroAneia. ou ya p
to a yu xo is aoKeiodai yeTcr KaKomcri'as, to u to Qcoris sari Kai iAm Sos
SiSaoKaAeTov Kai ocoTrjpiaf.9 Errors in faith negate the most powerful ascetic
practices, and the greater lesson Epiphanius puts forth is that no matter what lifestyle
the ascetics wish to embrace, the root o f all Christian worship is faith.
Alongside faith, Epiphanius always places and emphasizes the church, the
guiding spirit and focal point o f Epiphanius’ work. To stand apart from the church is
to be a heretic, a poisonous insect damaging Christ’s holy bride. To stand apart from
the church is to have an identity which is not fundamentally that of a Christian. This
is the implicit message for the ascetic audience throughout Epiphanius’ text.
Whatever lifestyle the ascetic embraces, he or she must remember his/her essential
religious allegiance, an allegiance to Christ which is an allegiance to the church.
What, however, does it mean to embrace the church? Epiphanius seems to
offer a number o f criteria: scripture, rejection of circumcision, recognition of the true
nature of the trinity, and submission to episcopal authority. These aspects of
ecclesiastical life dictate the terms on which the Panarion is written. They provide the
broad outline which Epiphanius is sketching for his ascetic audience. Time afler time,
Epiphanius depicts heresy as a deviation from scripture, a blatant misreading o f the
word o f God. The consequences o f this error involve a complete misunderstanding of
the true nature of God and thus o f Jesus. To see Jesus as anything other than human
9 Epiphanius. Panarion, 67.7.
141
and divine or to believe in any other God besides the one true God is to place one’s
soul in serious jeopardy if not utter damnation.
Epiphanius’ insistence on these two issues accounts for the large scope of his
work. His work details a long list of heresies which predate the life of Jesus, heresies
which start with Adam and the fall, and which Epiphanius uses to work out the
theological consequences o f the fall. These heresies highlight the true identity of the
church, as the church existed at the first, before the fall, and was revealed again later,
with Jesus’ arrival in the flesh and his salvation of mankind. The church, Epiphanius
declares, is the start of everything. 10 The failure to embrace Jesus and be a part of the
church is a failure that can only be captured with the stigma of heresy and is a failure
worthy of inclusion in Epiphanius’ narrative. Epiphanius does not mention those
people who have not failed because those people can be captured in a single word:
church. To remove oneself from the church is to reserve a space in Epiphanius’
medicine chest.
Inclusion in this chest is not limited to heretics, however. Epiphanius also lists
schisms, which are lesser breaches within the church. 11 The Audians are an example
o f a schism. They are orthodox in faith and even impressive in ascetic practice.
Epiphanius goes so far as to remark that Audius was eminent in his homeland for the
purity o f his life, for his godly zeal, and for faith, 8ia<pavf\s ti$ Kara ttjv eairrou
10 Epiphanius, Panarion, 2.
11 A. Pouririer. L'heresiologie chezEpiphane de Salamine. (Paris: Beauchesne, 1992), p. 91.
142
waTpiSa, Sia to aKpanpvis to Q (3i'ouxai K a r a deov CrjAouKcri m orecof} 2
Audius’ impressive life, however, becomes the basis of his departure from the church,
as it leads him to criticize bishops of inferior moral standing and to refuse even to
acknowledge the authority o f the bishops. This refusal ultimately causes him to make
an error in dogma, as he does not understand the image of God correctly, believing
that man was literally, not figuratively, made in God’s image. While not as serious an
error as refusing to believe in the divinity o f Jesus, it is an error nonetheless and places
the Audians outside the purity of the church’s teachings.
Epiphanius, then, locates asceticism within an ecclesiastical context and
demands that it adhere to the church’s guidelines. These guidelines are not monastic
rules, that is, they are not so precise as to list the intricate nuances o f ascetic practices,
but the guidelines are crucial since they place scripture at the forefront of ascetic life.
Ascetics must adhere to the values found in the Bible (the Old and New Testaments),
or their lifestyles lose all merit. Scripture, in essence, acts as a control upon
asceticism. 13 This seems to be somewhat of a difference from the desert, where
ascetics may or may not live in accordance with the words of a spiritual father, but
seem to have relatively free rein to define their own lifestyles. While these lifestyles
may share some similarities with scriptural teachings, it is in no way clear that this
must be the case. 14 By contrast, scripture for Epiphanius controls what these lifestyles
12 Epiphanius, Panarion, 70.1.
13 cf. C. Rapp, “Christians and (heir Manuscripts in the Greek East in the Fourth Century” In G.
Cavallo e t at, ed, Scritture, testi nelle aree provinciali di Bisanzio. (Spoleto: Centro italiano di studi
sull’alto Medioevo, 1991), pp. 127-48.
14 cf. D. Burton-Christie, The Word in the Desert: Scripture and the Questfo r Holiness in Early
Christian Monasticism. (Oxford: Oxford U P, 1993).
143
can and cannot be. It defines the ascetic life, creating a set o f shared values and rules
amongst all the ascetics Epiphanius is addressing. Any ascetic violating the terms laid
out in the Bible is an ascetic who is not living a truly holy life. Scripture in a sense
creates community, as it identifies a uniform set o f conduct that all ascetics must
observe to remain a part of a recognized institution like the church. Community is
important because the church is “like a ship. A ship, though, is not made of one kind
o f wood, but of different kinds. Its keel is made of one kind of wood... and its
anchors o f another. Its beams, planks, and ribs, its frame-timbers, the stem... are an
assemblage o f different kinds of wood”, ioiKe S i rj a y ia to O Se o v B K K A q a ia vrjt
vau$ S i ouk a n d ivo s £uAou OKeuaêrai, aAA in Sia<p6pcov, <ai rrjv p iv
Tpom v a n d ivo s £uAou... ra s S i a yxvp a s i£ irep o v . nep n o va ia tb teat
aaviSes teal r a iyxotAia, o r a u a r d ... etc 8ia<p6pcov £uAcov exei t ij v
a w a y c jy ij.15
Epiphanius’ use of the shipping metaphor clarifies his ascetic agenda. He
seems to acknowledge the prominent place ascetics might have in the community, but
he uses the community to keep a check on ascetic behavior, as a proviso which
prevents ascetic extremes. Such a proviso is no small measure. It brings a set of
responsibilities and a sense o f organization which the bishops, as the governing body,
ensure. These responsibilities shape ascetic behavior in several significant ways.
One o f these ways consists o f sex and marriage. Many ascetic groups embrace
chastity as a fundamental value, a means o f distinguishing themselves from other
IS Epiphanius, Panarion, 61.3.
144
Christians. Epiphanius believes chastity is a noble ideal which provides a foundation
for the church. He writes that “the basis and, as it were, foundation in the church is
the virginity which is practiced and observed by many, and held in honor”, xprjiris
K<xi, cos b itte iv , fiadpos iv a u rfi rj napdevi'a, aaxoupivrj te xai <puAaTTopivrj
rrapa noAAoTs xai iv 8o£a£opE'vrj16 In another part o f his narrative, he calls
virginity the pride o f the holy Catholic and apostolic church, rfjs dyi'as xadoAixrjs
xai dwoaroAiKns ixxAqoias xauxrjpa . 17
Epiphanius is quick to qualify his remarks by adding that lawful wedlock is
also esteemed, as the Pauline letters and parts of the Old Testament clearly
demonstrate. He often groups virginity with wedlock, writing “the holy Catholic
church reveres virginity, the single life and purity, commends widowhood and accepts
lawful wedlock; but it forbids fornication, adultery, and unchastity”, n S i a y ia
ixxArjofa xai irapQeviav SogaCei xai povorrjra xai a yveta v xa i
XnpoouvrjvinaivETxai ya p o v aepvov rip g xai Sexbtoi, tropVEi'av S i xai
poiXBiavxai aaiA ysiav anayopEUBt.18 Epiphanius’ desire to include marriage
among the honored lifestyles o f the church ensures that asceticism neither obscures
nor denigrates the marital life. It also acts as a curb upon ascetic behavior, reminding
ascetics that chastity alone does not guarantee one’s sanctity.
In fact, insisting upon virginity to the exclusion o f all other lifestyles is a grave
and heretical error. Epiphanius makes this point repeatedly throughout his work.
16 Epiphanius, De Fide, 21.
17 Epiphanius, Panarion>67.6.
145
Hieracas, in addition to all his other errors, refuses to believe in the legitimacy of
marriage. He claims that without continence, no one can have eternal life, avev S i
T o & r o ir [ayvei'as tcai dyxpdTeia^J p r j Suvaodai £rjv. 19 Epiphanius challenges
Hieracas’ views by turning to Paul and asking, if Paul accepts marriage, how can
Hieracas teach that marriage is to be rejected after Christ’s incarnation?20 Paul, as a
scriptural text, is the ultimate authority, the final word on whether marriage is
acceptable or not. Hieracas’ misreading of Paul reveals his heretical beliefs. To
accept Paul’s words is to accept the church’s governing rules.
Along similar lines, Epiphanius takes aim at the Apostolics. He writes that the
Apostolics are wrong to believe that marriage is unclean. If it is unclean, Epiphanius
argues, then everyone who is bom from marriage is unclean.21 This condemns all of
humanity, even the Apostolics themselves, and points out the absurdity of the
Apostolics’ views on marriage. More significant than the absurdity of the Apostolics’
belief is its textual basis, a basis which arises from two non-canonical works, the Acts
of Thomas and Andrew. These texts place the Apostolics outside the orthodoxy of the
church, and their beliefs only heighten their alienation.22 The Apostolics are more
22 The circulation of 'non-canonical’ texts in ascetic circles is a dissertation waiting to happen. It is

hardly accidental that the Nag Hammadi texts once resided in the library of a Pachomian monastery,
and the impassioned pleas of bishops like Epiphanius in the Panarion and Augustine in ep. 64 on the
authority o f scripture and the illegitimacy o f non-scriptural texts is certainly not idle banter. An
interesting example can be found in E.A. Budge. Miscellaneous Coptic Texts in the Dialect o f Upper
Egypt. (London: British Museum, 1915), pp. 58-60 (Coptic text); 636-638 (translation), in which a
monk insists upon a fifth gospel, the gospel of the Hebrews, a gospel that teaches that the Virgin Mary,
146
than outside the church, however. Epiphanius asserts that they “divide and harm
God’s holy church for no good reason, by depriving themselves of God’s philanthropy
through their willful sort o f worship”, axiQouai S i uccttjii odrot Kai fiAcnrrouoi
ttjv a y ia v 6eo0 iKKArjofav, Sia to u ideAodpqcKEueiv eKneoovTs$ rf\s to u
deou (piAavBpcoma$23 Harming the church, as Christ’s holy bride, is akin to
harming the Lord, and this act, no matter what the lifestyle underlying it is, cannot be
tolerated.
The extremity and intolerance of the Apostolic life seems to be what is at stake
in Epiphanius’ chapter on the sect. He introduces them with their self-identification,
an identification which arises from their practice of renouncing all possessions,
to prjSiv KSKTfjodai. While seemingly virtuous and in accordance with the terms
laid down in the Bible, this practice reveals a deeper state which is not all that
apostolic. Epiphanius details this state in his narrative by writing “the church has
members who have renounced the world and yet are not contemptuous of those who
are still in the world; they rejoice in the very great piety of such persons, as did the
apostles who owned nothing themselves” [77 iKKAr\aia\ ixei diroTaâpevous rqj
Kooucp Kai pn iretpuaicopevous K ara tc ju s ti ivKoapcp frnapxovrcav, aAAd
X ai'povras toi$ to ioutoi? ei/AafieoraToif ouai, K addm p Kai o i dirdoToAoi.
auroi fjiv aKTripoves OndpxovTe^.24 As if the arrogance of the Apostolics was not
enough, their alienation from other Christians points out their fundamental flaw.
the mother of God, is a force. This episode reinforces the point that ascetics did at times turn to other
texts, texts of which the church did not approve, to teach tenets of Christianity which differed from
those o f the orthodox church. For more on this, see J. Goehring, Ascetics, Society, and the Desert:
Studies in Earfy Egyptian Monasticism. (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity P International, 1999), pp. 162-186.
147
Epiphanius emphasizes this flaw by bringing out the communal nature of Christianity
and thus the church. He writes “if these people who have made their own renunciation
and live like the apostles would mix with the rest of us, their ways would not seem
strange, or different from God’s ordinance”, Kai ei y iv auroi [o/l dnora^dpevoi
Kai anooToAiKou (ttov (Sio u v t e s u era tco v aAAcou rjoav pepiypevoi, ouk
aAAoTpios rjv oxopoK Tfjp ours a n d rf\s to u deou Siara& cos
dne£eucjpevo$2s Epiphanius’ statement suggests that life as a Christian, ascetic or
non-ascetic, involves a recognition and understanding of the other members of God’s
community, of the members who help define and flesh out the different parts of the
ship of which all Christians are a part. To take up a life in physical and spiritual
exclusion from these Christians violates a commandment of God. The ascetic in the
desert can only be an ascetic in the desert if he or she recognizes that the desert does
not provide an excuse to turn one’s back on other Christians and cast aspersions upon
them. Asceticism has its limits.
The communal nature of Christianity is brought out most dramatically in the
last chapter o f the text, the chapter on the Massalians.26 This chapter offers more
insights on ascetics than all the other chapters in the text, so it is crucial to our study.
In the chapter, Epiphanius lashes out against the Massalians for the extremity o f their
25 Epiphanius, Panarion, 61.4
26 “M assalians" usually appear in ecclesiastical and scholarly literature as “Messalians”. I have retained
Epiphanius’ spelling.
148
lifestyles, their failure to live as part o f a community, and their deviance from
scripture and the church. What he finds fault with is their desire to pray all the time
and never work. By not working, the Massalians essentially become a burden to
others who must provide their daily needs. They are basically idle and mock the
efforts of the savior who labored on the cross. Epiphanius has a very insightful
passage on this, writing that
They get this harmful doctrine from the extreme

simplicity of certain o f the brethren. For some who are
brothers of mine, and orthodox, do not know the
moderation of Christian conduct, which tells us to
renounce the world, abandon our possessions and
property, sell what we have and give to the poor - but
really to take up the cross and follow, and not be idle
and without occupation and eat at the wrong times, and
not be like drones but ‘work with one’s own hands’, like
the holy apostle Paul who renounced the world.
e o x o v 8 e t o (3A a(3E pov t o u t o < ppovT ipa a i r o x f is

a p E T p i a s t c o v t i v c o v a8eA<pci>v a q ^ A e i'a s . t i v e s
y a p t c o v nM ETEpcov cx8eA<pcov x a i o p 0 o 8 6 £ c o v , p ri
yiVCOOKOVTES TO WETpOV T fl? EV X piO T G J TToXlTEiaS,
t o xeA euov a ir o T a a o E o 6 a i t c o x o o p c p , x n ip a T c o v
t e iSi'cov x a i x p n u a T c o v d iro ^ E V o O o G a i, ttcoAeTv t e
t o I 8 i a x a i p E T a S iS o v a i t t t c o x o i s , A a p (3 a v E tv 8 e
t o v o r a u p o v , x a i ax o X o u 6 E T v e v aXn0Ei'<pt, p fi
a p y o v p tiS e a E p y o v x a i a x a i p c x p a y o v , p ti5 e
EOlKEVai t c o xn< pnvi t c o v p E X io o d b v , E p y a ^ E O 0 a i 8 e
T a i 5 iS (a i$ x e P ° ^ v « c o a i r e p x a i o a y i o s a i r o c r r o X o s
TTaO X o? a i r o T a ^ a p E V o s t c o x o o p c p .
Epiphanius sets out several important tenets o f the ascetic life in this paragraph. His
language o f limits establishes the terms on which the church deals with ascetics.
These are broadly defined parameters which the ascetics must not violate. Anything
within these parameters is a legitimate ttoAiteict, but everything falling outside of it
149
runs counter to the words of the apostle and the ordinances of God. It is not in line
with the church’s noAirefa and for this reason, those brethren not adhering to the
no Airefa are guilty o f a measureless stupidity, since their stupidity places them
outside o f the measures o f the divine.
It is not at all unusual, then, that those practicing ascetic behaviors falling
outside the limits often succumb to vice and sin. Epiphanius employs a rhetorical
strategy which accentuates these sins throughout his work, as he describes ascetics like
Marcion, fervent preachers o f celibacy, transgressing their own teachings by
deflowering young virgins.28 The Encratites capture the double standard well, as
Epiphanius declares, “they take pride in a pretended continence, but all their conduct
is risky. For they are surrounded by women, deceive women in every way, travel and
eat with women and are served by them”, o eyvw ra i S i Sfjdev iyKpaTeiav,
opaAepcos tc x n a v r a ip y a £ 6nevoi, nioov yuvaiKcov eupioKovevot x a i
yw aiK as nauraxoSev a n a T c o v r e s , y in /a tg i S i auvoSeuovres K a i
auvSiaiTcbuevoi K a i imqpeTouuevoi im o t c o v t o i o v t c j v 19 A third group
brings the implications o f Epiphanius’ argument into full view, the Origenists. They
reject marriage, but their sexual activity is incessant, as they seduce women but take
special efforts that these women do not get pregnant.30 The intolerance of these
groups, the pains they take to denounce marriage and condemn those who are married,
r Epiphanius, Panarion. 80.4.
3 Epiphanius, Panarion. 42.1; 42.3.
29 Epiphanius. Panarion. 47.3.
ISO
becomes the basis of their own hypocrisy. This hypocrisy is consistent with
Epiphanius’ picture of ascetic transgressions throughout his work and is not at all
unexpected, since the heretics’ asceticism has reached such extremes that it causes its
most ardent practitioners to suffocate under its stranglehold and commit various acts
o f sin. In effect, these groups, by cutting themselves off from other Christians, feel the
impact o f their isolation, and their lack of balance, their skewed lifestyles, throws their
asceticism into treacherous waters.
Asceticism, for Epiphanius, teems with dangers. Although he stresses the
errors of false belief above all else, an emphasis which is not surprising considering
the failure of many ascetics to embrace the church and have its watchful eye over all
matters doctrinal, sinful behavior lurks at every comer, as once a group veers from the
main message of the Christian canon, smaller errors inevitably creep up. Such is the
case with the Massalians, whose insistence in ignoring the rest of the Christian
community and living solely in prayer leads them to commit numerous other errors.
The Massalians live together, unmarried men with unmarried women, and although
Epiphanius lacks the precise details o f these intimate relations, the insinuation is
sinister enough. Moreover, the Massalians wear their hair long like a woman’s and
put on sackcloth in open display. Some even castrate themselves, much like Origen,
violating the ordinances of the Apostles and the words o f Paul.31 This act o f brutality,
a brutal self-inflicted wound, points to the lack o f u irp o v in the iroXireia of the
Massalians, as the bodily injury distorts the larger spiritual benefit.
31 Epiphanius, Panarion, 80.6-7.
151
How does one create iJ € T p o v in an ascetic ttoX it e ic P. It is here that the
communal nature o f the church is once again significant. Epiphanius cites a crucial
ascetic virtue, that of renunciation, but gives it a context. Renunciation cannot simply
consist o f abandoning one’s possessions; it must involve following the savior, and this
activity is predicated upon work. Work brings us back to the desert fathers, but the
definition is far more precise here. It simply means to earn one’s keep and not be a
burden upon others. It demands a respect for the members o f the community and a
recognition of one’s place in the community, as a part that is in moderation or p irp o v
with all the rest, whether that community be a church or a monastery. Epiphanius sets
out the proper community and moderation as follows:
The servants o f god who are truly founded on the solid

rock of the truth and build their house securely, perform
their light tasks, each in his own trade, with their own
hands. And they recite nearly all of the sacred scripture
and keep their frequent vigils without tiring or grudging,
one in prayer, one in psalmody... And, as I said, besides
their spiritual work they spend their days in manual
labor, so that they will not become needy and fall into
human hypocrisies, no longer able to speak the truth to
the impious or be untouched by the defilement of those
who are rich from unrighteousness and take advantage
o f the poor - and no longer be able to do without
maintenance by such people because they cannot
support themselves by honest toil, but are forced by
need to share the table o f the idle rich.32
oi tou 0eou SouAoi aAnBcos etri rffe orEpeas

irETpas Tfis dXr)0E(as teOeueAicouevoi teal tov oTkov
aurcov aocpaXcbs oikoSouoGvtes iSiais XEP°f T&S
XEirras aurcov Epyaoias epyaôvTai Kara ttiv
EKCcoTou texvtiv. ev oropaTi 5e oxeSov traaav
0Ei'av ypa<pfiv cnrayyEXXouoiv, axpiyri te xai
32 Epiphanius. Panarion, 80.4.
1S2
aoK vcog a v x v a s ir o io u v r a i x a s a y p u r r v ia s , t o u t o
Uev ev euxaTs, t o O t o Be e v lyaXucpSiais... x ais t e
iB i'ais x ePolv* “ 5 E9 riv , e p y a ^ o n e v o i m e tc i K a i x f is
TTVEupaTiKfis e p y a o i a s , iva u ri e ttiB e e is ysvcovrai
K a i s is u rro K p io E is a v 6 p c o T r ( v a s e u tte o c o o i, K a i
o u k e t i t c o a o E 0 o O v r i B u v & u e v o i T a d A riS fj Xeysiu,
OUTE EKT05 puirou Etvai TCOV CXTTOClBlKiaS
av6pco t c o v ttX o u o ic o v Kai tt X e o v e k t o u v t c o v t o u s
TTEVTiTas, o u t e e k t o s o iT ic o v TOUTcov y(vEo6ai. un
B u v o m e v o i ek B ik o i'c o v t t o v c o v t t i v sipnuspov e x e iv
Tpcxpnv, a X X ’ avayKaôuEvoi, B id t o evB ees Tfj5
aEpyi'as, T p a i r E ^ n s ttX o u o ic o v h e t e x e i v .
The servants of God, in contrast to the Massalians, balance work and prayer and
thereby prevent the occasion for sin, as they avert the need to rely upon the rich for
their survival. In so doing, these servants ensure that they can truly follow the savior,
preaching and living his message, by not making themselves victims to the rich,
victims of their wealth, and inferior members on the social scale in need of lavish
patrons. These servants can thus assume an important place in the ecclesiastical
community and not run the risk o f having other members of the community undermine
their standing.
We have seen that Epiphanius’ message in the Panarion is one o f church
through and through. His message is one o f caution, caution against the dangers of
theological speculation, against ascetic extremes, against failing to heed the words of
the gospel, and against subverting the authority o f the church.33 The primary error is
that o f dogma, and this makes sense in light of Epiphanius’ historical context, a bishop
living during the reign o f Valens, living in the shadow of “Arianism”, and involved
with many o f the monks who seem to be very familiar with the views of Origen.
33 cf. R. Lyman, ‘'Ascetics and Bishops: Epiphanius on Orthodoxy ’ In S. Elm et al„ ed.. Orthodoxy,
Christianity. History. (Rome: Ecoie de francaise de Rome. 2000). pp. 153-4.
Epiphanius’ prime message to his ascetic audience is thus one of orthodoxy,
orthodoxy in the sense o f avoiding theological speculation and theological error about
the nature of God, Christ, and all o f creation. Of lesser importance, but important
nonetheless, are the ascetic practices, practices which must not violate Scripture nor
the limits o f the Christian lifestyle, a lifestyle which is above all about the church.
These limits include such expected practices as lechery and the wearing of women’s
clothes and limits which have a definite communal focus, limits which demand work
and respect for the lifestyles o f the other members of the community.
The De Fide brings the limits into the most luminous light and offers
Epiphanius’ most powerful words on his understanding of asceticism. The De Fide
acknowledges the value of ascetic practice and of virginity in particular. It cites the
monks as the upholders o f virginity, which is the basis and foundation o f the church.34
What is so interesting about Epiphanius’ words here, as he incorporates the ascetics
into the church and praises their lifestyle, is the fact that every statement seems to be a
double-edged sword. Epiphanius is quick to qualify his praise of ascetic behavior,
adding that the priests and bishops are the crown of everything.33 They, Epiphanius
leads us to believe, are the ones who are worthy of the highest praise. They, after all,
are the leaders o f the church, and Epiphanius’ implication is that no matter how noble
the lifestyle an ascetic embraces might be, the bishops always possess a higher degree
o f sanctity. Position overrides iroXireia.
35 Ibid.
154
The next few sections o f the De Fide make for very interesting reading. After
a discussion of fasting and the practices o f ascetics and the laity, and here the
inclusion o f the laity is clearly significant since it points out the communal nature of
the church and the holiness o f all o f its members, Epiphanius speaks of monks in the
church. He writes that
Some o f the church’ s monks live in the cities, but some

reside in monasteries and retire far from the world.
Some, if you please, see fit to wear their hair long as a
practice o f their own devising, though the Gospel did
not command this, and the apostles did not allow it. For
the holy apostle Paul has forbidden this lifestyle.36
rives tcov pova£ovrcov aurfjs kcxtoikoOoi Tag

ttoAeis, tives 81 xai ev uovacmipiois Ka0ECovrai
Kai atro pt|ko0ev avaxcopouoiv. npsos 5e tioi Kai
K opas EXEIV TpiXCOV, EVEKEV 5fj0EV TToXlTEl'aS, a ir'
i5iou voos, ou to u EuayyEXiou trpooTaâvros, ou
tcov dirocroAcov Seômevcov. o y a p ayios
dirooroXos FTauXos cnrEKovpE to u to t o oxrjpa.
Epiphanius makes a special point to mention monks and seems to allow a great deal of
leeway in numbering civic and urban monks among the church’s members. Some of
these members, though, violate the commands of the apostles, and this violation seems
to detract from the words of praise Epiphanius is offering. In fact, it points to a
problematic relation between the church and its ascetics, since its ascetics are violating
the words o f the church’s most revered teachers. Epiphanius’ larger objective in this
passage might be to provide a message to his audience that failing to live in
accordance with the apostles’ ordinances is an error which they should strive to
rectify, as failing to live by the apostolic words undermines the fruits o f the most
arduous ascetic labors.
155
Another point to notice in the passage is that the ascetics who live far from the
cities live in monasteries. In other words, they live in some sort of community.
Epiphanius does not exactly wish for ascetics to live like Antony, far from civilization,
on their own without a monastery or monastic community, and seemingly ‘above’ the
rest of their Christian brethren. This is, after all, why he finds fault with the
Massalians and their failure to work. In a telling statement about the Massalians,
Epiphanius writes that Christ had urged his servants to labor for the meat which leads
to everlasting life. This means the honest labor by which one works with one’s own
hands, just as is performed in every monastery, in Egypt and every country, Kadcos
K ai ev eKaorcp (jovaorqpi'cp, ev re rrj t c o v A iyirnTtcov X & pp K a i ev waoais
Xcopais o u t c j K&uvovaiv37 Epiphanius’ words are revealing here, revealing of the
fact that monasticism should primarily be a communal effort. One can have an
individual TroAtre/a which involves renunciation of wealth or virginity, but these
virtues only become virtues when given a more significant communal context.
Epiphanius’ lasting message at the end confirms this belief. He depicts various
ascetics and ascetic practices but ends with the church. It is the character of the
church which he is, after all, seeking to describe. The ascetic practices, once again,
present anything but a clear picture o f sanctity. Epiphanius writes
Many monks sleep on the ground, and others do not

even wear shoes. Others wear sackcloth under their
clothing - the ones who wear it properly, for virtue and
repentance. It is inappropriate to appear publicly in
sackcloth, as some do; and, as I said, it is also
inappropriate to appear in public wearing collars, as
156
some prefer to. But most monks abstain from bathing.
And some monks have renounced their means of
livelihood, but devised light tasks for themselves which
are not troublesome, so that they will not lead an idle
life or eat at others’ expense. Most are exercised in
psalms and constant prayers, and in readings, and
recitations by heart, o f the holy scriptures.
iroAAoi 51 x a i x a u s w o u o iv , aAAoi 5 e ou6e

u rro S ew u v ra i. aAAoi 5 e a a x x o v ipopoOoi
XExpuppEVov, oi xaAdbs <popouvTES 5 i’ apETTiv x a i
METavoiav. atrpEiTES y a p eotiv ev TrpcxpavEi
odxxco irpoYEvai, cos tives outgo Trpa-rrouoiv,
airpEirES 5 e, cos 5<pnMEV, x a i t o xAoioTs irpoVevai,
cos f io iv eS o^ ev. oi ttAeious 5 e ^ a A aveiou
aTTEXovrai. x a i tives airE T aâvT o tco Pico,
TEXvas Aetttcxs x a i a iv p d y u o v a s e o u t o is
smvorioavTES, 'iva ufi a p y o v (3iov S ioteA cooi. uh5e
t o v a p r o v (3EpappM£vov eo 6 (cooiv. ev ipaApcpSiais
5e oi ttAeious x a i euxcnS Bitivexeoiv. avayvcb oE oi t e
ypatpcdv a y ic o v x a i atrooTTiOiauois a a x o u v r a i.
These sentences are illuminating, as they emphasize the discontinuity within ascetic
circles, as some ascetics adopt noble practices but others violate fundamental gospel
precepts. Asceticism for Epiphanius, then, is always a give and take. There is a lot of
virtue, but a lot o f vice as well. Only the ascetics who embrace the scriptures, as his
emphasis on knowing the Bible indicates, can hope to live a truly holy life.
This holy life involves others. For this reason, the sentence following the
section listed above is critical for understanding Epiphanius. He writes “in relation to
hospitality, kindness, and almsgiving, a ‘return’ has been prescribed for all members
of this holy catholic and apostolic church ”, nepi S i £evo8o x(a s <cri
tpiAavffpcjm'a?, iAerjpoovvrj^ te eis tto vto s, netc i v o rfff a y ia s Taurus
157
KadoAiKfjs Kai airooroAiKfjs iKKAnoias K a p i r o s kekf /p u k t ai.39 The virtues of
stewardship and social interaction are indispensable for the church and thus the ascetic
life in Epiphanius1 thinking, and his words here are somewhat similar to Basil’s vision
of ascetic-church relations with his monastic poorhouse, a charitable institution which
lies at the heart of a monastic lifestyle. For this reason, Epiphanius approves o f the
TroAiTs/a o f Basil’s one time teacher, Eustathius, in an earlier chapter. He describes
Eustathius’ efforts in glowing terms, speaking highly o f his poorhouse, a poorhouse
which in all likelihood was the inspiration for Basil’s later efforts with its care for the
crippled and infirm.40 Epiphanius then depicts Eustathius’ disciple Aerius and his
mismanagement of the poorhouse, a mismanagement which leads to his insanity and
utter disregard for the church. Epiphanius obviously disapproves o f Aerius, but it is
not so clear that this is the case with Eustathius, so he writes, “since I have introduced
Eustathius while speaking against Aerius, one might suppose that I also hold
Eustathius in esteem. No few admire his life and conduct, and if his faith were only
orthodox too!”, voptaeie S ’a v t is , iw eiSnm p K ara 'Aeptou Aeyovres
Eiroradiov irappyayouev, u n tv a p a Kai to v EvoraQiov iv iiraivois ixovev.
to v uev y a p j3tov aurouK ai tt \ v iroAtTsiav o u k oAfyoi avSpes QavvaQouoiv,
elds S i Kai rrj iriarei dpffcos e<pp6vrjoe.41 Once again, doctrine negates one’s
lifestyle, although in this case, the lifestyle in question fits so neatly into Epiphanius’
beliefs on asceticism, that the situation almost seems tragic.
158
[II. Conclusion
In the final analysis, what is asceticism for Epiphanius? His work spells it out,
although the spelling is sometimes quite hazy. Asceticism and the variety of words
designating it, whether /0 /or or 7roAtrefa, have little power outside a community.
Asceticism, at root, should consist in being a part of the church, as the church is the
bride o f Christ. The church, as writers like Eusebius recognize, has many parts. It is a
ship composed o f several different pieces. Some embrace a much different
TToXiTela than others.42 All share a community in common and are defined by it. As
part o f this community, every member represents an audience to every other member,
an audience with which the ascetic member must always interact. No ascetic, then,
can use his or her lifestyle to condemn a member of the audience, as holiness is only
defined through everyone’s collective efforts. For this reason, there are few miracles
in Epiphanius and few supernatural displays o f power. Holiness in Epiphanius does
not signify a few monks set apart, but it represents the collective actions of a group, a
group which embraces orthodoxy in its beliefs and practices as the virtues of
hospitality, kindness, and almsgiving, as these virtues mean much more than the
clothes one wears or the amount o f time one spends fasting. They mean much more
than the spectacular nature of one’s iroAiTefa. Epiphanius, unlike other monastic
authors, does not look to give a detailed view of the right noXiTei'a, and lie will not
tell the ascetics very many specifics about their lives. The ascetics only have to
42 cf. Eusebius, Demonstratio Evangelica, 1.8. For the meaning of noX neia in Eusebius, see M.
HoUerich. Eusebius o f Caesarea’s Commentary on Isaiah. (Oxford: Clarendon P, 1999), pp. 103-130.
159
embrace the church. This is the fundamental argument Epiphanius is making, and one
o f the most crucial messages bishops offer to ascetics. What it means to embrace the
church is what bishops and ascetics will spend century after century deciding.
Entering Epiphanius’ world, then, we enter a debate, a debate about how
asceticism functions in the church. This debate is littered with reservations. For every
potential praise of the ascetic, there is a danger lurking underneath. Whatever
charisma or holiness the ascetic might possess is meaningless; the church, however,
means everything, and the ascetics only measure up in so far as they measure up with
the church. For the desert fathers o f the first few chapters, this message is grave and
unyielding. These fathers need to bring the church into their lives to give their ascetic
practices purchase and ensure that these practices do not fall astray from the message
o f the gospel, from the spirit o f the divine. In so doing, the desert fathers would no
doubt look very different, as they would exist not simply as individual fathers but as
monastic communities, monastic communities with responsibilities to themselves and
to the larger church. Although many o f the fathers did live in communities and did
even interact with the church, this fact often seems to fade into the background of the
Apophthegmata Patrum. The emphasis in that text is clearly on the individual father
and his individual sanctity. For Epiphanius, to be an individual is not to be a
Christian. It is a failure to recognize that Christians only exist in relation to each
other, that holiness only has merit when it is the effort of a community and not the
struggle o f an individual.
Chapter 5: Macrina and the Communitas of Sanctity
I. Introduction
The translation of asceticism into the church brought a great deal of
consternation and conflict. As we saw in the last chapter, the pages of Epiphanius
burn brightly with monastic legislation, as Epiphanius outlines the proper parameters,
beliefs, and authority for the monastic discipline. Epiphanius would not stand alone.
Bishops from across the empire wrestled with ascetic-church relations, and one of
these, Gregory of Nyssa, would draft an interesting solution to this troublesome
problem.
Raised in the theological hotbed of Cappadocia, Gregory o f Nyssa spent the
bulk o f his adult life writing against opponents of the "orthodox’ faith, many o f whom
came from an ascetic background. Much of his writing has an explicitly theological
tone, as the debate about the nature and identity o f Christ was in full force. Gregory’s
writings, however, do not merely consist of theology. A number o f hagiographical
writings come from his hand, writings portraying the lives of such diverse figures as
Moses, Gregory Thaumaturgus, and his sister Macrina.
It is the Life o f Macrina, a depiction of a female ascetic, that has caught the
eyes o f scholars in recent years, with several studies devoted to the text. 1 Krueger’s
work may be the most provocative o f these, as he presents Macrina as a “living
liturgy”, contending that “one of Gregory’s tasks was to represent [the] liturgical
1 See, among others, D. Krueger, “Writing and the Liturgy of Memory in Gregory o f Nyssa’s Life o f
Macrina. Journal o f Early Christian Studies 8 (2000): 483-510; G. Frank, “Macrina's Scar. Homeric
Allusion and Heroic Identity in Gregory o f Nyssa’s Life o f Macrina". Journal o f Early Christian
Studies 8 (2000): 511-530; E. Clark, “Holy Women, Holy Words: Early Christian Women Social
History, and the ‘Linguistic Tum”\ Journal o f Early Christian Studies 6 (1998): 413-430.
161
content o f Macrina’s life within her vitd' 1 Krueger’s insights are interesting, as a
highly liturgical Macrina goes a long way towards bridging the divide between the
church and the ascetic.
It is my intent in this chapter to examine this divide. I will argue that Gregory
o f Nyssa is very aware o f the divide, so much so that he writes the text with a church
council in mind, the Council o f Gangra. It is this council which frames Gregory’s
text, as many o f the tenets o f the council are found in Gregory’s work, tenets which
enable Macrina to negotiate the tensions in the Cappadocian ‘ascetic’ landscape,
bringing ascetic and church into a more harmonious relationship.3 One o f the
consequences o f this framing, I will suggest, is that Macrina becomes a model of
sanctity for her community, but she is a model which is very accessible to her
audience. Gregory’s use o f terms such as <ptAoao<pia and arperrj promote this vision
o f Macrina, as her holiness is rooted in her community and is not limited to the select
few but can be attained by every member of her ascetic fellowship.
2 Krueger, p. 487.
3 On the extremely muddled Cappadocian ‘ascetic’ landscape, see P. Rousseau, Basil o f Caesarea.
(Berkeley, CA: U of California P, 1995); S. Elm, Virgins o f God: The Making ofAsceticism in Late
Antiquity. (Oxford: Clarendon P, 1994), pp. 1-223; J. Danielou, “Grdgoire de Nysse et ie
Messalianisme”. Recherches de science religieuse 48 (1960): 119-134; J. Gribomont, “Le monachisme
au sein de I’Eglise en Syrie et en Cappadoce”. Studia Monastica 7 (1965): 7-24; J. Gribomont, “Le
monachisme au IV siecle en Asie Mineure: De Gangres au Messalianisme”. Studia Patristica 2
(1957): 400-15.
162
with permission o f the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission.
Q. Macrina and Gangra4
Macrina’s life begins in the late 320’s, but it does not really come into focus
until one understands the career o f her brother, Basil. Basil’s life was shrouded in
controversy. His career started with a traditional gentleman’s upbringing. An
education in Athens immersed in the 'pagan’ classics left a lasting impression upon his
mind. Philosophy became his life’s preoccupation, although after leaving Athens, his
perception o f philosophy took on a remarkably different hue. It was at this time that
Eustathius of Sebaste would enter Basil’s life.5 Eustathius introduced Basil to what
one might call asceticism. An early letter, ep. 2, outlines his 'ascetic’ program. In this
letter, Basil places a strong emphasis upon withdrawal, avaxcbpnois. He conceives
of withdrawal primarily in terms of the soul, and it is the soul which forms the basis of
his newfound Siaycoyp, way of life. Among the attributes of this lifestyle was the
study o f Scriptures, a recurrent theme throughout Basil’s writings.6 Another
component o f Basil’s asceticism was strict attention to clothing, deportment,
conversation, and cuisine. Both scripture and behavior fit into Basil’s emphasis on
withdrawal, as they illuminate the vast space separating the world from the Christian.
Life as a Christian, Basil believed, demanded a radical break from many aspects of
4 The standard edition o f Gregory o f Nyssa’s Life o f Macrina is Life o f Macrina, ed. P. Maraval. (Paris:
Editions du Cerf, 1981). An English translation can be found by V.W Callahan in Saint Gregory o f
Nyssa: Ascetical Works. (Washington, IX!: Catholic U P of America, 1967). I generally follow
Callahan's translation. For the Council of Gangra. see Histoire des Conciles d 'apris les documents
originaux, ed. C.J. Hefele and H. Leclercq, Vol. 2. (Paris: Letouzey, 1907), pp. 1029-1045. English
translation in The Seven Ecumenical Councils, ed. H. Percival. Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Vol.
14. (Grand Rapids, Mich: W.B. Eerdmans, 1978), pp. 89-101.
5 B asil ep. 1. On Eustathius the philosopher as Eustathius of Sebaste, see J. Gribomont, “Eustathe le
Philosophe et les voyages du jeune Basile de Cesaree” Revue d'histoire ecclesiastique 54 (1959), pp.
123-4. cf. Elm. p. 82.
163
society, and this demarcation was not merely supposed to be internal but external and
visible to all.
As Basil grew older, his interpretation o f asceticism evolved, but his
understanding of the Christian life still showed a pronounced Eustathian influence. To
cite only one example, his hospital, located just on the outskirts o f Caesarea, was in
many ways a direct response to Eustathius’ and his disciples’ foundation of
poorhouses in Constantinople.7 This hospital was one of a number of measures Basil
took to aid his mission of caring for the poor. This care clearly played an integral part
in Basil’s episcopacy, and it even became part o f his ascetic teachings. It was the
monks, alter all, who were to live in Basil’s hospital and care for the sick.
Interestingly, the monks’ placement here seems to make clear a significant revision to
Basil’s understanding o f the ascetic life. Since Basil had assumed a more prominent
position in the church, it was only natural that he located his asceticism in an
ecclesiastical context instead o f out in a country retreat.8 More importantly, for Basil
the bishop, asceticism was in no way the dominion of the elite, but the call o f the
entire church.9
Basil’s assumption o f the role o f the bishop made his relationship to Eustathius
extremely complicated. Eustathius had frequently run afoul o f church authorities, and
in the early 340’s, the Council o f Gangra severely reprimanded the more eccentric
6 See, for example, ep. 22.
7 On Basil’s hospital, see ep. 94,150, and 176. On Eustathius’ poorhouse, see Sozomen, Ecclesiastical
History, IV.27; Epiphanius, Panarion, 75.
8 Rousseau, p. 190.
9 Rousseau, pp. 190-8.
164
practices of his ascetic movement. 10 Chastened by the council’s words, Eustathius
would shear the rough edges off his ascetic philosophy. Eustathius’ increasingly more
heretical views, however, left him no room for compromise. They even caused Basil
to disassociate himself from his one time teacher. In a letter from the later part of his
life, he scathingly rebukes Eustathius. Basil writes that Eustathius is seeking to
destroy the orthodox creed, concealing his impious sentiments under the guise of
orthodoxy. 11 Basil’s relationship with Eustathius had clearly gone sour. As a result,
Basil had to reinvent himself. Eustathius’ influence had to be toned down, if not
completely eliminated. Basil thus began to rewrite his life and stress the role of his
family in his own formation. 12 Letter 223 provides us with a glimpse of this new self-
presentation. In the letter, Basil states that it was his grandmother Macrina who was
responsible for instilling him with his orthodox beliefs. Another letter, ep. 204, offers
the completely unsolicited and somewhat extraneous observation that it was Basil’s
grandmother who raised and nurtured him in Pontus. Both letters place Basil’s
grandmother at the center o f his Christian life, relegating Eustathius and his circle of
disciples to the outer edges o f his world.
Basil’s brother Gregory of Nyssa would follow his lead in rewriting Basil’s
history. His Life o f Macrina, a hagiographical account describing the life of Basil’s
sister, credits Macrina as the defining influence in his life. 13 It is she who rescues
10On the dating of the council, see T.D. Barnes, "The Date of the Council of Gangra”. Journal o f
Theological Studies, ils. 40 (1989): 121-4. On the council itself, see Elm, pp. 107-8; Gribomont, "Le
Monachisme au IV* siecle en Asie Mineure: De Gangres au Messalianisme”, pp. 400-403.
11 Basil, e/7. 263.
12 Rousseau, p. 21.
163
Basil from the pit o f ‘pagan’ learning and introduces him to the philosophical life. As
Gregory writes,
Macrina lured him so quickly to the goal of philosophy

that he withdrew from worldly fame and began to look
down upon praise resulting from his oratory and went
over to this life full of labors for his own hand to
perform, providing for himself, through his complete
poverty, a mode of living that would, without
impediment, lead to virtue.14
TOOOUTCp T&XEl K&KEIVOV TTpOS TOV TfjS

91X0009(05 OKOTtOV ETTEOTrdoaTO, COOTE
d trooT d vT a T fjs KoopiKfft i r e p ^ a v E i a s Kai
CrtrepiSovTa t o u 5 ia t c o v A oycov 0auw aC eo6ai
irp o 5 t o v EpyaTiKov t o O t o v k o i a u r o x e ip a
(3tov au T ouoX fiaau 81a T fis t e Xei' o s
OKTTlIiOOUVTlS aVEMTToBlOTOV EOUTCp TOV
eis apeTTiv (3(ov irapaoKeudôvra.
To say the least, modem scholars have found this fact quite curious. Even more
curious is the absence of Eustathius from the Life o f Macrina. Eustathius has
completely vanished from Basil’s life, although his presence seems to echo throughout
Gregory’s text.15
It is my contention that we can account for Eustathius’ absence in the Life o f
Macrina by perceiving Macrina as a moderating force, uniting church and
Cappadocian ascetic. Gregory is able to recast her as Basil’s teacher and chief
‘ascetic’ influence because his picture of her both incorporates and reacts against
Eustathius’ ascetic practices. 16 She emerges as the author of an ascetic philosophy the
13 Gregory of Nyssa, Life o f Macrina, 6. cf. Rousseau, p. 9.
14 Gregory of Nyssa, Life o f Macrina, 6.
15 Elm, p. 125; P. Beagon, T he Cappadocian Fathers, Women, and Ecclesiastical Politics”. Vigiliae
Christianae 49 (1995). p. 168.
166
orthodox church would approve of because Gregory crafts his image o f her with the
church in mind. More specifically, he crafts this image with the Council of Gangra in
mind. Although she shares a great deal of similarities with Eustathius, the practices
the Council o f Gangra finds so abhorrent are resolved, if not entirely removed, in the
character of Macrina.
It is thus extremely important to take note of the emphasis on family in the Life
o f Macrina. Macrina not only ensures the orthodoxy of Basil’s ascetic practices, she
does the same for her entire family. The Life o f Macrina seems to be somewhat of a
misnomer, then, because the work is not merely about Macrina, it is about the whole
family. Gregory devotes significant attention to his brothers Naucratius and Peter, as
well as to his mother Emmelia. In other hagiographies, these sections would seem
extremely out of place. Not so in the Life o f Macrina, as the work covers generations
of devout fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers. It seems almost fitting, then, that
Macrina, on her deathbed, delivers an extended oration on the family’s history,
detailing the morality o f her parents and the religious fervor of her grandmother.
Macrina in death secures what has been the object of her life. She safeguards the
sanctity o f the family’s name, religious practices, and beliefs.
To get a sense o f Macrina’s achievement, we must turn to the Council of
Gangra. It is this council which provides the clay with which Gregory molds his
image of Macrina. In a letter to the Armenian bishops, the fathers at Gangra give an
overview to the matters at hand. In this letter, the fathers declare
As the Eustathians condemn marriage and maintain that

no married person has hope with God, they have
16 cf. Gribomont, “Eustathe le Philosophe”, p. 123.
167
dissolved many marriages; and as those separated lack
the gift o f continence, they have given occasion to
adultery. They have caused many to forsake the public
assemblies for divine services, and to organize private
conventicles. They despise the ordinary dress, and
introduce a new dress. The first-fruits which are given
to the church they claim for themselves as being par
excellence the saints. Slaves run away from their
masters and despise them, presuming upon their new
dress. Women now assume men’s clothes, and think
themselves thereby justified; nay, many shave their
heads under the pretext o f piety. They fast on Sundays,
but eat on the fast-days of the Church. Some forbid all
animal food... They despise married priests and do not
take part in worship. They despise the services in honor
the martyrs, as well as those who join in them. They
maintain that the rich who do not forsake all have no
hope o f being saved.17
The fathers at Gangra paint a picture of the Eustathians as impious ascetics, tearing
apart the church. They transgress boundaries o f church, gender, marriage, and social
class. Many ascetics would do so as well, and this is in many ways the most
fundamental problem confronting ascetic movements. How does an ascetic live a
radical life while maintaining ties to an institution which promotes a far more general
and thus moderate appeal?
Macrina, in Gregory’s hands, successfully bridges the divide between ascetics
and church and thereby provides an answer to this question. Gregory fashions her as a
saint in union with the church. Our first glimpse of this is in his description o f her
’asceticism’. Scholars have puzzled over how to label Macrina’s behavior: asceticism,
monasticism, or a bit o f both.18 One of the reasons we are so confused is that Gregory
does not use either word. He uses the term <piAoocxpi'a, writing at a very early stage
17 Translation in Elm. p. 108.
on the narrative that “she raised herself to the highest peak o f human virtue through
philosophy”, rj irpos to v axpoT arov r fe audpojm vns aperfis dpou eaurrjv
Sia tpiAoo&ptaf e n d p a a a 19 The term also appears in the passage depicting Basil’s
“conversion” from the world to the “desert”, as Macrina lured him to the goal of
philosophy, wpos t o v T f\s <piAoao<pias o k o t t o v im oT raaaro , and it is found
throughout the text at the expense o f traditional ascetic terminology, such as aoKTjois.
One of the reasons for the popularity o f tptAoootpi'a is that it evokes a larger
perspective than typical ascetic language.20 It denotes, as Marval points out, a flight
from evil and an ardent longing for the purity of the soul, qualities which seem to be
the goals o f every Christian and not simply every ascetic.21 The larger perspective
Gregory draws out is deliberate, as he envisions a broader audience than a community
of virgins. His audience is the church, and he uses terminology which captures their
attention, which can be translated into their everyday experiences and be made
accessible to them. As such, his language is one of inclusion rather than exclusion.
Gregory’s decision to characterize Macrina’s lifestyle with the word
tpiAoootpfa was not without its share o f consequences. It placed Macrina in direct
opposition to the intelligentsia in pagan circles. Of course, with Christianity asserting
its theological might in the late fourth century and with gifted thinkers such as
18 cf. Rousseau, p. 63.
20 cf. A. Meredith. "Asceticism - Christian and Greek". Journal ofTheological Studies, n.s„ 27 (1976),
p. 328.
Gregory of Nyssa and his brother Basil coming to the forefront of the Christian
movement, philosophy was being regarded not simply as a ‘pagan’ activity, but as the
work and labor o f many Christians. These Christians were adopting and transcending
the thought and language of their ‘pagan’ counterparts. One such Christian was
Eustathius. Sozomen tells us that he was the author of a monastic philosophy, but
Sozomen describes nearly all ascetics in this manner, so his words are not all that
revealing.22 Socrates, however, depicts Eustathius in the garb o f a philosopher, noting
that this style o f dress was unbecoming that of sacerdotal office.23 Socrates’ comment
is echoed in the canons o f the fathers at Gangra. They decry the wearing of the
periboloeum, a garment traditionally worn by philosophers contemptuous of luxury, as
a sign demarcating the righteous from the unrighteous.24 Much like other Eustathian
practices, the Gangrian fathers believe that this clothing makes far too sweeping a
statement about the nature o f the ascetic versus that o f the non-ascetic, or more
ominously, the true Christian versus the false Christian. Asceticism is a lifestyle, not a
statement about the status o f the non-ascetic’s soul.
Gregory, in his depiction of Macrina as a philosopher, carefully works around
the decree o f the fathers at Gangra. He indicates that Macrina’s clothing was rather
plain. Gregory does not devote any significant attention to this clothing until after
Macrina’s death. It is at this point that Gregory must decide what to dress her in for
21 Maraval, Gregoire de Nysse. Vie de sainte Macrine. (Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1971), p. 92. Gregory
of Nyssa, de Bene/icientia. Patrologia Graeca 46.456B. See also A. Van Heck. Gregorii Nysseni de
Pauperibus A mandis. (Leiden: Brill. 1964), pp. 62-66.
22 Sozomen, Ecclesiastical History, 111.14.
23 Socrates, Ecclesiastical History, U.43.
170
her funeral. He contemplates a wedding dress but instead opts for simple robes. The
robes stand as a testimony to Macrina’s lifestyle, the simple life, and are concordant
with the terms laid down by the fathers at Gangra. The robes are neither the
philosopher’s cloak nor men’s clothes. They are plain and unadorned.
Interestingly, despite this rather basic clothing, Gregory stresses that Macrina’s
beauty was manifest to all. At first glance, this remark might seem somewhat
irrelevant, but it is very revealing. Along with his other comments on Macrina’s
appearance at her funeral, it helps bring the council o f Gangra into the foreground of
his narrative. His emphasis on Macrina’s beauty makes clear her femininity.
Although her nature might have transcended that of a woman, as Gregory declares in
the beginning of his account, her external appearance never does. By the same token,
she might take on many o f the roles men often assume, such as that of the philosopher,
but she is so striking that no one would ever mistake her for a man. This distinction is
crucial. Nature is not what is at stake in many o f the canons from Gangra; external
appearance is. The fathers chide the Eustathians just as much for their appearance as
for their practices. The women dressing as men, the ascetics wearing philosophers’
cloaks, and women shaving their heads draw the council’s ire.
All o f these ills are remedied in Macrina. Marriage, in particular, gets careful
attention, and it is worth examining Gregory’s words. Macrina, he says, was supposed
to be married, but her future husband died before the ceremony. As a result, Macrina
vows to dedicate her life to virginity. She does not do so because she believes that
marriage is corrupt or spiritually malfeasant. She does so because it is unlawful, at
24 Council of Gangra, canon 12.
171
least in her mind, not to honor her original marriage. It would be tantamount to
believing that her husband is not with God and to losing faith in the resurrection.25
Macrina’s action here seems to stem from piety, not from arrogance.
Moreover, Macrina argues that by <puoi$ (nature), and this word is key, there
can be only one marriage, just as there is only one birth and one death .26 Macrina’s
emphasis on nature promotes the integrity o f marriage. It stands in stark contrast to
the views attributed to the Eustathians. The fathers at Gangra claim that the
Eustathians condemn marriage, casting aspersions upon a devout believer who sleeps
with her spouse.27 The Eustathians’ sheer loathing of the matrimonial institution
extends so far as to encouraging women to dissolve marriages.28 The Eustathians
recognize all married people as outside the realms o f ‘sanctity’. For this reason, they
even refuse to accept communion from married presbyters.29 Virginity, for the
Eustathians, is clearly a zero sum game over the salvation of the soul, and this rigid
outlook deeply offended the fathers at Gangra, as it threatened to tear apart the church.
Since so few members of the church could devote their lives to virginity, making
virginity the essence o f salvation would result in the disillusionment and
disfranchisement o f many of the church’s members.
It is thus significant that Macrina does not look down upon marriage as a
sacrilegious state. Her virginity stands as somewhat o f a paradox, since it arises out of
25 Gregory o f Nyssa, Life o f Macrina, 5.
26 Ibid.
27 Council of Gangra. canon 1.
172
her marriage, but the paradox underscores Gregory’s portrait o f her. It reinforces his
notion o f ‘holiness’ as a lifestyle conducted in accordance with the terms laid down by
the Gangrian fathers. Macrina’s lifestyle is such a model o f ‘holiness’. Her virginity
is a celebration o f her marriage. It is a commitment to her marital vows, since she
recognizes the true nature o f marriage and strives to uphold it. Seen in this light, her
virginity makes quite an impression.
The fathers at Gangra would certainly have thought so. They had no problem
with virginity itself. In fact, they even regard it as a sign of sanctity, much as Gregory
does in his treatise, de Virginitate i0 The determining criterion for both Gregory and
the fathers is one o f intention. One must recognize the beauty and holiness o f
virginity itself, and not simply embrace a celibate lifestyle out of disdain for marriage.
Reading through Gregory’s writings, it seems as if he comes dangerously close to
perceiving marriage as an institution reserved for the baser members o f society, but
one must not be misled by his rhetorical fervor. One must also realize that although
Gregory speaks o f marriage as a distraction, he in no way excludes those, including
himself who are married from participation in the divine life.31 Rather, writing in a
social context in which ascetics such as the Eustathians and the Messalians were
promoting celibate lifestyles to the exclusion o f the marital state, Gregory seeks to
present virginity as a lofty and elevated lifestyle which does not require a spirit-filled
extreme.32
31 cf. Gregory of Nyssa, de Virginitate. 4-5.
173
This viewpoint clearly informs his presentation of Macrina. She does not
condemn marriage in any way, as her commitment to virginity involves making God
the centerpiece o f her life, her virginity, and for that matter, her marriage. This
commitment lends stability to her family, as Macrina makes her mother the guardian
of her decision.33 In so doing, Macrina takes on an authoritative role within the
family, and alongside her brother, she “attained to a higher level o f philosophy, always
struggling in their later lives and eclipsing their early successes by later ones”, oi ...
uy/rjAorepov sIxovto Tfj$ (ptAoocxptas. aei irpos tov ISiov SiapiAAcbpevoi
(3fov Kai tc t <p6aoavra tcov KaTopdcouarcov toF$i<pe£fjs airoKp&irovTej\34
Macrina’s ability to reach this goal within the confines of her family is crucial for
understanding late antique asceticism in general and Cappadocian asceticism in
particular. As Susanna Elm has shown, ascetic movements often emerge from a
familial context.33 This context provides a controlled environment in which spiritual
direction is usually present.36 Moreover, this context reinforces a fundamental
institution within society, and it makes asceticism more ’user-friendly’. The fathers at
Gangra certainly believed this, devoting two canons to family.37 In these canons, the
fathers proscribe the Eustathians for neglecting their children under the pretence of
32 P. Brown, The Body and Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity. New
York: Columbia U P, p p . 291-2.
34 Gregory of Nyssa. Life o f Macrina, 13.
35 Elm, p. 374.
36 Elm, p. 198.
37 Canons IS and 16.
174
asceticism and for encouraging children to abandon their parents to embrace a
newfound lifestyle. What the Gangrian fathers find so reprehensible in these canons is
the unraveling of the fabric of society. Asceticism is supposed to reaffirm, not
dissolve, the core values o f the church. One of these core values is family, and it is
thus significant that in contrast to the Eustathians, Macrina’s lifestyle reinforces the
value o f marriage and o f family to church and society.
An element crucial to Macrina’s role in the family is her evolution from
daughter to teacher. As a teacher, she oversees the spiritual education of her brothers
and her mother. She introduces them to the philosophical life and nurtures their
development. Gregory speaks of the importance o f the teacher in his de Virginitate,
noting that “the guidance in deeds is more important than instructions in words; nor is
this a cause for discontent, since it is necessary for those starting a long trip . . . to have
a teacher” 38 It is the teacher who must provide a model for others, and this is
especially true in a community o f ascetics. It is clearly significant, then, that
concomitant with Macrina’s evolution is the transformation of the household.
Macrina redefines her role in the household as she redefines the household itself. It is
absolutely vital for Macrina and the household to undergo simultaneous
transformations because in so doing, they legitimize their newfound identities.
Macrina the teacher needs the household to prove the valor of her teachings. The
house, the school of virtue, tppovTiarfipiov rfjs aperfj^ needs a teacher to give
purchase to its noble title.
38 Gregory of Nyssa, de Virginitate, 23. Translation by V. Callahan in St. Gregory o f Nyssa: Asceticai
Works. (Washington, DC: Catholic U of America P, 1967).
175
What, however, does Macrina teach? For Gregory, the answer is philosophy.
At an early stage of her ascetic life, Macrina draws her mother to a simpler and
immaterial life, ctoAos Kai A iro rip a (fooq, through philosophy, q>iAoao<pia?9 Such
instruction typifies Macrina’s life and ascetic mission, as Macrina eventually goes on
to become for her mother a guide towards the philosophical and unworldly way of life,
yi'vsTai ovfj(3ouAos rq$ pqrpds q rq$ napdevou £coq npos rqv ep<piAooo<pov
T cru rq v ra i aoAou to v (Hiov Siaycoyqv 40 Macrina’s mother is not the only one to
receive such an education. Basil is led to the philosophical life, as is Macrina’s
brother Peter, whom she raises, and most importantly, Gregory of Nyssa who, in a
later stage o f the work, presents himself as Macrina’s pupil. He even calls her his
teacher in all things, Sia tto v tc o v ( Treideodai) rq 8i8aoKaAcp*x This teacher-pupil
relationship strengthens the bond between Macrina and Gregory, a bond which already
is fairly tight because of their familial relationship. The strength of this relationship
adds a luster o f authority to the hagiography as a whole.42 It provides a means of
making the saint more accessible to her hagiographer and thereby her audience. It
40 Gregory- of Nyssa. Life o f Macrina, 11.
42 cf. A Momigliano, “The Life of Macrina by Gregory o f Nyssa”. In J. Eade and J. Ober, eds., The
Craft o f the Ancient Historian: Essays in Honor ofC.G. Starr. (Ann Arbor. MI: U of Michigan P.
1985), pp. 447-8. On the relationship between the hagiographer and the saint see D. Krueger,
“Hagiography as an Ascetic Practice in the Early Christian East”, Journal o f Religion 79 (1999): 216-
232.
176
enables them to participate in her sanctity, since she gives them directions on how to
do so.43
Gregory receives his education, sitting by Macrina’s deathbed. Here, Macrina
chides him for not understanding the true blessings from God and for lamenting the
challenges of his episcopal career. Macrina’s words lead Gregory to a greater
understanding of sanctity, since he learns not to focus so much on his own career as on
the blessings granted by God and secured through prayer.44 These lessons equip him
with a greater understanding of the Christian life and allow him, much like his
brothers, to set an example for others. Gregory even does this within the confines of
his very own work, restoring order within the community after Macrina’s death. This
death nearly tears apart Macrina’s community, leaving it in utter disarray. The women
lament the loss of hope in God and in their salvation.45 Gregory pleads with them to
remember Macrina and her commands for order and graciousness.46 He temporarily
fills the leadership void within Macrina’s community and ensures that the succession
of leadership and order within the community is relatively smooth. He gives the
community a sense of direction, much as Macrina had given him direction. He does
so by bringing the members o f the community into unity with the teachings o f their
founder and guiding spirit, Macrina. The fact that Gregory has taken up writing to
preserve her life further accentuates his role in participating and promoting Macrina’s
43 C. Rapp, “Storytelling as Spiritual Communication in Early Greek Hagiography: The Use of

177
teachings and community. He shapes it and guides it, thereby securing Macrina’s
legacy.
A great deal o f Gregory’s work in preserving this legacy involves setting out
the nature of Macrina’s deeds. In his de Virginitate, Gregory had proclaimed that
deeds are the mark o f a good teacher. In his Life o f Macrina, Macrina validates
Gregory’s words. She does so by making known her aperft in all her actions.47
Macrina’s life thereby becomes a model for all, since it offers a practical and dramatic
exposition o f virtue. This exposition is laid out in her deeds, which are not simply the
one-time creation o f a saint beyond compare. Instead, they offer telling lessons on
how to live the Christian life and are set within a communal context, a context
guaranteeing that her deeds are often of a relational or exemplary nature. They thus
allow not only Gregory, but his mother and brothers and an entire community to adopt
them.
We see this in the episodes throughout the hagiography. When Macrina’s
mother must deal with the death o f her son Naucratius, Macrina refuses to let her
mother be overcome by the passions.48 She provides an example o f steadfastness and
cnradeia for her mother to embrace. In Gregory’s words, Macrina’s “excellence was
evident. By ... becoming a bulwark o f her mother’s weakness, she lifted her out of
the abyss o f grief, and by her own firmness and unyielding spirit, she trained her
mother’s soul to be courageous”, Sie<pavr} Tf}$peydArj? MaKpi'vqs n aperfi,
oircos ... rfj$ pnrpiKfjs aoGevei'as ipeiaua yevofJEvrj iraAtv ek to G(3u€oO
178
ri)s \ vttt\s aCrrfiv autpijcaro, rep x a d ’eaurrjv areppcb re xa\ avevSorcp
xa'i rfjv tt \s urjrpo? y v x p v irpos avSpeiav jraiSorpiîjaaaa 49 In so doing,
Macrina empowers her mother with a greater understanding of how to live the
Christian life, refusing to let adversity gain control over her. She enlightens her with a
more fervent devotion to God and a clearer picture of aperfi. Similarly, in the case of
the virgin Vetiana who lost her husband at an early age, Macrina teaches her how to
cope with loss.30 Macrina even assumes the role o f guardian o f Vetiana’s
widowhood. As such, she teaches Vetiana a great deal about the path in life leading
towards aperfi and teaches her much about the meaning of Christianity itself.
Chapter eleven provides the most detailed information about Macrina’s
lifestyle and the nobility of her deeds. Fittingly, the chapter picks up just as Gregory
has detailed Macrina’s efforts to gird her mother against the onslaught of despair.
Gregory had ended that chapter by stating that Macrina’s life was always exalted by
virtue, o fiios aO rfjf aei St ’aperfjs uy/oujjevo£.il Chapter eleven explains the
implications o f this statement, and to do so, it turns to Macrina’s community, the
community which shares in and underlies this aperfi. Gregory starts the chapter by
telling us how Macrina leads her mother to her own measure o f simplicity, to IStov
rfjs raneivcxppoovvris pfrpov, enabling her to be one with the community. This
oneness is defined in terms o f Macrina, as her example sets the terms o f the
49 Ibid.
179
community’s life and ensures its unity. To be sure, this unity to a certain extent
evokes the model for communal life o f Acts 4:32-5, thereby offering another example
of how Macrina’s lifestyle is framed in accordance with the vision of the church.
More importantly however, since Macrina’s lifestyle is one o f unity within a
community, it seems to follow that Gregory’s praise for her is in many ways praise for
the entire community.
What Gregory seems to be indicating is that membership in the community
guarantees one’s claims to sanctity, as all lived a life in which they were “divorced
from all mortal vanity and attuned to an imitation of the existence o f the angels”,
Kexcoptaaro a u rc jv rj £ o ji 7 teat anQjicioTO naorjs fiicoTiKfis paT a iorrjro f iccri
Trpdf mprjoiv tt\s tcov ayyiA cov Staycoyfj; ippuBm'^sro. It is not at all
surprising then that Gregory declares
Among them was seen no anger, no envy, no hatred, no

arrogance, or any such thing; neither was there in them
longing for foolish things like honor and fame and
vanity, nor a contempt for others; all such qualities had
been put aside. Continence was their luxury and not
being known their fame; their wealth consisted in their
poverty and the shaking off of all worldly abundance
like dust from the body. They were not occupied with
the concerns of this life; that is, they were not
preoccupied. Rather, their one concern was the Divine;
there was constant prayer and unceasing singing of
hymns distributed throughout the entire day and night,
so that this was for them both their work and their rest
from work. What human word could bring this kind of
life before your eyes? Their existence bordered on both
the human and incorporeal nature.
ev oi's y a p o u 0 uuos, o u < p 0 o o v o s, o ir uTaos, airy

urrepovpi'a, o u k aAAo t i tg o v t o i o u t o v EVEoparo,
H t e t o v n a T c r i o v E ir id u u ia , T m fjs t e x a i
kcci Tvq>ov teal unE pT i< pavias xai ndvrcov t o v
permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission.

toioutcov, ekP ePAtito. x p u tp ri Be fjv r\ E y K p a x E ia
K a i S o £ a to |JT iyivcboK E O 0ai, irA o O x o s Be n
ciKTTiMoouwri K a i to t r a o a v TT1V uAlKTIV TTEpiOUOiaV
oTov T i v a koviv tcov a c o u a x c o v c n r o x i v d ^ a a O a i ,
epyow Be tcov mev koto tt\v £ c o riv x a u T T iv
c n r o u 8 a £ o u E v c o v ouBev, oti u ri t r d p e p y o v , povti Be
f| TCOV 0EICOV MeXeTTI KOI TO Tfjg TTpOOEUXTiS
d B ia X E iir r o v K a i n a i r a u o r o s u p iv c p B ia , K a x a to
Toov i r a v r i o u iiira p a T E iv o iiE V T i x c p XP°VCP B ia
vuktos K a i n p E p a s i r d a r i s , ooote a C r r a i s K ai
i p y o v E lv a i touto K a i E p y o u d v d t r a u a i v . T n v
toivuv T o ia u T T iv B ia y c o y f iv t {$ a v Cm ' o ip iv
a y a y o i A o y o s a v 0 p c b m v o s , t r a p ’ oTs M E0opio$ rjv
n £ c o n T fis te dv0pcoiT iV T is K a i T fis a a c o M a T o u
<puoEcos;
Gregory depicts an ideal noAiTefa, a lifestyle beyond words for the whole
community. An earlier sentence in the chapter makes this clear: “The arrangement of
their life, the high level o f their philosophy, the lofty regimen o f their activities night
and day was such that it transcends description”, Kai Toiaurrj tis fjv ft tou(3iov
Ta£i$ Kai toooOtov to ifyos Tfjs <ptAoccxpt'as Kai n oefjvrj £cof\s noAiTEia ev
rfj Kad’f/pepav re Kai vvtcra Sicrycoyfj, cos isrrep/3afveiv rrjv sk tcov Aoycov
isrroypa<pnv. Yet this lifestyle is not as we find it in the Historia Monachorum,
where angels are feeding humans and miracles of such splendor occur that no one can
possibly imitate them. Instead, it is the communal life which marks the participation
o f the ‘ascetic’ in the celestial life. Gregory’s words are rhetorical, but there is an
important point underlying his message. The merit of the individual does not exist
without the merit of the community.
The value o f the term community seems to predominate Gregory’s portrayal of
Macrina. Her virtue is seen in the steps she takes to embrace the philosophical life,
but embracing the philosophical life means that she makes herself a servant and
teacher to others. Guiding her mother to the philosophical life, she “prepared her to
put herself on a level with the community o f virgins so that she shared with them the
same food and lodgings and all other things one needs in daily life, and there was no
difference between her life and theirs”, o p o T i p o v a u r r iv y e v e a B a i r a j
TrAnpcbuari tcov n apdevcov n a p a oK eu aaaaa, g j$ K ai r p a ir i^ n s Uias xcci
k o it t j s K ai n a v rc o v tc o v irpos t t jv a g fa v Sia<popa$ v<paipe6ei'arjs a & rc o v t t \s
Gcofjs*1 These words vividly capture Macrina’s life. She becomes one with her
community o f virgins. There are no longer rich nor poor, master nor slave, but a
community o f equals, sharing food, clothing, and companionship.
This depiction o f communal life takes on greater prominence in light of
Macrina’s social context. The Eustathians had brought measures, similar to those of
Macrina, into effect, legally adopting former slaves as equals and renouncing all
disposable property.33 The Council o f Gangra addresses the Eustathians’ views on
slaves and property in one o f its canons. Much like its other declarations, this canon
finds fault with the Eustathians for disrupting the ecclesiastical and social order of
society. The canon reproaches the Eustathians for encouraging slaves to run away
from their masters under the pretext of piety and not serving the masters with all due
honor.54
Macrina’s incorporation of slaves into her philosophical life significantly
differs from the Gangrian fathers’ perception of the Eustathian practices. Macrina,
much like Melania the Elder, voluntarily takes on the status of her slaves, putting
53 Elm, p. 135.
182
herself on an equal level to them. She does not encourage the slaves to break away
from the master, but rather she, of her own volition, seeks to change the nature of their
relationship. They are no longer master and slave but women o f equivalent status.
The initiative is clearly Macrina’s, not the slaves’, and this is the key point. The
slaves in no way disrupt society by running from Macrina, but are incorporated into
her community as she changes them from slaves to valued and equal members of the
home.
Macrina’s service to her slaves is part and parcel of her social reforms. These
reforms point out how powerful a mediating force within the Cappadocian ascetic
landscape Macrina has become, as she adopts a key element of Eustathian ‘asceticism’
into the lifestyle o f her community. She espouses tpiXavdpcjma, as do her brothers
Naucratius and Peter who share Macrina’s view of the philosophical life as service to
others. One should point out, however, that Naucratius lived a life of monasticism,
outside of Macrina’s community. In fact, here it is worth noticing that Gregory uses
the words p o v q p n f and atrrfipcovVo characterize Naucratius’ life.55 At first glance,
it appears to be a life in total contrast to Macrina’s, as it is a life in solitude. Yet it
turns out to be not so dissimilar from Macrina’s life, as Naucratius lives among a
community o f old people, tending to their every need. His asceticism is marked by
service to these people. His commitment to these people reminds us o f Macrina’s
commitment to her mother, her brother, and every member o f her community. One
need only recall Gregory’s statement that Macrina never ceased from using her hands
5' Gregory of Nyssa. Life o f Macrina, 8.
183
in the service of God, always catering to the needs of anyone who asked for
anything.56
Both Macrina and Naucratius define their lives as service to others. For
Macrina, this service was o f such an all-encompassing nature that she renounced all
her possessions and gave them to the church. This no doubt have would been looked
upon with great favor by the Gangrian fathers, as many ascetics would also renounce
their possessions. Not so many, however, gave them to the church in accordance with
the divine command. Gregory stresses that Macrina does, and one does not have to
look further than canons seven and eight of the council of Gangra to understand why.
In these canons, the fathers demand that the bishop oversees the giving of fruits. It is
thus not a non-trivial detail that Macrina gives her fruits to her bishop. In so doing,
Macrina firmly places herself under the church’s authority and ensures that her
offering takes more power by upholding the church’s institutional might rather than
subverting it.
Following in Macrina’s footsteps was her brother Peter. This is not in the least
unexpected, since Macrina was not only his teacher, but also his counselor, father,
mother, and sharer o f every good thing. As a result of Macrina’s influence, Peter,
much like his brother Basil, is raised “to the high goal of philosophy”, irpos to v
tfynAdv ttjs tpiXoocxpias o k o t t o v ; and Gregory goes on to describe Peter as a co-
worker with his mother and sister in every phase of their angelic existence, ayysA naj
Ccoij57 He does this by acquiring such dperrj that he could be put on a par with his
184
brother Basil. In fact, Gregory even remarks that Peter “became so virtuous that he
was no less esteemed than the great Basil for the virtue of his later life”, cos v
iAcrrrov to v peyaAou BaoiAei'ou S o kb Tv ix siv ev t o Ts tear’ aperrjv npoTepnpa
o iv 5i Peter’s life is thus another attempt to highlight Macrina’s virtue by pointing out
the abundance of virtue in the community. We see Peter’s virtue dramatically put on
display during a famine. At this time, people pour into the region because of its
prosperity, and Peter furnished so much nourishment that the hermitage resembles a
city.59 Peter’s devotion to the people reaches such lengths that we are reminded of
Gregory of Nazianzus’ description of Basil’s poorhouse, treating the weak and ill with
so much care that calamity becomes a blessing.60 Fittingly enough, Basil’s poorhouse
cares for so many that Gregory o f Nazianzus addresses it, much like Gregory of Nyssa
addresses Peter’s hermitage, as a new city.
This city is one o f a number of instances throughout Gregory of Nyssa’s work
highlighting his emphasis on Macrina’s commitment to social action. This emphasis
seems to reach its peak after Macrina’s death. It is there that we are confronted with
an audience for Macrina, providing a suggestive glimpse o f how people outside of her
community might have perceived her. This audience consists of a husband and wife
who once visited Macrina’s ‘school of virtue’. They brought with them a daughter
who suffers from an illness. The couple visits because they are interested in learning
about Macrina’s life. She is more than happy to oblige them. She invites them to stay
57 Gregory of Nyssa, Life o f Macrina. 12.
58 Ibid.
59 Ibid.
185
in separate quarters, with men and with women, noting yet another significant change
from the Eustathians who were accused by the Gangrian fathers of living in mixed
relationships, having forsaken their spouses. Macrina keeps men and women separate,
even married couples who simply come to visit, so as to avoid complications and
possible occasions for sin. The church usually viewed such an arrangement far more
favorably than when men and women lived in the same houses under the "pretense’ or
even "umbrella’ of asceticism, so it is not insignificant that Macrina arranges the
quarters o f her community in compliance with the church’s wishes.61
The husband and wife visiting Macrina witness her philosophical life firsthand.
Naturally, it leaves a powerful impression. Sitting at their table, they are treated
warmly, as if part of the community. Macrina even offers them a gift. This gift is no
less than a miracle. Macrina offers her prayers on behalf of the couple’s young
daughter, and the daughter later regains her sight. Gregory points out that the
daughter is merely one o f a number o f people whose lives Macrina touched. More
lives and more miracles could fill Gregory’s narrative, but he refrains from spelling
out all these miracles, instead choosing to whet the reader’s appetite by mentioning
her work during a famine, her healing of disease, and her prophetic powers.62
Gregory limits his discussion o f Macrina’s ‘holy powers’ because he claims to
do otherwise would make people incredulous. Credibility is crucial to Gregory
because the work has so much at stake. Throughout the course of this chapter, we
60 Gregory of Nazianzus. Or. 43.63.
61 See Elm. See also E. Clark. Jerome, Chrysostom, and Friends. (New York: Edwin Mellon P, 1979);
D. Stramaia, "Double Monasticism in the Greek East Fourth Through Eighth Century”. Journal o f
Early Christian Studies 6 (1998): 269-312.
186
have seen many of these issues. Gregory’s pains in setting up Macrina as the guardian
and teacher of his family’s practices, in defining her life in relation to Gangra, and in
portraying Macrina as an ascetic providing a means amidst the ascetic extremes of his
region are so great that he does not wish to undermine his work by turning it into a
text defying belief He notes, however, that Macrina’s work affected all, and this
work, touching every social class, brings out the impact of her life upon her
community. Her good works and even her miracles effectuate lasting change.
As we have seen already, Macrina’s funeral and death bring all the issues
surrounding her life into clear focus. So much o f this life has been about Macrina’s
family that it seems only appropriate that she writes a history o f herself and her family
at her deathbed. She speaks o f her grandmother who shared a name with Macrina.
This grandmother also has two other attributes in common with Macrina. Both play a
key role in Basil’s life, and both are martyrs. In the case o f Macrina’s grandmother,
this martyrdom occurs as a confessor. For Macrina, it is revealed in a series of
visions. Gregory sees himself holding the relics of a martyr in a dream, as he
approaches his home where his sister lay on her deathbed.63 As if to emphasize his
point, he later adds that Macrina’s funeral was completed with “an all night vigil just
as in the case o f martyrs”, rij f ... iravvvxiBos rrepi a urqv iv uuvcoSiaif
Kadanep iw i Ltaprupojv rravrjyvpecot TeAeofetorj? 64 The meaning o f his earlier
dream should be clear: Macrina is a martyr. Her life merits the authority o f this truly
187
exalted title, as the title shows the lengths to which Macrina was willing to go to
defend God and, for that matter, the name o f her family. These lengths ensure her
intimacy with the divine and place the family under truly blessed leadership.
Macrina’s status as a martyr brings us back to the Council o f Gangra. The
council finds the Eustathians’ views towards martyrs contemptuous and subversive.
The Eustathians, the council claims, abhor the assemblies in honor of the martyrs.65
They believe they are above such displays of piety. Gregory and Basil thought
otherwise. Basil devoted a number o f sermons to martyrs, encouraging his audience to
celebrate and imitate the martyrs’ virtues.66 Gregory turned to his sister, Macrina,
making her a martyr and thus providing a final and compelling assurance of the
family’s piety.
It is worth emphasizing that Gregory pays so much attention to Macrina’s
status as a martyr that three telling signs accompany Macrina’s martyrdom. The first
consists o f the marks on her body. She had a scar, marking an earlier episode in her
life in which she was near death and spent the night in prayer to God. She had refused
medical treatment, believing that her prayers would be sufficient. This indeed proved
to the case, as Macrina was healed. The scar left behind a mark of God’s help.67 A
second indication o f Macrina’s status is made manifest on her deathbed. Here,
Gregory gives a particularly detailed account of Macrina’s last day. Till the end, she
fervently prays to God, asking for forgiveness for her sins and thereby sitting an
66 Rousseau, p. 1*4.
67 Gregory o f Nyssa, Life o/Xfacrina. 31.
188
with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission.
example for all who come to see her. Moreover, she sees the beauty o f the
bridegroom, Christ, and Gregory adds that Macrina no longer seems to be a human but
an angel.68 Macrina’s vision is not at all a surprise since she refuses to be laid low by
death. She had devoted the last o f her days to her activity, refusing, like Job, to be cut
off from activity when sick.69 Such determination is instructive. It reminds us that
illness is often presented as a test for ascetics, a means of overcoming the physical
limitations of the body in favor o f spiritual ideals.70 It is a martyrdom, much like
asceticism is a martyrdom, an enslavement o f the flesh liberating the spirit.71 Both
Macrina’s scar and her last days bear testimony to her martyrdom, as she overcomes
illness and allows herself to meet the divine.
A final indication o f Macrina’s status as a martyr can be found in Thecla.
Thecla was the exemplar for all ascetic women by the late fourth century.72 Gregory
tells us that Macrina’s mother, while giving birth to her first child, Macrina, has a
vision in which the child is addressed in a second, secret name, Thecla. This name,
Gregory declares, indicates both her future life and the similarity o f lifestyle, fiios and
6(joi6 ti7£ rfjs npoaipeaecos, Macrina and Thecla share. Jerome would employ
70 cf. P. Horden, “The Death of the Ascetics: Sickness and Monasticism in Early Byzantine Middle
East”. Studies in Church History 22 (1985), pp. 41-2.
71 Ibid.
12 K. Cooper, The Virgin and the Bride: Idealized Womanhood in Late Antiquity. (Cambridge, Mass:
Harvard U P, 1996), p. 70. See also R. Albrecht, Das Leben der heiligen Makrina a u f d ef Hintergrund
der Thekla-Traditionen. (Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1986).
189
Thecla in a similar manner, exhorting Eustochium to a more rigorous asceticism.73
Thecla was not, however, an entirely unproblematic saint.74 To escape persecution,
she cut her hair and donned men’s clothes. In the early fifth century, Basil of Seleucia
would try to explain away these questionable practices by depicting them not as a
means to greater sanctity but as a means to protect Thecla amidst the chaotic times in
which she lived.75
Thecla’s attire and hairstyle, however, run counter to Macrina’s and counter to
the prevailing orthodox practices in Cappadocia. The Eustathians, after all, receive
harsh condemnation in two o f the canons from the Council of Gangra for these very
features. It thus seems we are confronted with somewhat of a contradiction. How can
Macrina imitate the life of Thecla and maintain a lifestyle in concord with the canons
o f the church fathers at Gangra? This question is not as difficult to answer as one
might believe. Thecla held such a prominent position in the church by the late fourth
century that the mere mention of her name only served to lend auctoritas to one’s
stature. Gregory latches onto this auctoritas while carefully eliminating the parts of
Thecla’s life which would detract from his version o f Macrina. Other writers would
do likewise. For Gregory and for these fathers, Thecla provides a broad outline o f
sanctity. It is up to them to fill in the details.
These details, for Gregory, involve ascetic and church. Gregory makes
Macrina into a saint o f whom the Gangrian fathers would approve. He does so by
73 Jerome, ep. 22.
74 J. Anson, “Female Transvestites in Early Monasticism”. Viator 5 (1974), p. 3.
75 Basil of Seleucis, Opera quae exstant omnia. Patrologia Graeca 85.477-618.
190
bringing her behavior in conformity to their decrees and by placing a strong and often
subtle emphasis on church throughout his hagiography. Macrina is directly involved
in the formation of two bishops, and her funeral provides an opportunity for the
church, yet once again, to make its presence known.76 This funeral is filled with
ecclesiastical officers.77 The bishop Araxius takes charge of crowd control and the
procession of Macrina’s bier. Gregory is there in his capacity as bishop and takes
special care not to violate church law when placing Macrina’s body besides her
mother in death.78 In most hagiographies, all the detail Gregory devotes to the funeral
would seem out o f place, but it is highly significant here. It is a testimony to
Macrina’s life that her death attracts so much attention and that it is overseen by the
church in compliance with ecclesiastical regulations. The church’s presence gives
legitimacy and definition to the sanctity of Macrina’s life and thus her community.
Macrina, in turn, has provided a great service to them as evidence of her ‘holiness’:
her inheritance, the guidance o f two bishops, her community, and her life. She even
leaves behind a written account of her life which she narrates upon her deathbed and
two relics: a ring and a cross.79 These provide all the more testimony to her life. They
provide a monument to Macrina, a monument to commemorate her. So too does
Gregory’s work, a monument o f what the Christian life should be.
m . Conclusion
6 Beagon, p. 175.
77 Gregoiy of Nyssa, Life o f Macrina. 33-34.
78 Gregoiy of Nyssa, Life o f Macrina, 35.
79 Gregoiy of Nyssa, Life o f Macrina, 30.
191
The previous chapters have shown that a great debate was occurring
throughout late antique circles as to what it means to live the Christian life, with many
ascetics offering their contributions. In Gregory’s own time, the Eustathians and the
Messalians had much to say.80 To say the least, the church did not approve of the
majority o f their contributions, as these contributions lacked structure and cohesive
leadership. They often challenged the church’s authority. It was left to Gregory to
make an acceptable offering. His offering was Macrina, an ascetic defining a
community and an ascetic defined in relation to a community. Macrina was an ascetic
the church could embrace because she was most assuredly an ascetic who embraced
the church.
80 On the Messalians, see C. Stewart, Working the Earth o f the Heart: The Messalian Controversy in
History, Texts, and Language to AD 431. (Oxford: Clarendon P, 1991); J. Gribomont, “Le dossier des
origines du messalianisme”. In J. Fontaine and C. Kannengiesser, eds., Epektasis, Melanges offerts au
cardinal J. Danielou. (Paris: Beauchesnc. 1972), pp. 611-25.
192
Chapter 6: Ecclesiastical Asceticism
I. Introduction
What does asceticism have to do with the church? This question has run
implicitly throughout my dissertation, as we have seen how desert fathers, saints,
church councils, and fervent hagiographers devote considerable attention to outlining
the proper parameters o f ascetic behavior. These parameters have been for the most
part perceived as external and even esoteric, removed from the normal experiences of
everyday Christians and the towering confines of the late antique church. Recent
scholarship sums up the dichotomy as bishop versus monk, ecclesiastical versus
charismatic. What happens when the relationship does not hold, when the bishop
becomes ascetic?
In the late fourth century, a learned man from North Africa would provide an
answer to this question. This man, Augustine of Hippo, was an ascetic turned bishop,
and a bishop who became one o f the most significant figures in Christendom. Yet
while his prominence in church history is widely acclaimed, his importance for ascetic
history is less well acknowledged. In spite o f this fact, Augustine has drawn attention
from several scholars in recent years who have poured through Augustine’s writings
and pointed out a coherent and dynamic ascetic philosophy, a philosophy which would
inspire Benedict of Nursia, the author of the most popular monastic rule of the Middle
Ages. 1 This philosophy owed much to Augustine’s own life, a life lived among his
fellow clerics and aspiring monks, a life in community, and a life about community.
1 On Augustine’s monasticism, see, among other works, G. Lawless, Augustine o f Hippo and His
Monastic Rule. (Oxford: Clarendon P, 1987); R.A. Markus, The End o f Ancient Christianity.
193
The fact that Augustine’s ascetic views owe so much to his life brings to light
the fundamental difficulty in understanding these views. Augustine constantly wrote
and rewrote his life. He constantly invented and re-invented himself, and he took
great pains to carve out a legacy, a legacy which owes much to his Retractiones and to
a biography written by one o f his former pupils, Possidius.2 This biography presents
an Augustine in retrospect, an Augustine who is far more ascetic than one might
expect. Augustine’s ascetic writings, after all, make up a very small fraction of his
voluminous opera. His sermons to monks are remarkable for the fact that Augustine
rarely seems to give a great deal of attention to his monasteries, and it has taken years
of scholarly effort to prove that Augustine wrote the monastic Rule which is attributed
to him. Possidius even neglects to include the Rule in his catalog of Augustine’s
writings.3 Other writings o f Augustine address monks in only the most haphazard
manner, and although ascetic themes are at times very significant in Augustine’s
correspondence, they do not seem to be as noticeable as Possidius leads us to believe.
What, then, does Possidius say about Augustine’s ‘monasticism’, why does he
say it, and how do these views compare with or even differ from Augustine’s own
writings?4 These questions will comprise the bulk of this chapter.
(Cambridge: Cambridge U P, 1991); A Zumkeller, Augustine's Ideal o f the Religious Life. Translated
by E. Colledge. (New York: Fordham U P, 1986).
2 J.J. O’Donnell, “The Next Life of Augustine”. In M. Vessey and W. Klingshim, eds.. The Limits o f
Ancient Christianity: Essays on Late Antique Thought and Culture in Honor o f RA. Markus. (Ann
Arbor, MI: U o f Michigan P, 1999), pp. 215-231; J,J. O’Donnell. “T he Authority o f St. Augustine”.
Augustinian Studies 22 (1991): 7-35.
3 On Augustine’s rule, the work of L. Verheijen is fundamental. See L. Verheijen, La Regie de saint
Augustin. 2 vols. (Paris: Etudes augustiniennes, 1967) and L. Verheijen, Nouvelle approche de la regie
de saint Augustin. (Louvain: Institut Historique Augustinien, 1988).
194
D. Possidius’ Augustine
Possidius wrote in the years immediately following Augustine’s death. He
wrote in a time when Augustine’s value to the African church seemed surprisingly
difficult to determine. The church, as the last few chapters o f Possidius’ work suggest,
was in utter chaos, much like North Africa as a whole. Vandal invaders were
wreaking havoc upon the land, tearing apart families, political institutions, and
ecclesiastical strongholds.5 In such an era, Augustine’s role as a builder and upholder
o f the church seemed to make little if any difference, as Christianity in North Africa
was in serious danger of coming to an abrupt if not outright end.
Possidius is painfully aware o f this fact, and it drives his narrative. This is a
narrative which is about Augustine, a North African bishop, building the North
African church. Possidius’ work is African and fundamentally so. Significant events
in Augustine’s life, such as his correspondence with Julian of Eclanum, Jerome, and
Paulinus o f Nola, and his writing o f the City o f God, in response to the Visigothic sack
of Rome in 410, are deliberately omitted, as they are inconsequential to North Africa
and the African church. Even the heresies which Augustine often found himself
embattled against are depicted in a very particular manner, as Possidius discusses
Augustine’s efforts against “Pelagianism”, but only in so far as these efforts involve
4 General works on Possidius and his Life o f Augustine include H. T. Weiskctten, Sancti Augustini Vita
seripta a Possidio episcopo. (Princeton, NJ: Princeton U P, 1919); E. Thorgerson. “The Vita Augustini
of Possidius; The Remaking of Augustine for a Post-Augustinian World”. Princeton University PhD
Diss, 1999. The 1-artn text can be found in Vita di Cipriano, Vita di Ambrogio, Vita di Agostini, ed. by
A. Bastiaensen. (Milan; Fondazione Lorcnzio Valla, 197S), pp. 130-241. An English translation exists
under the name of M. Pellegrino, but it is a translation of Pellegrino’s Italian commentary. The Life o f
Saint Augustine. (VUlanova, PA; Augustinian P, 1988). I will generally use this English translation
and make many necessary changes.
5 C. Courtois, Les Vandals et I Afrique. (Paris: Aits et metiers graphiques, 1955).
195
Augustine’s church. Possidius completely omits Pelagius from this discussion, as
Pelagius lived far from Africa. In his stead, Possidius offers a short narrative about
the efforts Augustine and the African council of bishops took to counteract the spread
o f “Pelagianism ” 6 Such a narrative is consistent with Possidius’ work as a whole, a
work which portrays an Augustine working alongside of and on behalf of the African
church, a church which included Possidius himself, a bishop from Calama.
Possidius’ Life o f Augustine is, then, about Augustine and his church. It is a
testimonial, a method o f clarifying and preserving Augustine’s legacy amidst a time of
great uncertainty. Foremost among Augustine’s legacy are his writings, his
monasteries, his church, and his example. This legacy frames the hagiography and
complicates it as well.
Traditional hagiographies are rife with miracles, supernatural displays of
power, healings, and the like. Possidius’ work contains one miracle, and it is fairly
nondescript. In what way, then, is Possidius’ work a hagiography, and why does he
deliberately undermine the ‘rules’ of the genre? Thorgerson addresses this question in
great detail in her dissertation, but her discussion is marred by one serious fault: the
belief in hagiography as a genre. By the late Middle Ages, it makes sense to claim
that there are recognized rules to writing hagiography, a standard form so to speak. In
Possidius’ age, it makes little sense whatsoever, as the number o f extant hagiographies
was extremely small, and these works seem to be sufficiently distinct that identifying
rules for a hagiographic genre would be quite a challenge. More to the point, early
hagiographers are very careful about the type of language they use to describe their
6 Possidius, Life o f Augustine, 18.
1%
own works. One o f the earliest and perhaps most important hagiographies,
Athanasius’ Life o f Antony, is actually a letter, as is Gregory of Nyssa’s so called Life
o f Macrina. Claudia Rapp observes that the technical term for this literary form is
diegesis, a term which “refers specifically to an anecdote or story that is of edifying
character” 7 This term is used to the deliberate exclusion of bios in Greek
‘hagiographies’, and the term makes clear the spiritual communication at stake in
these works, a communication which seems to be a pivotal part of Possidius’
narrative.8 Communication captures the essence of these works so clearly because it
points to the fact that hagiographers are bearers of messages, that they wish to portray
a distinct portrait o f an ecclesiastical or monastic hero which is o f some relevance to
the text’s community.
A great part of this portrait involves sanctity, as Rapp declares:
“hagiographical texts play a significant... role in the process that joins the author and
his audience in their participation in the sanctity of the holy man or woman” .9 Rapp’s
words are revealing of the fact that what is so different about Possidius’ work is not so
much its refusal to include an elaborate burial site or more miracles but its
understanding o f sanctity. This definition is framed by community and the
monasteries; hence, their significance for displaying a carefully constructed picture of
Augustine which is far different from other pictures prevailing at the time. Although
Possidius acknowledges that, like other writers, he is writing about a great and
7 C. Rapp, “Storytelling as Spiritual Communication in Early Greek Hagiography: The Use of

8 Rapp, p. 439,448.
197
outstanding individual who lived in accordance with the Lord’s grace, it is in no way
apparent that this similarity requires him to fill his pages with miracles of
overwhelming splendor and with a tomb that is the locus of supernatural power.10
What is apparent is that Possidius views his work as prompted by the
inspiration o f the divine, as Possidius writes it, memor propositi, mindful of his
decision with consequences. 11 This propositum, a term that usually conveys an
attitude with consequences and at times, a lifestyle, is a term Possidius first uses to
draw attention to Augustine’s fame, as he observes in chapter four that Catholics know
of the propositum et doctrinam sancti Augustini. He fleshes out his understanding of
the term in chapter eleven, depicting life in the monastery, writing that some of the
clerics in Augustine’s monastery began to be ordained. As a result, “the truth of the
preaching o f the Catholic church became daily known and more evident, and so did
the way of life o f these holy servants of God with their continence and austere
poverty”, ac deinde innotescente et clarescente de die in diem ecclesiae catholicae
praedicationis veritate sanctorumque servorum Dei proposito, continentia et
paupertate profunda.
These sentences seem to clarify a larger objective o f Possidius’ work, as they
showcase the growth and inspiration of the church through the efforts o f clerics turned
monastics, efforts arising from their preaching, teaching, and way o f life. They also
reveal the fundamental nature o f Possidius’ perception o f Augustine, a man whose
9 Rapp, p. 432.
10 Possidius, Life o f Augustine, pref. 2.
11 Possidius. Life o f Augustine, pref. 1.
198
efforts to promote the church are framed by the same three qualities. Such a
seemingly simplistic schema allows Possidius to identify with Augustine. Since
hagiographers often stand at a great distance from their subjects, identifying with and
participating in their sanctity is no small feat. 12 Possidius identifies with Augustine
through discipleship in community, and the implication is that the clerics and monks
under his supervision will do so as well. This is Possidius’ delineation o f sanctity, a
delineation which encompasses a community and uses Augustine as a model and
exemplar, a living monastic rule whose life provides the guidelines for his monks to
follow.
The crucial parts o f this guideline can be found in the middle o f the Vita.
Possidius takes us inside of Augustine’s quarters and offers a portrait o f the man in his
community, a bishop setting and living the example his fellow clerics and monks
observed. In previous chapters, Possidius had captured this portrait with a single
word: apostolic. He writes that soon after Augustine’s ordination, he founded a
monastery near the church and began to live there with the servants o f God, following
the way of life and rule that had been established under the holy apostles, factusque
presbyter monasterium intra ecclesiam mox instituit et cum Dei servis vivere coepit
secundum modum et regulam sub sanctis Apastolis constitutam.13 This rule demanded
the renunciation o f all possessions, as every possession belonged to the community
which held all things in common. The rule derives from Acts 4:32-35, a passage
12 cf. Rapp, p. 433.
199
permission o f the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission.

which underlies Augustine’s monastic rule and his ascetic philosophy as a whole and a
passage which describes the life of the early apostolic community in Jerusalem. 14
Under Possidius’ pen Augustine is a veritable apostle, preaching God’s word
and forming communities throughout his life. His private life bears this out, as he
fulfills the apostolic command to mediate disputes between fellow brethren and lives
in utter simplicity. This simplicity includes nearly every aspect of his appearance, as
“his clothing and shoes, and even his bedding, were simple and appropriate, being
neither overly fastidious nor slovenly”, vestes eius et calciamenta vel lectualia ex
moderate et competenti habitu erant, nec nitida nimium nec abiecta plurimum. 15
Much the same can be said of his meals and even the spoons on his table. Possidius
tells us that the meals are frugal and economical, including wine and meat. These
meals are obviously a far cry from the desert, where ascetics often shunned lettuce,
fearing the lascivious effects o f this seemingly banal vegetable. 16 The comparison
with the desert is significant, however, since it points to the moderate course
Augustine embraced, neither too rigid nor too comfortable. Possidius writes that
Augustine followed the middle way and did not deviate to right or left, iste ... medium
tenebat, neque in dexteram neque in sinistram declinans.17 By doing so, Augustine
shows that his asceticism is rooted in his episcopacy, as he inspires and sets a
standard, but it is a standard which does not confine itself to the super holy. This
14 See L. Verheijen, Saint Augustine's Monasticism in the Light o f Acts 4.32-35. (Philadelphia:
VillanovaUP, 1979).
200
R e p ro du ced with permission o f the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission.
standard, Possidius explains, comes from Augustine’s concern for Christ, as
Augustine did everything for the sake o f Christ, not for arrogant display or self-
abasement.18 The implication is that Augustine’s concern for Christ demands a
practical model, a model which this bishop can easily impart and teach to his pupils.
Augustine’s concern for Christ even carries through to the dinner table where
his spoons were made o f silver, but the vessels holding the food were made of
earthenware, wood, or marble. More the point, though, is what takes place at the
table, as Augustine practiced hospitality and forbade his guests from slandering the
lives o f others. This insistence was a constant focus for Augustine, as he demanded
that no one should resort to lies in seeking to excuse his sins.19 Such behavior is in
many ways reminiscent o f Ambrose, one of the few figures who appears explicitly
throughout Possidius’ work.
Ambrose’s De Officiis, a guide for his clerics, outlines the behavior o f the
cleric. It prescribes a code of conduct, much like Augustine does in his daily life, as
Augustine rebukes actions contrary to discipline and at odds with the rule of
uprightness and honorableness, indisciplinationes quoque et transgressiones suorum a
regula recta et honesta ... arguebat.20 Ambrose’s De Officiis is similar to Augustine’s
rebukes, but it goes one step beyond, taking pains to outline every aspect o f one’s
appearance. At times, it reaches extremes, prescribing the right type o f walk for the
18 It is more than a little striking that Possidius mentions Christ only a handful of times in his narrative.
Augustine’s letter in chapter twenty-nine of the work refers to Christ more frequently in a couple of
paragraphs than Possidius does at a ll
201
cleric and the proper way to jest. Such extremes are instructive because they derive
from early Stoic authors such as Cicero who had similar concerns for his pupils.
Ambrose interprets and translates Cicero for a Christian audience, and the message of
paying strict attention to every aspect o f one’s behavior remains.21 Augustine
embraces this message as well; hence, the need to watch one’s mouth and not slander
others. Augustine does not carry the message to the same level as Ambrose who gives
much more careful attention to aspects of one’s deportment and emphasizes silence
throughout his narrative as the prima facie characteristic of the Christian cleric versus
the glibness o f the pagan rhetorician.22
To what extent does Augustine mirror Ambrose? For Possidius, the ties are
clear. Ambrose is given the bulk of the credit for Augustine’s conversion. The
famous “tolle, lege” scene from the Confessions is completely passed over in favor of
Ambrose’s influence.23 Augustine’s efforts in converting others seems, then, to
invoke this first conversion scene, as Augustine follows Ambrose in overcoming
heresy and getting others to embrace the Christian faith. Augustine does not simply
follow Ambrose in his episcopal ministry but also in his private life, embracing
Ambrose’s decrees that a bishop should never seek a wife for someone or write a
recommendation for a man entering a military career or accept invitations to dinner in
the locality.24 Some of these pronouncements come straight out o f Ambrose’s De
10 Ibid.
21 See 1.126-151 of Ambrose’s De Officiis in particular.
22 Ambrose, De Officiis. 1.5-6.
23 See Possidius, Life o f Augustine, 1.
202
R e p ro du ced with permission o f the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission.
Officiis, and Possidius’ familiarity with the document should not be overlooked.23
Even more telling, however, is the sentence immediately preceding this section in
which Possidius writes that Augustine asserted that in their lives and habits men of
God should follow the rules which he himself had learned from the teachings of
Ambrose o f holy memory, servandum quoque in vita et moribus hominis Dei
referebat, quod instituto sanctae memoriae Ambrosii compererat 26 This statement
reveals that Ambrose provides a baseline for Augustine, in his vita and moribus, two
words which recall the opening o f Possidius’ work in which he states that he could not
keep silent what he knew of the vita and mores of Augustine.27 These are the
attributes Possidius wishes to capture in his work, so to say that Ambrose inspires
Augustine through his vita and mores is no small statement.
That Augustine follows Ambrose is not surprising. The implication for
Possidius is that much like Ambrose, Augustine provides a series of rules for his
clerics and monks. The conduct of Augustine as bishop and monk is the conduct ail
Augustine’s clerics and monks must emulate. What, however, is the relationship
between the clerics and monks? The implication o f Possidius is that many of the
clerics come from the monastery, that the monastery is a training ground for bishops.
Possidius plays up this implication to magnify the dynamic impact o f Augustine’s life,
a life which Possidius tells us provides a legacy to the church of a very numerous
25 A point Pellegrino draws out in his commentary on the Vita, p. 10S, n. 2. Possidius is making use of
Ambrose’s precepts in De Officiis 1.86.
26 Ibid.
27 Possidius, Life o f Augustine, pr. 1.
203
clergy and monasteries filled with men and women vowed to continence under the
guidance o f their superiors, clerum sufficientissimum et monasteria virorum ac
feminarum continentibus cum suis praepositis plena ecclesiae dimisit,28 Possidius
does not separate monk and cleric a great deal and with good reason, as both,
Possidius seems to imply, are responsible for the flourishing of the church.
What, however, does it mean to be a monk or cleric? It is here that we must
return to the middle chapters of the work. Possidius emphasizes renunciation in an
early chapter, but he also emphasizes continence. The sentence quoted above lays
special emphasis upon it, as does chapter twenty six which stresses that no woman
ever frequented Augustine’s home. In fact, as one commentator has observed,
Augustine’s monastic life seems distinctive from that of Ambrose and Jerome as his
world was primarily an all-male one. 29 Augustine constantly kept men and women
apart, so Possidius tells us that Augustine said that women should never be allowed to
stay in the same house with the servants o f God, no matter how chaste the latter might
be, lest the example given be a source of scandal or a stumbling block to the weak, ob
hoc ergo dicebat numque debere feminas cum servis Dei, etiam castissimis, una
manere domo, ne... aliquodscandalum aut offendiculum tali exemploponeretur
infirmibus.30 This insistence on Augustine’s part promotes the value o f chastity in his
ascetic philosophy, and it points to its place as the sine qua non separating the layman
from the ascetic. An important part o f this separation involves exemplarity, as the
28 Possidius. Life o f Augustine, 31.
29 Brown, Body and Society, p. 396.
30 Possidius, Ufe o f Augustine, 26.
204

monks are supposed to provide a model through their behavior of Christian living, and
Possidius’ language o f tali exemplo makes this point crystal clear. Possidius’
Augustine is a model for behavior, and any model which could possibly undermine
ascetic efforts was a model which must be eschewed at all cost.
Concomitant with the importance of providing an ideal was securing a good
reputation. Reputation defines the relationship between the outsider and the ascetic. It
is very important in Augustine’s writings on monasticism, but it does not get the same
type of treatment in Possidius’ work. Possidius focuses on Augustine and his
reputation. Time after time, Possidius tells us that word was spreading about the
sanctity or learnedness o f Augustine the bishop. Whether in person or in parchment,
Augustine developed a great reputation, a reputation which Possidius’ biography aims
above all to solidify. It is this reputation which advertises Augustine’s authority and
speaks to his distinguished stature within the church as a whole.
Augustine’s authority for Possidius also comes from his lifestyle, and in
addition to chastity, renunciation was a significant part o f this lifestyle. A vital part of
Augustine’s teachings on asceticism, or so Possidius indicates, involve philanthropy.
Possidius writes that Augustine was always mindful of his fellow poor and distributed
to them from the same source on which he and those living with him depended: the
income from the church’s property and the offerings of the faithful, compauperum
vero semper memor erat, eisque inde erogabat unde et sibi suisque omnibus secum
habitantibus, hoc est vel ex reditibus possessionum ecclesiae vel etiam ex oblationibus
fidelium 31 Augustine, Possidius informs us, was even willing to renounce all the
205
property o f the church and simply live on the offerings of the people, as those Old
Testament heroes in Deuteronomy did, but the laity were never willing to embrace this
arrangement.32 Augustine’s advocacy o f such a position shows his commitment to the
poor and it highlights his similarity to biblical figures. Apostolic language is used to
great effect along with scripture in Possidius, as Augustine’s actions constantly evoke
or fulfill the guidelines spelled out in the Bible. The guidelines in this instance
involve his commitment to the poor, a commitment which marks his episcopacy and
by implication his monasteries.
The implication for the monasteries is never so clear, though. They renounce
all their possessions and live in a community with all things held in common. Their
good works, however, are only briefly alluded to in an early passage in the work, as
Possidius describes Augustine’s first monastic efforts, when he returned to Africa
from Italy and lived for God with others in fasting, prayer, and good works, and in
meditating day and night on the law o f the Lord cum his qui eidem adhaerebant Deo
viveat, ieiuniis, orationibus, bonis operibus, in lege Domni meditans die ac nocte,33
This sentence, however, leaves good works extremely opaque, and much of what
Possidius depicts in the character o f Augustine, his visiting the sick and providing for
the poor, is not tied so directly to his monasteries. The best means o f making a
connection lies of course in the greater objective of Possidius’ narrative, in making
Augustine a living and abiding example for his monks and clerics to embrace.
32 Ibid.
206
This example is, as we have seen, far removed from a supernatural bishop like
Ambrose in Paulinus’ biography performing miracle after miracle. Instead, it is one
located in a community where Augustine sets the standard, telling all the clerics to live
by a set o f rules involving moderation and simplicity - whether that be in one’s
appearance or in one’s table manners. In short, it is one in which Augustine’s vita and
mores pave the way for others to learn the true meaning o f sanctity, sanctity which is
rooted in the African church and for this church, through preaching, lifestyle, and
promoting the cause o f the church. That there is nothing supernatural about this vita
and mores strikes modem readers as somewhat surprising, since they are accustomed
to centuries o f hagiographic writings filled with miraculous tales. Possidius is not
confined by modem myopia, and he uses his portrait to capture a bishop and a legacy,
a legacy which will define and preserve a community, clarifying the essential nature of
what holiness means for this ascetic community.
ID. Augustine the Bishop, Augustine the Ascetic34
How does Possidius’ portrait o f Augustinian asceticism compare with
Augustine’s own writings? The relationship is not easy to ascertain, as Augustine’s
writings cover a forty year time span, and undergo significant alterations along the
way. From the few writings that do address monasticism, we can attempt to analyze
34 Augustine’s ascetic writings can be found in the Patrologia Latina (PL). Consult n. 3 for his Rule.
The other major works I refer to are: De morribus ecclesiae cathalicae (PL 32.1300-1377); De open
monachorum (PL 40.547-582); Enarrationes in Psalmos (PL 36.67-1028). Most of the translations of
the texts in this chapter follow those found in works such as Various Treatises on Various Subjects, ed.
R. Deferrari. (New York: Fathers of the Church, Inc., 1952) and A. Zumkeller, Augustine s Ideal o f the
Religious Life. Translated by E. Colledge. (New York: Fordham U P, 1986), pp. 293-428. Asa
celebrated writer on antiquity, there are many translations of Augustine available, and these tend to be
much better than those for other authors.
207
permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission.

Augustine’s picture of the phenomenon and then see how Possidius alters or embraces
this picture.
It is clear that philosophy held much allure for Augustine from an early point
in his life. He tells us as much in his Confessions. That he should take this
philosophical inspiration into his Christian life seems only natural. The otium of the
rhetor seems to describe much o f Augustine’s early ascetic efforts, living far away
from the hubbub o f urban life, studying, reflecting, and meditating. Interestingly, the
great desert hero, Antony, played a key role in Augustine’s conversion, or so he tells
us, but Antony’s lifestyle, alone in the desert, eating only when it was absolutely
necessary, and engaging in daily combats with the devil, seems so opposed to
Augustine’s, that many scholars have had a difficult time making sense of Antony’s
influence. If one reads the Confessions with a careful eye, however, the difficulty is
not so hard to unravel. What inspires Augustine is Antony’s obedience to the Lord,
his reaction to the scriptural passage, a reaction which is a perfect fulfillment of the
evangelical prompting. Antony’s action represents an immediate and lasting
conversion, and it is this action in response to scripture that Augustine finds so
appealing, as it is scripture which underlies Augustine’s asceticism and Augustine’s
episcopal life, safeguarding and defining its spirit and letter.35
In his own life, Augustine in no way mirrored Antony. His life was
fundamentally one of community, and an important work, De Moribus Eeclesiae
Catholicae, stemming from the years immediately following Augustine’s conversion
35 Augustine, Confessions, 8.29.
208
bears this out.36 In the work, Augustine takes aim at the Manicheans and defends the
Catholic church as the upholder and promoter of true sanctity. Part o f this defense
involves his discussion of ascetic movements. Augustine writes about the cenobites in
Egypt and makes several insightful comments. He asks who can be unaware that the
multitude of Christians practicing perfect continence increases and spreads day by
day, particularly in Egypt and in the East, quis enim nescit summae continentiae
hominum christianorum muhitudinem per totum orbem in dies magis magisque
diffundi, et in Oriente maxime atque Aegypto,37 What is particularly noticeable here is
that Augustine establishes chastity as the defining measure of the ascetic life and in
particular, the ascetic life in Egypt.
Augustine then goes on to distinguish between monks in solitude and monks
living in community. He gives only the briefest of discussions to the former,
observing that some people feel that they have gone to extremes in abandoning human
things, not considering how much benefit Christians derive from the prayers o f these
souls and from the example o f their lives, although their bodies are hidden from view,
videntur enim nonnullis res humanas plus quam oporteret deseruisse, non
intelligentibus quantum nobis eorum animus in orationibus prosit, et vita ad
exemplum, quorum corpora videre non sinimur38 Augustine gives only the slightest
bit o f attention to their lifestyle but points out two important features o f their
36 For a detailed commentary, see J.K. Coyle, Augustine’s 'De Moribus Ecclesiae C atholicaeA Study
o f the Work, Its Composition, and Its Sources. (Fribourg, Switzerland: The U P, 1978).
37 Augustine, De Moribus Ecclesiae Catholicae, 65.
38 Augustine, De Moribus Ecclesiae Catholicae, 66.
209
asceticism: their role as a model for others and their prayers. Augustine almost seems
to be making concessions with his discussion here, that a life in solitude can provide
benefits, but that this is the exception and not the rule.
The rule, and certainly the Augustinian Rule, is fundamentally one of
community. Augustine admits the solitary life might be beyond one’s endurance,
toleranlia, and this statement reflects his larger concern for the church as a whole and
is consistent with the moderate course Possidius tells us Augustine embraced.
Holiness must not stand too far from the grasp of the average Christian. By placing it
in community, it seems attainable for every member of the community, and it is for
this reason that Augustine describes life in the community as castissimam
sanctissimamque, using superlatives to accentuate the power of his depiction. These
words are a far cry from those used to describe the hermits, who are holy no doubt and
provide vita ad exemplum, but do not merit the same degree of verbal fervor.
Augustine is clearly carving communal life out as the virtuous life, the life o f holiness,
and the life he favors. He gives it a great deal of attention in the sentences to follow,
writing that besides living together in perfect chastity and holiness, they pass their
time in prayer, reading, and spiritual conference, aetatem agunt, viventes in
orationibus, in lectionibus, in disputationibus?9
Prayer, as we noted above, is a quintessential aspect of monastic life, and many
bishops, such as Ambrose, relied upon virgins to offer efficacious prayers on behalf of
the community. Augustine recognizes this aspect of monastic life, and in a world in
which the almighty could seem far removed from everyday life, intercession should in
39 Augustine, De Moribus Ecclesiae Catholicae. 67.
210
no way be overlooked. Augustine adds to this power of the ascetics by focusing on
their attention to scripture. Scripture is often a means of framing community, of
giving it guidelines, recognized rules that every member of the community abides by.
The study o f scripture is clearly prominent in ascetic communities, such as in
Pachomius’ and Augustine’s communities. Augustine’s perception of scripture is not
simply one o f using the text but studying it. In fact, his Doctrina Christiana unlocks
the door preventing the cleric from properly understanding the text.
Augustine’s emphasis upon scripture directs his monastic and episcopal life.
Scholars have pointed out that this reading, like any reading for that matter, is not
without its prejudices and theological agenda.40 This reading very much arises out of
Augustine’s historical context, his role as a bishop fighting larger and seemingly more
vibrant ‘heretical’ groups in North Africa. Scripture for Augustine becomes the
battleground upon which the war is fought. To have a solid grounding in scripture, to
live like the biblical exemplars in Acts and the Old Testament, becomes vital for the
sanctity o f any ascetic community. For this reason, Augustine stresses the role of
scripture within the Egyptian cenobitic movement.
He also stresses several features of communal living which match some of the
features in the monastic rule attributed to him. Augustine tells us that no one was
preoccupied with the body or with food or clothing. Moreover, everyone worked on a
daily basis, to support their bodies without distracting their minds from God. At the
center o f the cenobitic life lay the fathers who were men noted for the holiness o f their
lives and for their extensive knowledge of divine doctrine, patres non solum
sanctissimi moribus, sed etiam divina doctrina excellentisimi. Such men remind us of
Possidius’ Augustine. These men deliver long talks, in many ways resembling a
bishop sermonizing to his community. One final salient feature of the community is
that it distributes everything that remains over what is needed to the poor.41
Augustine’s description of the Egyptian cenobites is enlightening, as it conveys
several o f his core beliefs about monastic living: community, scripture, prayer, and
teaching. He continues this discussion with mention o f the holy priests and bishops
and the challenges they face in leading such commendable lives surrounded by so
many people.42 These priests deserve special attention, as their lifestyle is able to
inform their teaching and preaching. Augustine goes on to discuss other Christians in
community, those in Milan, living under the direction of an exemplary and learned
priest, unus presbyter praeerat vir optimus et doctissimus43 These ascetics support
themselves with their own hands and practice fasting in addition to other virtues.
More to the point, Augustine forcefully declares that “in these [communities], no one
is urged to undertake austerities beyond his tolerance, and nothing is imposed upon an
individual against his will. Nor is he looked down upon by the others because he
confesses himself unable to imitate them. For they remember how strongly the
Scriptures recommend charity to all” atque inter haec nemo urgetur in aspera, quae
ferre potest, nulli quod recusat imponit, nec ideo condemnatur a ceteris, quod in eis se
imitandisfatetur invalidum: meminerunt enim quantopere Scripturis omnibus
40 See, for example, E. Clark, Reading Renunciation. (Princeton, NJ: Princeton U P, 1999).
41 Augustine, De Moribus Ecclesiae, 67.
212
commendata sit charitas.44 Augustine’s words here promote charity and tolerance,
they promote an understanding of each individual’s strengths and weaknesses, an
understanding o f a wide variety o f lifestyles, in a sense a flexible iroXiTEia.
Where Augustine allows no tolerance is in his understanding o f monastic
work. Augustine is so inflexible on this premise because a failure to do work could
undermine one’s entire community. Augustine very much resembles Epiphanius in
this regard, and reading his De Opere Monachorum reminds us a great deal of
Epiphanius’ arguments against the Massalians. Both envisage a monastic movement
predicated upon the scriptures. Violating any of the biblical creeds is a very deliberate
act of dereliction. For this reason, the word that resounds throughout Augustine’s De
Opere Monachorum is apostle. Apostolic decrees and apostolic deeds become the
barometer for ascetic excellence. Paul, in particular, gets significant attention as the
apostle par excellence and the apostolic guide, as Augustine quotes passage after
passage to show that “the apostle performed manual work; that he provided his
physical sustenance by means of that work” corporaliter tamen operatum esse, et inde
in came vixisse.45 Augustine sets up a direct relationship between monastic behavior
o f his time and apostolic behavior. The implication is that the monks are at the very
least responsible for maintaining the apostolic lifestyle and more importantly are the
virtual apostles o f their time, an implication we find running throughout Rufinus.46
Rufinus’ understanding of the apostles departs from Augustine’s, as his ascetic heroes
45 Augustine, De Opere Monachorum, 14.
213
and bishops manifest their apostolic traits through signs and miracles, signa
apostolica. These signs for Augustine are far more mundane and far more communal,
living together in a community in which everyone performs manual work, the work of
their hands, just like the apostle Paul. This simpler vision of apostolic living,
however, points to Augustine’s broader version o f sanctity. It is not to be confined to
the elite few, as even the elite few in Augustine’s mind, are imperfect and need the
help o f the divine.
What Augustine offers, then, in De Opere Monachorum is a re-affirmation of a
scriptural monasticism, a monasticism conceived in accordance with the writings of
the prophets, apostles, and biblical authors. Much like Epiphanius, Augustine uses
scripture to define and measure the ascetic labors. Both find fault with the idle monks
for their misinterpretation o f Paul and with monks who wear their hair long in
violation o f Paul’s words.47 Whereas Epiphanius is terse and sometimes subtle, never
devoting more than a few paragraphs to these issues, Augustine leaves no room for
argument and seems to offer ample room for understanding his view, dissecting the
arguments for monastic work with the precision o f a surgeon. He microanalyzes
Pauline passage after Pauline passage, interspersed with the occasional gospel excerpt,
over the course o f his tractate. These are the terms on which he will debate.
What Augustine’s arguments ultimately come down to is a question of
idleness. What else will the monks do if they are not working? Augustine discounts
possible answers to this question such as prayer and reading scripture by invoking the
46 F. Thdamon, F. Palens et chritiens au tveme siecle. (Paris: Etudes augustiniennes, 1981), p. 375.
214
example of Paul and the labors he undertook to spread the gospel message. These
labors, Augustine suggests, underlie Paul’s sanctity, as he writes that “the Apostle...
accomplished a truly marvelous work since, in his great solicitude for the people
belonging to all the churches, both those who had been instructed and those who were
yet to be taught, he added manual labor to the care and labor of his ministry”,
mirartdam rentfecit Apostolus, qui revera in tanta sollicitudine omnium Ecclesiarum,
et propagatarum et propagandarum, ad eius curam laboremque pertinentium, etiam
manibus operabatur,48 If Paul refused to make himself a burden upon others and
always took care to provide an example for others to imitate, why do the Carthaginian
monks think they are so different from Paul?49 Their asceticism should involve labors,
as Augustine’s notion of asceticism, perhaps informed to a degree by his episcopacy,
as we see in his depiction of cenobitic communities in De Moribus Catholicae
Ecclesiae which emphasize order and a presiding father figure, involves duties and
labors. Augustine states as much, writing that
The servants o f God ought, in this way, to obey [Paul’s]

precepts as to suffer with the weak and, freed from the
love of private possessions, work at manual labor for the
common good and submit without murmuring to those
placed over them, in order that, from the offering of the
good brethren, those commodities may be furnished
which they realize are needed by those who labor and
preaching and who, though they work at manual labor to
supply their food, lack these things because o f physical
infirmities, religious duties, or intellectual absorption in
spiritual matters.30
47 See Augustine, De Opere Monachorum, 39-40.
215
Sic debent et ipsi praeceptis eius obedire, ut
compatiantur infirmis, et amore privatae rei non illigati
manibus suis in commune laborare, praepositis suis sine
murmure obtemperare; ut hoc suppieatur ex oblationibus
bonorum fidelium, quod laborantibus et aliquid unde
victum transigant operantibus, propter infirmitates
tamen corporates aliquorum, et propter ecclesiasticas
occupationes vel eruditionem doctrinae salutaris, deesse
putaverint.
Augustine’s viewpoints in this paragraph are rich and incisive. The first one
that we notice is Augustine’s stress upon the obligation the monks owe to the
community. To belong to a community means to be responsible for every other
member o f the community. Since Augustine only envisages ascetics in community,
except for the rare superascetics in Egypt, the community needs its members to work
for its common and greater good, or it will fall apart. A second feature to notice is
Augustine’s obvious episcopal bias. Those who preach seem to be excused from
working at times, as preaching supersedes other ascetic responsibilities. In fact,
preaching appears repeatedly throughout the treatise as the ultimate proviso, the sole
exception to the rule o f monastic labor. It is preaching, Augustine points out, which
could excuse the apostles from laboring. Following this line of logic, Augustine
contends, “These brethren of ours, in my estimation, make unwarranted claim to the
privilege of having authority of this kind. If they are preachers, I grant that they are
entitled to it; if they minister at the altar or confer the sacraments, they certainly do not
arrogate the privilege, but clearly substantiate their claim”, isti autem Jratres nostri
temere sibi arrogant, quantum existimo, quod eiusmodi habeant potestatem. Si enim
evangelistae sunt, fateor, habent: si ministri altaris, dispensatores sacramentorum,
216
bene sibi istam non arrogant, sedplane vindicant potestatem .51 These statements hint
at what Epiphanius makes explicit: clerical duties outweigh monastic ones. These
duties carry apostolic weight and excuse their practitioners from the type o f labor
which would otherwise be essential.
Augustine’s attitude toward the monks, then, is not as obvious as that o f
Epiphanius. The line o f hierarchy must be inferred. Nonetheless it still exists. Monks
have a place, but it is a place in the church and a place subservient to the preachers of
the word, the priests and bishops. This place in the church is never really spelled out
in the De Opere Monachorum, but we can be sure of its existence, as Augustine
constantly uses scripture to define and restrict the behavior of the Carthaginian
ascetics. By invoking the gospels and Paul, Augustine invokes the legislative spirit of
the church, and he points out the rules all members of the church, including the
ascetics, must abide by.
What ultimately is the place for the ascetics in Augustine’s church? They
seem to form their own communities, as other writings attest. In the De Opere
Monachorum, Augustine suggests that they can provide a model, much like the
apostles did. This model only makes sense, however, if they are not a burden to
others. Epiphanius’ arguments seem very much alive in Augustine. Asceticism is
valid only insomuch as it affirms the teachings of the Bible. When it violates these
teachings, it loses its significance, as a means of illuminating a lifestyle, a lifestyle that
inspires and guides others.
S1 Augustine, De Opere Monachorum, 24.
217
The importance of others comes to the forefront in two sermons, 355 and 356.
These sermons speak to the importance of reputation, fama.52 They identify and speak
to the audience Augustine has in mind for ascetics. This audience is the larger church,
the laity. In the sermons, Augustine deals with a potentially damaging situation. He
details a violation o f ascetic and ecclesiastical protocol, as a priest made a will on his
deathbed in flagrant disregard o f the community’s requirement that all goods be
shared in common and that no one have any personal possessions. Augustine frames
his defense o f the monastery with fama, arguing that a good reputation is essential.
This reputation clarifies and preserves ascetic-non-ascetic relations. An ascetic, in this
line of thinking, presents a model, an example for others to imitate. Letter forty-one
seems to suggest as much, stating that “let the stronger lead, let the weaker imitate
their example, being followers of them, as they are o f Christ”, praecedant illi [magni\,
et sequantur isti [pusilli], imitatoresfacti eorum, sicut el illi Christi. Anything, then,
which could undermine this example must be avoided and ferreted out at all costs, as a
good reputation is the keystone to securing one’s auctoritas as an exemplar.
Augustine avoids and ferrets out the disreputable in sermons 355 and 356. He
details the actions o f the community in the latter sermon to fulfill its fundamental
pledge, to live with no possessions and hold all things in commons just as in the
apostolic community in Jerusalem. He even goes so far as to list the actions of
individual clerics in sermon 356, thereby safeguarding the reputation of the clerics and
o f the community and preserving their stature as leaders and models for the larger
community. The importance of this stature receives significant attention in the first
few paragraphs of sermon 355. Augustine sets out a language o f imitation, writing
that “I think our way o f life is well known to you, so that perhaps we too might dare to
speak the Apostle’s words, though we are greatly inferior to him: ‘Be imitators of me,
just as I am o f Christ’. And for this reason, I do not want anyone to find in us an
excuse for living badly”, credo autem ante osculos vestros esse conversationem
nostram; ut et nos dicere fortassis audeamus, quamvis illi multum impares, quod dixit
Apostolus: ‘Imitatores mei estote, sicut et ego Christ ’. Et ideo nolo ut aliquis de nobis
inveniat male vivendi occasionem. Just as the apostles provide a model for others, so
too must the monks provide a model for one another, a model in imitation of Christ
and a model, one presumes, that inspires a community. What seems particularly
interesting here is the use of conversatio to depict the lifestyle of the monastery, as it
is a key word for Benedict but nearly invisible in Possidius and Augustine’s monastic
rule What is even more interesting is Augustine’s depiction o f monastic life. It is not
all that detailed and is far less insightful than what we read in Possidius. Augustine
simply remarks that “no one in our fellowship is allowed to have any property o f his
own. But perhaps some do. No one is allowed to; if some do, they are doing what is
not permitted... All who live with us know our understanding and our rule o f life”,
nulli licet in societate nostra habere aliquid proprium: sed forte aliqui habent. Nulli
licet: si qui habent,faciunt quod non licet... omnes, qui mecum viverent, nosse
propositum nostrum, nosse legem vitae nostrae.53 To live in Augustine’s monastery is
52 P. Rousseau, “Augustine and Ambrose: The Loyalty and Singlemindedness of a Disciple”.

Augustiana 27 (1977), p. 159.
219
to have no possessions. It also is to be a cleric, as a previous sentence strongly
suggests. Augustine notes that he made a monastery of clerics, monasterium
clericorum, an attempt o f sorts to establish a private life, a life removed from
visitors.34 This monastery seems to represent an evolution from an earlier monastery
which just contained Augustine’s brothers, fratribus. The evolution Augustine
suggests correlates well with Possidius, as it is a monastery which teems with clerics
who presumably will assume significant positions in the church.
This system had its drawbacks, however. In addition to Janarius who made a
will, Antoninus of Fussala embarrassed Augustine with his episcopacy. Antoninus
had once been a cleric in the monastery before becoming a bishop in Fussala. As
bishop, he represented everything Augustine’s monastery did not. He ravaged the
people, was a thief, and the seeming personification of immorality.33 His concern for
his parishioners and therefore his reputation was very small if not non-existent. He
was in no way a model for others, a bishop performing his duties and fulfilling the
injunctions o f Scripture. Augustine’s involvement with Antoninus was a very painful
affair, as the teachings and mission o f his monastery was clearly subverted.
Antoninus’ episcopacy fostered anything but a sense of community.
A sense o f community is what, after all, monasticism seems to be for
Augustine. His later sermons might suggest that it was a place for clerics and
Possidius might develop the stronger implication that it was a training ground for
53 Augustine, Sermon 355, 2.
54 Ibid.
55 See Augustine, ep. 20*
220
clerics, but Augustine’s writings for the most part stress community above all. This is
how he presents monks in his writings and in his rule. His Exposition o f the Psalms
brings the idea of community out most clearly, as it lays claim to the title of monk and
points out that other ascetic groups, the Circelliones, Agonists, and what not, deserve
their name, since it points to their shameful behavior. Possidius, we should note,
devotes ample attention to the Circumcelliones in his Vita, contrasting these
supposedly continent men whose behavior was disorderly, impudent, and rife with
violence against the peace, order, and sanctity o f Augustine’s monastery.36
Augustine’s words complement Possidius’, as they take aim against false sanctity and
promote the unity and holiness o f monks. Their very name, Augustine remarks,
indicates their true nature:
Why should we not use the name ‘monks’ since the

psalm says ‘Behold how good and how pleasant it is for
brothers to live in unity’? For monos means ‘one’, and
not just ‘one’ in any sense.... They [the monks] live in
unity so as to make up one man, so that they really have
... ‘one soul and one heart’. They have many bodies,
but not many souls; they have many bodies, but not
many hearts. They are rightly called monos, that is, ‘one
alone’.37
Quare... nos non appellemus monachos, cum dicat

psalmus: ‘Ecce quam bonum et quam iucundum habitare
fratres in unum? Movos enim unus dicitur: et non unus
quomodocumque... Qui ergo sic vivunt in unum, et
unum hominem faciant ut... una anima et unum cor,
multa corpora, sed non multae animae; multa corpora,
sed non multa corda; recte dicitur povos, id est unus
solus.
56 Possidius, Life o f Augustine, 10-12. On the “Circumcelliones'’ as monks, see W. Frend.

“Circumcelliones and Monks”. Journal ofTheologicat Studies, os., 20 (1969): 542-549.
57 Augustine, Exposition o f the Psalms, 132.6.
221
Augustine emphasizes the unity pervading the community, a unity which defines the
monk and offers a revealing insight as to what Augustine’s notion of monasticism is.
It is this notion which we find most prominently in Augustine’s Rule. The
Rule is fundamentally about community and about how to live in community. It has
such provisions as care of the sick, the different requirements o f rich versus poor
entrants, the proper clothing to wear, and the need to watch one’s diet and appearance.
The Rule is rather slim in comparison to Pachomius’ Rule, and it lacks the detail we
find in Pachomius, although Augustine’s OrdoMonasterii, an apparent preface to the
Rule, does lay out exactitudes such as the times to pray and times to read. On the
whole, the Rule provides a foundation for life in a monastery. Such a life is obviously
one of community, and the Rule begins by establishing the need for unity and to share
all things in common. Later parts of the Rule make clear that all things literally means
all things, clothing, food, and whatever else one could possibly need or use.
Another significant aspect of the Rule is its recognition of ecclesiastical
authority. Augustine states, “obey your superior as a father, but also give him respect
on account o f his office, otherwise you offend God in him. This is even more true of
the priest who bears responsibility for you all”, praeposito tamquam path oboediatur,
honore servato, ne in illo offendatur deus; multo magis presbytero, qui omnium
vestrum curam gerit.5% The last sentence is crucial, as it provides a context for the
monastery and an order. The priest has a greater responsibility for the monastery than
any single member. The priest in essence presides over the monastery, and the
monastery is subject to his authority. To be a monk is to be a part of the church.
222
Coming from Augustine, such a message is not at all surprising. How does the
Rule fit in with his episcopal teachings? It stresses community, continence, reading,
and love. It is in many ways a manual, to be read each week, to inspire each member
of the community to live a more edifying life. 59 It presumes such a life is an apostolic
one, as the Ordo Monasterii suggests: apostolica vita optamus vivere. Augustine
desires to live an apostolic life. This seems to be the sum of his monastic writings, an
attempt to live like the early apostles, providing for one another’s needs, sharing all
things in common, teaching, preaching, praying, and reading. Augustine hoped from
such a life that an example would be provided to the larger community, an example of
how to live and how to fulfill the message o f the gospels.
IV. Conclusion
Possidius and Augustine seem to share much in common in their ascetic
vision. They both recognize community as the defining notion of monasticism. A
monastic community fulfilling and promoting the apostolic ideal accords with both of
their writings. Where these writings differ is in scale. Augustine’s monasticism is a
small part of his writings, and while brief allusions to monasticism such as in the third
letter to Petilian do occur, Augustine’s thoughts on the subject seem fairly
straightforward and fairly nondescript in comparison with his vast writings like the
City o f God and his treatises against Julian o f Eclanum. Augustine stresses
community and by implication includes the larger community, the church, as a part of
the monastic community. The church is at the very least an audience o f which the
58 Augustine, Praeceptum, 7.
59 cf. Augustine, Praeceptum, 8.
223
monks must always be aware and at most, an audience for which the monks can pray
and to which they can provide an example, much like the apostles, of imitation so as to
imitate Christ.
Ultimately, it is worth bearing in mind that most of Augustine’s words on
monasticism start from the community and do not provide a detailed overview o f an
individual propositum , a word conspicuously absent from the Rule, other than to
acknowledge a larger communal ideal. Possidius in a sense fills the gap, he takes us
into the monastery, showing Augustine’s behavior with his clerics, the example he
sets, and the actions he undertakes. Possidius uses Augustine to define the sanctity of
the community, as everyone takes their cues from Augustine. Identifying with and
imitating Augustine is the key to discovering the holy. It is a key Possidius unlocks
by making his subject accessible and accountable to the community, rather than
isolated and seemingly supernatural. Where Possidius ultimately differs from
Augustine is in his depiction o f Augustine himself, a depiction o f a man who
establishes, defines, and safeguards a community, even in the most perilous of times.
Augustine speaks of ideals; Possidius speaks of Augustine.
224
Conclusion
From Augustine to Antony, North Africa to Egypt, bishop to monk,
hagiographer to pilgrim, council to community, we have placed asceticism under a
very large microscope. The results may not be conclusive, but they are compelling.
They suggest that asceticism is far more complex than we have previously thought,
that the range of words used to identify the ascetic life possesses more ambiguity than
we have imagined, and that a precise definition of aaKTiais is impossible. Asceticism
gravitates toward boundaries; rarely does it have precision, at least in late antiquity.
It is for this reason that late antique asceticism receives the most general of
definitions in scholarly circles, where it is described as a lifestyle or as a “regimen of
exercise with the goal o f improvement” or even “any act of self-denial undertaken as a
strategy o f empowerment or gratification” .1 This dissertation has sought to look
beyond the generalities and focus on the particular. It has striven to obtain a greater
understanding of what an ascetic lifestyle would consist and how the definition was
transformed and expanded upon from one author to another and one region to another.
It has pursued the ascetic lifestyle in great detail, with the belief that lifestyle is a very
misleading term, as it tells us very little about the ascetics. A lifestyle cannot simply
be stated; it needs to be defined.
It has been my task to try to give the ascetic lifestyle more pith and substance.
Examining the range o f words used to identify the conception o f the ascetic life has
led to many interesting observations. Perhaps most surprisingly, we have found that
1T. Shaw, The Burden o f the Flesh: Fasting and Sexuality in Early Christianity. (Minneapolis, MN:
Fortress P, 1998), p. 5; G. Harpham, The Ascetic Imperative in Culture and Criticism. (Chicago: U of
Chicago P, 1987), xiii.
225
late antique asceticism may ultimately be about its audience. What makes this
observation so intriguing is that it reverses our interpretations of asceticism.
Asceticism may not be so much about the ascetics themselves as about those who
perceive the ascetics, those who are the admirers of the ascetic representations put on
display in hagiographic literature, wisdom literature, ecclesiastical literature, and even
ascetic literature. Georgia Frank recognizes this idea in her work, The Memory o f the
Eyes, but her discussion focuses too much on vision and the language of vision and
not enough on what is perceived.
If we focus on the perception itself, we see that at the heart of the attempt to
define the holy man in late antiquity may be the need to define how an audience
interacts with and interprets ascetic behavior, ascetic power, and ascetic marvels. The
words, after all, which most often identify ascetic miracles - signa and oripeia- are
words that identify signs, signs in need of interpretation, signs which convey great
meaning. They are signs identifying the holy, signs manifesting the divine, signs
which articulate the heightened status and authority of the ascetic. They are signs for
the audience, much as the lifestyle o f the ascetic is a sign, a sign separating the ascetic
from the non-ascetic, a sign demonstrating the sanctity o f the holy man, a sign to the
community o f what it means to be an ascetic.
This dissertation has examined a variety o f audiences, audiences which clarify
and articulate the signs o f the ascetic’s sanctity. Starting with Antony, we have seen
that the audience has played a decisive role in the portrayal o f asceticism and the
ascetic lifestyle. For Athanasius and his audience of western ascetics, Antony
embodies m orifand npodeoi5; qualities which highlight his most prominent trait, his
226
love for God. These qualities define Athanasius’ Antony, as Antony’s lifestyle is not
so important as his relationship to the divine, and it is this relationship which
Athanasius aims to capture and expose in his narrative. Athanasius’ Antony is, then, a
model for everyday Christians, the audience Athanasius seems to envision for Antony,
as his virtue is not so much one of majesty but of scale. He brings the qualities which
define every Christian to their fullest and thus stands as a part of the church, firmly
entrenched within its borders.
Jerome perceived a far different Antony. His Antony is a saint, much like the
monastic heroes o f Jerome’s hagiographies. This Antony is far removed from the
church, as he is so holy as to be thaumaturgic. This is the picture of the ascetic Jerome
offers to non-ascetic audiences. Within his own ascetic circles, Jerome placed far
more attention on outlining the nuances o f ascetic behavior, on prescribing a detailed
lifestyle for the virgins under his supervision. The needs o f this audience clearly
required a different vision o f doKrjoi^ than that which is presented in the
hagiographies.
Audience plays a dramatic role in the contrasting versions of aoKqais in the
monastic travelogues. The Historia Monachorum presents us with a definition o f
aoKT\ais focusing on noAireia. Writing for an ascetic audience, the author of the text
does not so much define iroAirsfa in terms of lifestyle but as a communal group, with
participation marking one’s claim in the sanctified whole. A different interpretation is
put forth in Palladius’ Lausiac History. His iroXireia is a lifestyle, a lifestyle which
serves to unite the extremes o f Evagrian asceticism with the city-based philosophy o f
227
John Chyrsostom. Palladius’ narrative promotes both noAiTetai, as an ascetic
lifestyle is not necessarily one o f prayer and anddeia, it can also be one of
philanthropy and chastity. Palladius’ inclusion o f both lifestyles shows the variety of
lifestyles asceticism can encompass, but they also show how much asceticism is a
function of context and audience - in the desert, it is one of intense virtues; in the city,
it is one of renunciation and alms.
The desert fathers follow Palladius in allowing a wide interpretation of the
ascetic ttoA iteicx . Although the notion of fatherhood plays a key role in the desert,
the emphasis is highly individualistic. The audience the fathers envision is an
audience o f peers, an audience of ascetics, in other words, an audience not at all
secular. The word these fathers use to describe their lifestyle to one another,
ipyacria, is a word we do not see all that often in other ascetic texts, but it is a word
which abounds throughout the Apophthegmata Patrum. The term means work,
although work takes on a series o f meanings. The basic meaning is a function of what
the monk does, as the monk has a great deal of choice in deciding what type of work
he will do, or what lifestyle he will embrace. In most cases though, this choice holds
greatest allure when the monk submits his will to the authority of another, when he
lives a life in complete obedience. A total sacrifice of the will is after all the greatest
monastic work, as it is the most dramatic example o f a monastic lifestyle which
involves a dedication o f one’s life to the divine.
When asceticism is taken out o f the desert and into the church, it becomes a
completely different phenomenon. Whereas the desert fathers create an audience of
their fellow peers, the church has a wider audience, and this wider audience frames its
228
legislation of the movement. Epiphanius, Gregory of Nyssa, and Augustine all bear
witness to this. Starting with Epiphanius, an ascetic turned bishop, we see a much
broader scope, a scope which brings us back to Athanasius. In Epiphanius, asceticism
is no longer a subject o f praise. It is not necessarily something one must embrace.
The church is that absolute, and its clergy the avatars. Epiphanius, then, does not
concern himself with giving a precise definition of asceticism but of placing it within
boundaries, boundaries which ensure a proper p e T p o v x o the ascetic ttoA it e i 'cc. These
boundaries arise from the teachings of the church and from the message of the
scriptures. Scripture becomes the barometer measuring ascetic behavior. Ascetic
behavior is only so relevant or so powerful as it endorses the holy word. Scripture,
then, comes to define the ascetic movement, and Augustine would use it as the basis o f
forming his ascetic community, a community meant to mirror the early apostolic
community in Jerusalem. The importance of scripture as a measuring stick is the fact
that it is a measuring stick which not only embraces the ascetic community but the
church as a whole and thus necessitates ascetic-non-ascetic relations. In other words,
it promotes an audience o f which the ascetics must be conscious, an audience with
which it must interact, an audience to whom it must be an example.
Augustine is certainly aware o f this, and it underlies his community. He does
not give the community a great deal o f shape, other than in his monastic rule, and even
this writing is more general than specific. It promotes ideals, ideals rooted in
scripture, ideals rooted in community, ideals which outline the proposition Augustine
envisions for his ascetics. Possidius gives us a greater awareness o f this p r o p o s itu m ,
by giving his audience an Augustine they can relate to and they can emulate. The
229
importance of this Augustine as an exemplar to his community is that it removes the
holy from the realm o f the supernatural and makes the holy more practical and
mundane. In effect, Possidius removes the divide separating the hagiographer from
his saint and thereby gives his audience a far more active role in the sanctity o f his
subject, as this sanctity is not one o f wonder and awe but participation and even
imitation.
The same type o f sanctity runs throughout Gregory of Nyssa’s Life o/M acrim.
Gregory presents Macrina as a mediating force in the Cappadocian ascetic landscape.
Macrina mollifies the extremes of Eustathius and his companions, and she does so by
acting in accordance with the decrees of the church fathers at the Council of Gangra.
She also, however, sets the tone for the community, as her lifestyle becomes the basis
for the ascetic community o f which she becomes the leader. The importance of this
community is reflected in the term aperrj as membership in the community provides
access to virtue, the defining quality o f Macrina’s holiness. Virtue is not constricted
to the elite few, but spread out amongst the members o f the community, all o f who
live in accordance with Macrina’s monastic philosophy.
As scholars struggle to define the holy man in late antiquity, it is time to
recognize Macrina’s audience and the audience of ascetics in general. These
audiences are often the axis upon which the debate over the ascetic in late antiquity
revolved. They are the ones who give holy men their title; as for holiness to have any
significance, there must always be a third party, a party whom the divine and the
ascetic can dazzle, instruct, pray for, perform miracles for, or chastise. It is this third
party which makes the ascetic not simply a solitary in the desert but an exemplar,
230
teacher, and virtual bishop, as this party acts as a screen onto which ascetic actions are
directed. My dissertation has looked at this screen, using the eyes of the ascetic
audiences to study the quality which seemed to define first and foremost what an
ascetic was and what an ascetic did, his lifestyle.
The diversities of ascetic lifestyles, diversities which hinge on context and
circumstance seem to make a tidy study of the ascetic impossible. This is not,
however, an obstacle for modern scholars who continue to seek an all-encompassing
study o f the late antique ascetic with much gusto. In fact, a noted scholar in the field
recently posited that the “title ‘teacher’ or ‘master’ (rather than, say, ‘mediator’ or
‘example’) was thought the most appropriate way of defining the authority and task of
leading ascetics” .2 Such presumptions miss the point; they generalize the ascetic in
late antiquity to the point that his asceticism no longer seems all that meaningful.
More importantly, they fail to notice the details, the details of what teaching might
consist, o f how useful this depiction might be, and for whom the depiction would be
useful.
My dissertation has tried to look at these details by starting with the ascetics
themselves and the qualities audiences would have seen in them, the qualities that
could be deemed ‘holy’, ‘emulatory’, and ‘authoritative’. Focusing on these qualities,
we have seen a puzzle emerge, a puzzle into which modem scholarly categories do not
so neatly fit. This need not surprise nor frustrate us. Instead, it should embolden us to
pursue ascetics with greater sensitivity to and awareness of their words and contexts.
Until we do so, we will be left with an incomplete picture, a picture with so many
different starting points, or lifestyles, that making them all cohere with the ending
point o f ‘teacher’ or ‘master’ will be impossible.
2 P. Rousseau, “Antony as Teacher”. In T. HSgg and P. Rousseau, eds.. Greek Biography and
Panegyric in Late Antiquity. (Berkeley, CA: U of California P, 2000). p. 106.
232
Select Bibliography
Primary Sources
Ambrose. De offtciis. Patrologia Latina 16.409-26.
Apophthegmata Patrum, ed. J.B. Cotelier (Patrologia Graeca 65.71-440). French

translation by J.-C. Guy, Les Apophtegmes des Peres du Desert, serie
alphabetique. Begrolles-en-Mauges: Bellafontaine, 1968. English translation:
B. Ward. The Sayings o f the Desert Fathers. London: Mowbray, 1981.
— Les Sentences des Peres du Desert: Les Apophtegmes des Peres, ed. L. Regnault.
Solesmes: Abbaye Saint-Pierre, 1966.
— Les Sentences des Peres du Desert: Troisieme recueil et tables, ed. L. Regnault.
Solesmes: Abbaye Saint-Pierre, 1976.
— Les Sentences des Peres du Desert: Noveau recueil, ed. L. Regnault. Solesmes.
Abbaye Saint-Pierre, 1966.
Athanasius. Historia Arianorum ad monachos. Patrologia Graeca 25.691-796.
Athanasius. Lettresfestales et pastorales en copte: Sur la virginite\ La Laettre aux

Vierges. In Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium 150, 151, ed. by
L.T. Lefort. Louvain: L. Durbecq, 1955.
Athanasius. Select Writing and Letters, ed. A Robertson. Nicene and Post-Nicene
Fathers o f the Church, Volume 4. Grand Rapids, Mich: W.B. Eerdmans,
1978.
Athanasius. Vita Antonii. Patrologia Graeca 26.835-976. Earliest Latin translation,

ed. by G. Bartelink and introduced by C. Mohrmann, Vita di San Antonio.
Milan: A. Mondadori 1974. English translation by R. Gregg, The Life o f
Anthony and the Letter to Marcellinus. New York: Paulist Press, 1980.
Augustine. Confessions. Patrologia Latina 32.659-858.
Augustine. De moribus ecclesiae catholicae. Patrologia Latina 32.1300-1377.
Augustine. De opere monachorum. Patrologia Latina 40.547-582.
Augustine. De sancta virginitate. Patrologia Latina 40.395-428.
Augustine. Enarrationes in Psalmos. Patrologia Latina 36.67-1028.
233
Augustine. Letters. Patrologia Latina 33.
Augustine. Oeuvres de Saint Augustin. Nouvelle edition du texte critique et

introduction, by J. Diyjak. Paris: Etudes Augustiniennes, 1987.
Augustine. Sermones. Patrologia Latina 38, 39.
Augustine. Treatises on Various Subjects, ed. R. Deferrari. New York: Fathers of the
Church, Inc., 1952.
Basil. Lettres, ed. by Y. Courtonne. 3 volumes. Paris: Societe d'edition "Les Belles
Lettres," 1957-66. English translation by R. J. Ferrari, St. Basil: The Letters. 4
volumes. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard U P, 1986.
Basil. Moralia. Patrologia Graeca 31 692-869.
Basil. Les Regies monastiques, ed. L. Lebe. Denee: Editions de Maredsous, 1969.
Basil. Les Regies morales et portrait du chretien, ed. L. Lebe. Denee: Editions de
Maredsous, 1969.
Basil. Regulaefusius tractatae, Regulae brevius tractatae. Patrologia Graeca

31.889-1320. English translation by W.K.L. Clarke, The Ascetic Works o f
Saint Basil. London: SPCK, 1925.
Basil o f Seleucis. Opera quae exstant omnia. Patrologia Graeca 85.477-618.
Early Christian Biographies. Translated by R. Deferrari. Washington, DC: Catholic

U of America P, 1952.
Epiphanius. Ancoratus; Adversus Haereses (.Panarion), ed. K. Holl. 3 volumes.

Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1915-33. English translations: P. Amidon. The
Panarion o f S t Epiphanius, Bishop o f Salamis (Selected Passages). New
York: Oxford U P, 1990; F. Williams. The Panarion o f Epiphanius o f
Salamis. 2 volumes. Leiden: Brill, 1987-94.
Evagrius Ponticus. Sententiae ad monachos. Patrologia Graeca 40.1277-1282.
Evagrius Ponticus. Sententiae ad virginem , ed. H. Gressmann. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs,

1913.
Evagrius Ponticus. Les six centuries des 'Kephalaia Gnostica ’d ’Evagre le Pontique,
ed. A. Guillamont. Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1958.
234
Evagrius Ponticus. Traite Pratique ou Le Moine, ed. A. and C. Guillamont. 2
volumes. Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1971. English translation by J.E.
Bamberger, Evagrius Ponticus: The Praktikos; Chapters on Prayer.
Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications, 1970.
Gregory Nazianzus. Letters. Patrologia Graeca 37.21-389.
Gregory Nazianzus. Orationes. Patrologia Graeca 35.392-1252. Translation by

C.G. Browne and J. Swallow, Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Volume 7.
Grand Rapids, Mich: Eerdmans, 1978.
Gregory of Nyssa. De mortuis. Patrologia Graeca 46.497-538.
Gregory of Nyssa. De pauperibus amandis. Patrologia Graeca 46.453-490. See also

De pauperibus amandis orationes duo, ed. A. van Heck. Leiden: Brill, 1964.
Gregory of Nyssa. Encomium in Sanctum Theodoroum. Patrologia Graeca 46.735-

48.
Gregory of Nyssa. In laudem fratris Basilii. Patrologia Graeca 46.788-817.
Gregory of Nyssa. Letters. Patrologia Graeca 46.999-1108.
Gregory o f Nyssa. Life o f Macrina, ed. P. Maraval. Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1981.
English translation by V.W. Callahan, Saint Gregory o f Nyssa: Ascetical
Works. Washington, DC: Catholic U P o f America, 1967.
Gregory of Nyssa. On virginity, ed. M. Aubineau. Editions du Cerf, 1961.
Gregory o f Nyssa. Vie de Moses, ed. J. Danielou. Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1987.
Histoire des Conciles d ’apres les documents originaux, ed. C. J. Hefeie and H.
Leclercq, Volume 2. Paris: Letouzey, 1907. English translation in The Seven
Ecumenical Councils, ed. H. Percival. Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Vol.
14. Grand Rapids, Mich: W.B. Eerdmans, 1978.
Historia Monachorum inAegypto, ed. A.J. Festugiere. Bruxelles: Societe des

Bollandistes, 1971. English translation by N. Russell, The Lives o f the Desert
Fathers. Kalamazoo, Mich: Cistercian Publications, 1980.
Jerome. Adversus Jovinianum. Patrologia Latina 23.221-352.
Jerome. Contra Rufinum. Patrologia Latina 23.415-514.
Jerome. Contra Vigilantium. Patrologia Latina 23.353-368.
235
Jerome. Letters. Patrologia Latina 22.325-1197.
Jerome. Letters and Select Works, ed. F. Wright. Nicene and Post Nicene Fathers,
Volume 6 . Grand Rapids, Mich: W.B. Eerdmans, 1978.
Jerome. Life o f Hilarionis. Patrologia Latina 23.29-54.
Jerome. LifeofM alchus. Patrologia Latina 23.55-62.
John Chrysostom. A Comparison Between a King and a Monk; Against the

Opponents o f the Monastic Life: Two Treatises. Translated by D. Hunter.
Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen P, 1988.
John Chrysostom. De compunctione. Patrologia Graeca 47.393-422.
John Chrysostom. De eleemosyna. Patrologia Graeca 51.261-272.
John Chrysostom. De virginitate. Patrologia Graeca 48.533-596.
John Chrysostom. Lettres a Olympias, ed. A. Malingrey. Paris. Editions du Cerf,

1947.
John Chrysostom. John Chrysostom On Repentance and Almsgiving, ed. G. Christo.

Washington, DC: Catholic U o f America P, 1998.
John Chrysostom. Quodregularesfeminae. Patrologia Graeca 47.513-532.
Pachomius. Lives o f Pachomius, ed. F. Halkin. Brussels: Societe des Bollandistes,

1932.
Pachomius. Pachomian Koinonia: The Lives, Rules, and Other Writings o f Saint
Pachomius and his Disciples. 3 volumes. English translation by A. Veilleux.
Kalamazoo, Mich: Cistercian Publications, 1980-2.
Palladius. Dialogue sur la vie de Jean Chrysostome, ed. A.M. Malingrey and P.
Leclercq. 2 volumes. Paris: Editions du Cerf 1988. English translation by R.
Meyer, Dialogue on the Life o f John Chrysostom. New York: Newman P,
1985.
Palladius. The Lausiac History, ed. C. Butler. 2 volumes. Cambridge: The U P,

1898-1904. Italian translation by G. Bartelink, La Storia Lausiaca. Milan: A.
Mondadori, 1974. English translation by R. Meyer, The Lausiac History.
Westminster, MD: Newman P, 1965.
236
Possidius. Life o f Augustine. Patrologia Latina 32.33-66. See also Vita di Cipriano,
Vita di Ambrogio, Vita di Agostini, ed. by A. Bastiaensen. Milan: Fondazione
Lorenzio Valla, 197S. English translation by J. Rotelle o f M. Pellegrino’s
Italian commentary, The Life o f Augustine. Villanova, PA: Augustinian P,
1988.
Socrates. Ecclesiastical History. Patrologia Graeca 67.9-842. English translation by

A. Zenos, Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers o f the Church, Volume 2. Grand
Rapids, Mich: Eerdmans, 1979.
Sozomen. Ecclesiastical History. In J. Bidez, ed., Kirchengeschichte. Berlin:

Akademie-Verlag, 1960. English translation by A. Zenos, Nicene and Post-
Nicene Fathers o f the Church, Volume 2. Grand Rapids, Mich: Eerdmans,
1979.
Secondary Sources
Albrecht, R. Das Leben der heiligen Makrina a ufd efHintergrund der Thekla-
Traditionen. Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1986.
Anson, J. “The Female Transvestite in Early Monasticism: The Origin and

Development o f a Motif’. Viator 5 (1974): 1-32.
Aspregen, K. The Male Woman: A Feminine Ideal in the Early Church, ed. R.
Kieffer. Uppsala: Academia Ubsaliensis, 1990.
Bacht, H. “L ’importance d’ideal monastique de s. Pacdme pour 1’histoire du

monachisme chretien”. Revue d ’ascetique et de mystique 26 (19S0): 308-326.
Bagnall, R. Egypt in Late Antiquity. Princeton, NJ: Princeton U P, 1993.
Barnes, T.D. “Angels of Light or Mystic Initiate. The Problem o f the Life o f Antony"
Journal o f Theological Studies, n.s., 37 (1986): 353-386.
Barnes, T.D. Athanasius and Constantius: Theology and Politics in the Constantine
Empire. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard U P, 1993.
Barnes, T.D. “The Date o f the Council o f Gangra”. Journal o f Theological Studies,
n.s., 40 (1989): 121-124.
Bauer, W. Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity. Translated and edited by

R. Kraft and G. Krodel. Philadelphia: Fortress P, 1971.
Baynes, N. “St. Antony and the Demons”. Journal o f Egyptian Archaeology 40

(1954): 7-10.
237
Beagon, P. “The Cappadocian Fathers, Women, and Ecclesiastical Politics”. Vigiliae
Christianae 49 (1995): 165-179.
Behr, J. Asceticism and Anthropology in Irenaeus and Clement. Oxford: Oxford U P,

2000.
Bell, H.I. Jews and Christians in Egypt: The Jewish Troubles in Alexandria ami the
Athanasian Controversy. 2 edition. New Haven, CT: Yale U P, 1972.
Bemardi, J. La Prediction des Peres Cappadociens: Le predicateur et son auditoire.

Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1968.
Bieler, L. 0eib$ 'Avijp: Das Bitd des gottlichen Menschen in Spatantike und
Fruhchristentum. 2 vols. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschat,
1967.
Binns, J. Ascetics and Ambassadors o f Christ: The Monasteries o f Palestine, 314-631.

Oxford: Clarendon P, 1994.
Biscardi, A “Polis Politeia Politeuma”. In A tti delX VII Congresso Intemazionale Di

Papirologia, Vol. 3. Napoli: Centro Intemazionale Per Lo Studio Dei Papiri
Ercolanesi 1984, pp. 1201-1215.
Blank, D. “The Etymology o f Salvation in Gregory of Nyssa’s De virginitaten.

Journal o f Theological Studies, n.s., 37 (1986): 77-90.
Brakke, D. Athanasius and the Politics o fAsceticism. Oxford: Clarendon P, 1995.
Brakke, D. “The Greek and Syriac Versions o f the Life o f Antony'. Le Museon 107
(1994): 29-53.
Brennan, B. “Athanasius’ VitaAntonii: A Sociological Interpretation”. Vigiliae

Christianae 39 (1985): 209-227.
Brennan, B. ‘Dating the Vita Antonif1. Vigiliae Christianae 30 (1976): 52-54.
Brock, S. and S. A. Ashbrook Harvey, ed., Holy Woman o f the Syrian Orient.
Berkeley, CA: U of California P, 1987.
Brown, P.R.L. “Asceticism: Pagan and Christian”. In A. Cameron and P. Gamsey,

eds., Cambridge Ancient History, Vol. 13. Cambridge: Cambridge U P, 1998,
pp. 601-631.
Brown, P.R.L. Augustine o f Hippo. London: Faber and Faber, 1967.
238

Brown, P.R.L. The Body am i Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in
Early Christianity. New York: Columbia U P, 1988.
Brown, P.R.L. The Cult o f Saints: Its Rise and Function in Latin Christianity.
Chicago: U o f Chicago P, 1981.
Brown, P.R.L. Power and Persuasion: Towards a Christian Empire. Madison, WI: U
o f Wisconsin P, 1992.
Brown, P.R.L. “The Saint as Exemplar in Late Antiquity”. Representations 1 (1983):

1-25.
Brown, P.R.L. Society and the Holy in Late Antiquity. Berkeley, CA: U of California
P, 1982.
Buck, D.F. “The Structure of the Lausiac History”. Byzantion 46 (1976): 292-307.
Bunge, G. “Evagre le Pontique et les deux Macaire”. Irenikon 56 (1983): 215-227,

323-60.
Bunge, G. “Palladiana I: Introduction aux fragments coptes de 1’Histoire Lausiaque”.

Studia Monastica 32 (1990): 78-129.
Burrows, M. “On the Visibility o f God in the Holy Man: A Reconsideration of the
Role o f the Apa in the Pachomian Vitae”. Vigiliae Christianae 41 (1987): 11-
33.
Burrus, V. “The Heretical Woman as Symbol in Alexander, Athanasius, Epiphanius,

and Jerome”. Harvard Theological Review 84 (1991): 229-248.
Burrus, V. The Making o f a Heretic: Gender, Authority, and the Priscillianist

Controversy. Berkeley, CA: U o f California P, 1995.
Burton-Christie, D. The Word in the Desert: Scripture and the Questfo r Holiness in
Early Christian Monasticism. Oxford: Oxford U P, 1993.
Cameron, A. Christianity and the Rhetoric ofEmpire: The Development o f Christian

Discourse. Berkeley, CA: U o f California P, 1991.
Caner, D. “Notions o f ‘Stria Discipline’ and Apostolic Tradition in Early Definitions

o f Orthodox Monasticism”. In S. Elm a al., ed., Orthodoxy, Christianity,
History. Paris: Ecole de franâise, 2000, pp. 23-34.
239

Chadwick, H. “The Ascetic Ideal in the History o f the Church”. Studies in Church
History 22 (1985): 1-23.
Chadwick, H. “Bishops and Monks”. Studia Patristica 24 (1993): 45-61.
Chadwick, H. “Pachomius and the Idea of Sanctity”. In S. Hackel, ed., The Byzantine
Saint. London: Fellowship o f St. Alban and St. Sergius, 1981, pp. 11-24.
Chitty, D. The Desert A City. Oxford: Blackwell, 1966.
Clark, E. Ascetic Piety and Women's Faith: Essays on Late Ancient Christianity.
Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen P, 1986.
Clark, E. “Holy Women, Holy Words: Early Christian Women, Social History, and
the ‘Linguistic Turn’”. Journal o f Early Christian Studies 6 (1998): 413-430.
Clark, E. Jerome, Chrysostom, and Friends. Lewiston, New York. Edwin Mellen P,
1979.
Clark, E. The Origenist Controversy: The Cultural Construction o f an Early Christian

Debate. Princeton, NJ: Princeton U P, 1992.
Clark, E. Reading Renunciation. Princeton, NJ: Princeton U P, 1999.
Clarke, W. St. Basil the Great: A Study in Monasticism. Cambridge: Cambridge U P,

1913.
Coleiro, E. “St. Jerome’s Lives of the Hermits”. Vigiliae Christianae 1 1 (1957): 161-
178.
Cooper, K. The Virgin and the Bride: Idealized Womanhood in Late Antiquity.
Cambridge, Mass: Harvard U P, 1996.
Courcelle, P. Recherches sur les Confessions de Saint Augustin. Paris: de Boccard,

1950.
Courtois, C. Les Vandals et I ’A frique. Paris: Arts et metiers graphiques, 1955.
Cox Miller, P. “The Blazing Body: Ascetic Desire in Jerome’s Letter to Eustochium”.
Journal o f Early Christian Studies 1 (1993): 21-45.
Cox Miller, P. “Desert Asceticism a n d ‘The Body from Nowhere’” . Journal o f Early
Christian Studies 2 (1994): 137-53.
240
Cox Miller, P. “Jerome’s Centaur: A Hyper-Icon o f the Desert”. Journal o f Early
Christian Studies 4 (1996): 209-233.
Cox Miller, P. “Strategies o f Representation in Collective Biography: Constructing

the Subject as Holy”. In T. Hagg and P. Rousseau, eds., Greek Biography and
Panegyric in Late Antiquity. Berkeley: U of California P, 2000, pp. 209-255.
Coyle, J.K. Augustine’s De Moribus Ecclesiae Catholicae: A Study o f the Work, Its
Composition, and Its Sources. Fribourg, Switzerland: The U P, 1978.
Dagron, G. “Holy Images and Holy Likeness”. Dumbarton Oaks Papers 45 (1991).
23-33.
Dagron, G. “Les Moines et la ville: Le Monachisme a Constantinople jusqu’au

Concile de Chalcedoine (451)”. Travawc et Memoires 4 (1970): 220-276.
Dagron, G. Naissance d ’une capitale: Constantinople et ses institutions de 330 a 451.

Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1974.
Danielou, J. “Les Demons de Pair dans la “Vie d’Antoine”. Studia Anselmiana 38

(1956): 136-147.
Danielou, J. “Gregoire de Nysse et le Messalianisme” . Recherches de science

religieuse 48 (1960): 119-134.
Danielou, J. “Le Ministere des femmes dans I’Eglise ancienne”. La Maison-Dieu 61

(1960): 70-96.
Danielou, J. and H. Marrou. “Le Mariage de Gregoire de Nysse et la chronologie de

sa vie”. Revue des Etudes Augustiniennes 2 (1956): 71 -8 .
Davidson, I. “Ambrose’s De O fficiis and the Intellectual Climate of the Late Fourth
Century”. Vigiliae Christianae 49 (1995): 313-333.
Dechow, J. Dogma and Mysticism in the Early Church: Epiphanius and the Legacy o f
Origen. Macon, GA: Mercer U P, 1988.
Dobbin, R. “Proairesis in Epictetus”. Ancient Philosophy 11 (1991): 111-35.
Draguet, R. “L’Histoire Lausiaque: une oeuvre dans I’espirit d’Evagre”. Revue

d ’histoire ecclesiastique 41 (1946): 321-64; 42 (1947): 5-49.
Draguet, R. “LTnauthenticite du prooemion de FHistoire Lausiaque”. LeM useon 59

(1946): 529-34.
241
Driscoll, J. The ‘Ad Monachos ’ o f Evagrius Ponticus: Its Structure and a Select
Commentary. Rome: Pontificio Ateneo S. Anselmo, 1991.
Driscoll, J. “Gentleness in the Ad Monachos of Evagrius Ponticus”. Studia Monastica

32 (1990): 295-321.
Driscoll, J. and M. Sheridan, ed. Spiritual Progress: Studies in the Spirituality o f

Late Antiquity and Early Monasticism. Rome: Pontificio Ateneo S. Anselmo,
1994.
Drivjers, H. “Hellenistic and Oriental Origins”. In S. Hackel, ed., The Byzantine

Saint. London: Fellowship o f St. Alban and St. Sergius, 1981, pp. 25-33.
Drivjers, H. “The Saint as Symbol: Conceptions of the Person in Late Antiquity and
Early Christianity”. In H. Kippenberg et al., eds.. Concepts o f Person in
Religion and Thought. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter, 1990.
Dubisch, J. In a Different Place: Pilgrimage, Gender, and Politics o f a Greek Island

Shrine. Princeton, NJ: Princeton U P, 1995.
Eade, J. and M. Sallnow, eds. Contesting the Sacred: The Anthropology o f Christian
Pilgrimage. London: Routledge, 1991.
Elm, S. “The Sententiae ad Virginem by Evagrius Ponticus and the Problem of Early
Monastic Rules”. Augustinianum 30 (1990): 393-404.
Elm, S. Virgins o f God: The Making o f Asceticism in Late Antiquity. Oxford:

Clarendon P, 1994.
Evelyn-White, H. The Monasteries o f the W adi'n Natrun. 3 volumes. New York:

Metropolitan Museum o f Art, 1926-33.
Festugiere, A. “LeProblem elitteraireder'HistoriaM onachorum’”. Hermes 83

(1955): 257-284.
Festugiere, A. Les moines d'O rient. 4 volumes. Paris: Editions duCerf, 1961-5.
Festugiere, A. La Revelation d ’Hermes Trismegiste. 4 volumes. Paris: J. Gabalda,

1944-54.
Fisher, A. “Women and Gender in Palladius’ Lausiac History”. Studia Monastica 33

(1991). 23-50
Flusin, B. Miracle et Histoire dans I ’eeuvre de Cyrille de Scythopolis. Paris: Etudes

augustiniennes, 1983.
242
Flusin, B. “Pallade d ’Helenopolis”. In Dictionnaire de Spiritualite XU/1 (1984), col.
113-126.
Foucault, M. The Care o f the Self. Translated by R. Hurley. New York. Pantheon,
1985.
Fowden, G. The Egyptian Hermes: A Historical Approach to the Late Pagan Mind.
Princeton, NJ: Princeton U P, 1986.
Fowden, G. “The Pagan Holy Man in Late Antique Society” Journal o f Hellenic
Studies 102 (1982). 33-59.
Francis, J. Subversive Virtue: Asceticism and Authority in the Second-Century Pagan

World. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State U P, 1995.
Frank, G. “The Historia Monachorum in Aegypto and Ancient Travel Writing”.

Studia Patristica 30 (1997): 191-5.
Frank, G. The Memory o f the Eyes: Pilgrims to Living Saints in Christian Late
Antiquity. Berkeley, CA: U o f California P, 2000.
Frank, G. “Macrina’s Scar: Homeric Allusion and Heroic Identity in Gregory of

Nyssa’s Life ofM acrina”. Journal o f Early Christian Studies 8 (2000): 511-
530
Frank, K.S. Angelikas Bios: Begriffsanalytische und begriffsgeschichtliche

Untersuchung zum "engelgleichen Leben" im fruhen Monchtum. Munster:
Aschendorff, 1964.
Frankfurter, D., ed. Pilgrimage and Holy Space in Late Antique Egypt. Leiden: Brill,
1998.
Frankfurter, D. Religion in Roman Egypt: Assimilation and Resistance. Princeton,

NJ: Princeton U P, 1998.
Frazer, R. “The Morphology o f Desert Wisdom in the Apophthegmata Patrum”. PhD

Diss., U o f Chicago, 1977.
Frend, W.H.C. “Circumcelliones and Monks”. Journal o f Theological Studies, n.s.,

20 (1969): 542-549
Frend, W.H.C. The Donatist Church: A Movement o f Protest in North Africa.

Oxford: Clarendon P, 1952.
243
Gebauer, G. and C. Wulf. Mimesis: Culture-Art-Society, trans. by D. Reneau.
Berkeley, CA: U o f California P, 1995.
Geffken, J. The Last Days o f Greco-Roman Paganism. Translated by S.

MacCormack. Amsterdam: North Holland Publishing Company, 1978.
Giet, S. Les Idees et I 'action sociale de Saint Basiie. Paris: J. Gabalda, 1941.
Gleason, M. Making Men: Sophists and Self-Presentation in Ancient Rome.

Princeton, NJ: Princeton U P, 1995.
Gleason, M. “Visiting and News: Gossip and Reputation-Management in the Desert”.

Journal o f Early Christian Studies 6 (1998): 501-521.
Goehring, J. Ascetics, Society, and the Desert: Studies in Egyptian Monasticism.

Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 1999.
Goehring, J. The Letter o f Ammon andPachomian Monasticism. New York: W. de

Gruyter, 1986
Gould, G. “Basil o f Caesarea and the Problem o f the Wealth of the Monasteries”.
Studies in Church History 24 (1987): 15-24.
Gould, G. The Desert Fathers on Monastic Community. Oxford: Clarendon P, 1993.
Gregg, R. and D. Groh. Early Arianism - A View o f Salvation. Philadelphia: Fortress

P, 1981.
Gribomont, J. “Un aristocrate revolutionnaire, eveque et moine: S. Basiie”.

Augustinianum 17(1977): 179-191.
Gribomont, J. “Eustathe le Philosophe et les voyages du jeune Basiie de Cesaree”.

Revue d ’histoire ecclesiastique 54 (1959): 115-124.
Gribomont, J. “Le dossier des origines du messalianisme”. In J. Fontaine and C.

Kannengiesser, ed., Epektasis, Melanges offerts au cardinal J. Danielou.
Paris: Beauchesne, 1972, pp. 611-625.
Gribomont, J. “Le monachisme au sein de l’Eglise en Syrie et en Cappadoce”. Studia

Monastica 7 (1965): 7-24.
Gribomont, J. “Le monachisme au IV* siecle en Asie Mineure: De Gangres au

Messalianisme”. Studia Patristica 2 (1957): 400-15.
244

Griggs, C. Early Egyptian Christianity: From its Origins to 451 CE. Leiden: Brill,
1990.
Guillaumont, A. “La conception du desert chez les moines d’Egypte”. Revue de

I 'histoire des religions 188 (1975): 3-21.
Guillamont, A. “Gnose et Monachisme: Expose introductif'. In J. Ries, ed.,

Gnosticisme et monde hellenistique. Actes du colloque de Louvain-la-Neuve
(11-14 mars 1980). Louvain-la-Neuve: Universite catholique de Louvain,
Institut orientaliste, 1982, pp. 301-310.
Guillamont, A. “Histoire des moines aux Kellia”. Orientalia Lovaniensia Periodica 8

(1977): 187-202.
Guillaumont, A. Les “Kephalaia Gnostica ”d'Evagre le Pontique. Paris: Le Seuil,

1962.
Guillaumont, A. “Un philosophe au desert: Evagre Le Pontique”. Revue de I ’histoire

des religions 181 (1972): 29-56.
Guy, J.-C. “Le Centre monastique de Scete dans la litterature du V* siecle”.

Orientalia Christiana Periodica 30 (1964): 129-47.
Guy, J.-C. Recherches sur la tradition grecque des Apophtegmata Patrum. Brussels:
Societe des Bollandistes, 1962.
Haas, C. Alexandria in Late Antiquity: Topography and Social Conflict. Baltimore,

MD: Johns Hopkins U P, 1997.
Hadot, P. Philosophy as a Way o f Life: Spiritual Exercise from Socrates to Foucault.

Translated by M. Chase. Oxford: Blackwell, 1995.
Hamilton, A. “Spiritual Direction in the Apophthegmata” . Colloquium 15 (1983): 31-

8.
Hammond, C. “The Last Ten Years of Rufinus’ Life”. Journal o f Theological

Studies, n.s., 28 (1977): 372-429.
Harpham, G. The Ascetic Imperative in Culture and Criticism. Chicago: U of

Chicago P, 1987.
Harvey, P. “Saints and Satyrs: Jerome the Scholar at Work”. Athenaeum 86 (1998):
35-56.
245
Harvey, S. Asceticism and Society in Crisis: John o f Ephesus and the Lives o f the
Eastern Saints. Berkeley, CA. U o f California P, 1990.
Heussi, K. Der Ursprung des Monchtums. Tubingen: Mohr, 1936.
Hollerich, K. Eusebius o f Caesarea’s Commentary on Isaiah: Christian Exegesis in

the Age o f Constantine. Oxford: Clarendon P, 1999.
Holum, K. Theodosian Empresses: Women and Imperial Domination in Late

Antiquity. Berkeley, CA: U o f California P, 1982.
Horden, P. “The Death o f Ascetics. Sickness and Monasticism in the Early Byzantine
Middle East”. Studies in Church History 22 (1985): 41-52.
Howard-Johnston, J. and P.Hayward, ed., The Cult o f Saints in Late Antiquity and the
Middle Ages: Essays on the Contributions o f Peter Brown. Oxford: Oxford U
P, 1999.
Hunt, E. Holy Land Pilgrimage in the Later Roman Empire AD 312-460. Oxford:
Clarendon P, 1982.
Hunt, E. “Palladius o f Helenopolis: A Party and its Supporters in the Church o f the
Late Fourth Century”. Journal o f Theological Studies, n.s., 24 (1973): 456-80.
Hunter, D. “Resistance to the Virginal Ideal in Late Fourth-Century Rome: The Case
o f Jovinian”. Theological Studies 48 (1987): 45-64.
Jacobson, A. “Proverbs and Social Control: A New Paradigm for Wisdom Studies”.
In J. Goehring, ed., Gnosticism and the Early Christian World: Essays in
Honor o f James M. Robinson. Sonoma: Polebridge P, 1990, pp. 75-88.
Jones, A.H.M. The Later Roman Empire. 3 volumes. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1964.
Judge, E. A. “The Earliest Use o f the Word ‘Monachos' for Monk (P. Coll. Youtie 77)
and the Origins o f Monasticism”. Jahrbuch fu r Antike und Christentum 20
(1977): 72-89.
Kannengiesser, C., ed., Politique et theologie chez Athanase d'Alexcmdrie. Paris:

Beauchesne, 1974.
Keimer, I. “L’Horreur des Egyptiens pour les demons du desert”. Bulletin de

I'Institut d ’E gypte 26 (1944): 135-47
Kelly, J.N.D. Goldenmouth: The Story o f John Chrysostom - Ascetic, Preacher,

Bishop. Ithaca, NY. Cornell U P, 1995.
246
Kelly, J.N.D. Jerome: His Life, Writings, and Controversies. London: Duckworth,
1975.
Kirschner, R. “The Vocation of Holiness in Late Antiquity”. Vigiliae Christianae 38

(1984): 105-124.
Kopacek, T. ‘Social Class o f the Cappadocian Fathers”. Church History 42 (1973):

453-66.
Krueger, D. “Hagiography as an Ascetic Practice in the Early Christian East”.

Journal o f Religion 79 (1999): 216-232.
Krueger, D. Symeon the Holy Fool: Leontius's Life and the Late Antique City.
Berkeley, CA. U o f California P, 1996.
Krueger, D. “Writing and the Liturgy o f Memory in Gregory of Nyssa’s Life o f

Macrina”. Journal o f Early Chrsitian Studies 8 (2000): 483-510.
Ladner, G. The Idea o f Reform: Its Impact on Christian Thought and Action in the
Age o f the Fathers. Revised Edition. New York: Harper and Row, 1967.
Lane Fox, R. Pagans and Christians. New York: Knopf, 1987.
Laurence, P. “L ’implication des femmes dans l’heresie le jugement de saint Jerome”.

Revue des etudes augustiniennes 44 (1998): 241-67.
Lawless, G. Augustine o f Hippo and his Monastic Rule. Oxford: Clarendon P, 1987.
Le Boulleuc, A. La Notion d ’heresie dans la litterature grecque (IT-III* siecles). 2

volumes. Paris: Etudes augustiniennes, 1985.
Leclerc, P. “Antoine et Paul: metamorphose d’un heros”. In Y.-M. Duval, ed.,

Jerome entre I'Occident el I ’Orient. Paris: Etudes augustiniennes, 1988, pp.
257-265.
Leclercq, J. The Love o f Learning and the Desire fo r God: A Study o f Monastic
Culture. Translated by C. Misrahi. 3rd edition. New York: Fordham U P,
1982.
Leroux, J.M. “Saint Jean Chrysostome et le monachisme”. In C. Kannengeiser, ed.,

Jean Chrysostome et Augustin. Paris: Beauchesne, 1975, pp. 125-144.
Leyerle, B. “John Chrysostom on the Gaze”. Journal o f Early Christian Studies 1

(1993): 159-74.
247
Liebeschuetz, J.H.W.G. “Friends and Enemies of John Chrysostom”. In A. Moffatt,
ed., Maistor: Classical, Byzantine, and Renaissance Studiesfo r Robert
Browning. Canberra: Australian Association for Byzantine Studies, 1984, pp.
85-111.
Lorenz, R. “Die Anfange des abendlandischen Monchtums im 4. Jahrhundert”

Zeitschriftfur Kirchengeschichte 77 (1966): 1-61.
Louf, A. “Spiritual Fatherhood in the Literature of the Desert”. In J. Sommerfeldt,

ed., Abba: Guides to Wholeness and Holiness East and West. Kalamazoo,
Mich: Cistercian Publications, 1982, pp. 37-63.
Louth, A. “Athanasius’ Understanding of the Humanity of Christ”. Studia Patristica

16(1985): 309-18.
Louth, A. “St. Athanasius and the Greek Life o fAntony". Journal o f Theological
Studies, n.s., 39 (1988). 504-9.
Luckman, H. and L. Kulzer, ed. Purity o f Heart in Early Ascetic and Monastic
Literature. Collegeville, Minn: The Order of St. Benedict, 1999.
Lyman, R. “Ascetics and Bishops: Epiphanius on Orthodoxy”. In S. Elm et al., ed.,

Orthodoxy, Christianity, History. Rome: Ecole de fran<;aise de Rome, 2000,
pp. 149-161.
Lyman, R. “The Making o f a Heretic: The Life of Origen in Epiphanius Panarion

64”. Studia Patristica 31 (1997): 445-51.
Lyman, R. “Origen as Ascetic Theologian: Orthodoxy and Authority in the Fourth-

Century Church”. In W. Bienert and U. Kuhneweg, eds., Origeniana Septima.
Leuven: Leuven U P, 1997, pp. 187-94.
MacCormack, S. Religion in the Andes: Vision and Imagination in Early Colonial

Peru. Princeton, NJ: Princeton U P, 1991.
Madec, G. Saint Ambroise et la philosophic. Paris: Etudes augustiniennes, 1974.
Magheri Cataluccio, E. II Lausaikon di Palladio tra semiotica et storia. Roma:

Herder, 1984.
Malingrey, A. Philosophia: Etude d ’un groupe de mots dans la litterature grecque

despresocratiques au IV siecle apres J. C. Paris: C. Klincksieck, 1961.
Malone, E. The Monk and the Martyr: The Monk as the Successor o f the Martyr.
Washington, DC: Catholic U o f America P, 1950.
248
Maravel, P. “Encore les freres et les sceurs de Gregoire de Nysse” Revue d 'histoire
et philosophie religieuse 60 (1980): 161-6.
Markus, R. The End o f Ancient Christianity. Cambridge: Cambridge U P, 1991.
Marrou, H.I. A History o f Education in Antiquity. Translated by G. Lamb. Madison:

U of Wisconsin P, 1982.
Martin, A. “Aux origines de I’eglise copte. L’lmplanation et le developpement du

Christianisme en Egypte (Ie-IV* siecles)”. Revue des etudes anciennes 83
(1981): 35-56.
Marx, M. “Incessant Prayer in the Vita Antonii”. Studia Anselmiana 38 (1956): 108-
35.
Maur, I. auf der. Monchtum und Glaubensverkiindigung in den Schriften des heiligen
Johannes Chrysostomos. Freiburg: Universitats Verlag, 1959.
McLynn, N. Ambrose o f Milan: Church and Court in a Christian Capital. Berkeley,

CA: U o f California P, 1994.
McLynn, N. “A Self-Made Holy Man: The Case of Gregory Nazianzen”. Journal o f

Early Christian Studies 6 (1998): 463-483.
McNary-Zak, B. Letters ami Asceticism in Fourth-Century Egypt. Lanham, MD:

University P of America, 2000.
Meredith, A. “Asceticism - Christian and Greek”. Journal o f Theological Studies,

n.s., 27 (1976): 312-332.
Meyer, R. “Holy Orders in the Eastern Church in the Early Fifth Century as Seen in
Palladius”. Studia Patristica 16(1985): 38-49.
Meyer, R. “Palladius and the Study of Scripture”. Studia Patristica 13 (1975): 487-
490.
Moine, N. “Melaniana”. Recherches augustiniennes XV (1980): 3-79.
Molinier, N. Ascese, contemplation et ministere d'apres I 'Histoire Lausiaque de

Pallade d'Helenopolis. Begrolles-en-Mauges: Abbaye de Beliefontaine, 1995.
Momigliano, A., ed., The Conflict between Christianity and Paganism in the Fourth
Century. Oxford: Clarendon P, 1963.
249
Momigliano, A. “The Life o f Macrina by Gregory of Nyssa”. In J. Eade and J. Ober,
eds., The Craft o f the Ancient Historian: Essays in Honor o f C.G. Starr. Ann
Arbor, MI: U o f Michigan P, 1985, pp. 443-458.
Morrard, F. “Monachos, moine: Histoire du terme grec jusqu’au 4e siecle”.

Freiburger Zeitschriftfur Philosophic und Theologie 20 (1973): 333-412.
Morrard, F. “Encore quelques reflexions sur Monachos”. Vigiliae Christianae 34

(1980): 395-401.
Murphy, F.X. “Evagrius Ponticus and Origenism”. In R. Hanson and F. Crouzel,

eds., Origeniana Tertia. Rome: Ateneo, 1985, pp. 253-269.
Murphy, F.X. “Melania the Elder, a Biographical Note”. Traditio 5 (1947): 59-78.
Murphy, F.X. Rufinus o f Aquileia: His Life and Works. Washington, DC: Catholic U
o f America P, 1945.
Musurillo, H. “The Problem o f Asceticai Fasting in the Greek Patristic Authors”.

Traditio 12(1956): 1-64.
Nagel, P. “Action-Parables in Earliest Christian Monasticism: An Examination o f the

Apophthegmata Patrum". Hallel 5 (1977-8): 251-61.
O’Donnell, J.J. “The Authority of St. Augustine”. Augustinian Studies 22 (1991): 7-

35.
O’Donnell, J.J. Avatars o f the Word: From Papyrus to Cyberspace. Cambridge,

Mass: Harvard U P, 1998.
O’Donnell, J.J. Confessiones. 3 volumes. Oxford: Clarendon P, 1992.
O’Donnell, J.J. “The Next Life o f Augustine”. In M. Vessey and W. Klingshim, eds.,
The Limits o f Ancient Christianity: Essays on Late Antique Thought and
Culture in Honor o f R.A. Markus. Ann Arbor, MI: U of Michigan P, 1999, pp.
215-231.
O’Laughlin, M. “Evagrius Ponticus in Spiritual Perspective”. Studia Patristica 30

(1997): 224-230.
O’Laughlin, M. “Origenism in the Desert: Anthropology and Integration in Evagrius

Ponticus”. Th.D. Diss., Harvard Divinity School, 1987.
Otis, Brooks. “Cappadocian Thought as a Coherent System”. Dumbarton Oaks

Papers 12 (1958): 97-124.
250
Parmentier, M. “Evagrius o f Pontus’ ‘Letter to Melania’ I”. Bijdragen, tijdschrift
voorfilosofie en theologie 46 (1985): 2-38.
Patlagean, E. “Ancienne hagiographie byzantine et histoire sociale”. Annales ESC 23

(1968): 106-26.
Patlagean, E. “L’Histoire de la femme deguisee en moine et 1’evolution de la saintete

feminine a Byzance”. StudiM edievale 17(1976): 597-623.
Patlagean, E. Paiwrete economique et pauvrete sociale a Byzance ( f - T siecles).

Paris: Mouton, 1977.
Pearson, B. and J. Goehring, eds., The Roots o f Egyptian Christianity. Philadelphia:

Fortress P, 1986.
Penella, R. Greek Philosophers and Sophists in the Fourth Century A.D.: Studies in
Eunapius o f Sardis. Leeds: F. Cairns, 1990.
Petersen, A. “Athanasius’ Presentation o f Antony of the Desert’s Admiration for his

Body”. Studia Patristica 21 (1987): 438-47.
Pfister, J. “A Biographical Note: The Brothers and Sisters of St. Gregory of Nyssa”.
Vigiliae Christianae 18(1964): 108-13.
Pourkier, A. L’heresiologie chez Epiphane de Salamine. Paris: Beauchesne, 1992.
Preaux, C. “Monachisme et contre-culture”. A nnuairedelTnstitutde Philologie et

d ’H istoire d'O rientet Slaves 15 (1981): 65-78.
Rapp, C. “Christians and their Manuscripts in the Greek East in the Fourth Century”.
In G. Cavallo et. al, ed, Scritture, testi m ile aree provinciali di Bisanzio.
Spoleto: Centro italiano di studi sull'alto Medioevo, 1991, pp. 127-48.
Rapp, C. “Palladius, Lausus, and the Historia Lausiacd'. In C. Sode and S. Takacs,
ed., Novum Millenium: Studies on Byzantim History and Culture Dedicated to
Paul Speck. Aldershot, (JK: Ashgate Publishing Ltd, 2001, pp. 279-289.
Rapp, C. “Storytelling as Spiritual Communication in Early Greek Hagiography: The

Use o f Diegesis”. Journal o f Early Christian Studies 6 (1998): 431-448.
Regnault, L. Les Peres du desert a trovers leurs Apophtegmes Sable-sur-Sarthe:

Abbaye Saint-Pierre de Solesmes, 1987.
251
Regnault, L. La vie quotidierme des peres du desert en Egypte au IV* siecle. Paris:
Hachette, 1990.
Reitzenstein, R. Des Athanasius Werk iiber das leben des Antonius: Ein
philologischer Beitrag zur geschichte des Monchtums. Heidelberg: C. Winter,
1914.
Reitzenstein, R. Historia monachorum und Historia Lausiaca: Eine Studie zur

Geschichte des Monchtums und derfruhchristlichen Begriffe Gnostiker und
Pneumatiker. Gottingen : Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1916.
Roberts, C. Manuscript and B elief in Early Christian Egypt. London: Oxford U P,

1977.
Roldanus, J. Le Christ et I homme dans la theologie d ’Athanase d'Alexandrie.

Leiden: Brill, 1977.
Roldanus, J. “Die Vita Antonii als Spiegel der Theologie des Athanasius und ihr
Weiterwirken bis ins 5. Jahrhundert”. Theologie und Philosophie 58 (1983):
194-216.
Rousseau, P. “Antony as Teacher in the Greek Life”. In T. Hagg and P. Rousseau,

eds., Greek Biography ami Panegyric in Late Antiquity. Berkeley, CA: U of
California P, 2 0 0 0 , pp. 89-109.
Rousseau, P. Ascetics, Authority, and the Church in the Age o f Jerome and Cassian.
Oxford: Oxford U P, 1978.
Rousseau, P. “Augustine and Ambrose: The Loyalty and Singlemindedness o f a

Disciple”. Augustiana 27 (1977): 151-165.
Rousseau, P. Basil o f Caesarea. Berkeley, CA: U o f California P, 1994.
Rousseau, P. “ Learned Women’ in Late Antiquity” . Symbolae Osloenses 70 (1995):

116-147.
Rousseau, P. “Orthodoxy and the Coenobite”. Studia Patristica 30 (1997): 241-58.
Rousseau, P. Pachomius: The Making o f a Community in Fourth-Century Egypt.

Berkeley, CA: U o f California P, 1985.
Rouselle, A. Pomeia: de la maitrise du corps a la privation sensorielle. Paris:

Presses Universitaires de France, 1983.
252
Rubenson, S. The Letters o f St. Antony: Monasticism and the Making o f a Saint.
Minneapolis: Fortress P, 1995.
Ruppert, F. Das pachomianische Monchtum und die Anfdnge des klosterlichen

Gehorsams. Miinsterschwarzach: Vier-Turme-Verlag, 1971.
Saxer, V. Morts, martyrs, reliques en Afrique chretienne aux premiers siecles. Paris.
Beauchesne, 1980.
Shaw, B. Rulers, Nomads, and Christians in Roman North Africa. Brookfield, VT:
Variorum, 1995.
Shaw, T. “Askesis and the Appearance of Holiness”. Journal o f Early Christian

Studies 6(1998): 485-499.
Shaw, T. The Burden o f the Flesh: Fasting and Sexuality in Early Christianity.
Minneapolis: Fortress P, 1998.
Shaw, T. “Wolves in Sheeps’ Clothing: The Appearance of True and False Piety”.
Studia Patristica 29 (1995): 127-132.
Simonetti, M. La crisi ariana nel IV secolo. Roma: Institutum patristicum

Augustinianum, 1975.
Slater, C. Trail ofM iracles: Storiesfrom a Pilgrimage in Northeast Brazil. Berkeley.

U of California P, 1986.
Sorabji, R. Emotion and Peace o f Mind: From Stoic Agitation to Christian

Temptation. Oxford: Oxford U P, 2000.
Spicq, C. "Politeia, politeuma, politeuma, polites" in C. Spicq, ed., Theological

lexicon o f the New Testament. Translated and edited by James D. Ernest.
Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 1994, pp. 124-133.
Stancliffe, C. St. Martin and His Hagiographer. Oxford: Oxford U P, 1983.
Stewart, C. Cassian the Monk. New York: Oxford U P, 1998.
Stewart, C. “Radical Honesty about the Self1. Sobomost 12 (1990): 25-39.
Stewart, C. Working the Earth o f the Heart: The Messalian Controversy in History,
Texts, and Language to AD 431. Oxford: Clarendon P, 1991.
Stramara, O. “Double Monasticism in the Greek East Fourth Through Eighth

Century”. Journal o f Early Christian Studies 6 (1998): 269-312.
253
Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission
Tetz, M. “Athanasius und die Vita Antonii. Literarische und theologische
Relationen”. Zeitschriftfur neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 73 (1982): 1-30.
Tetz, M. “Zur Biographie des Athanasius von Alexandrien” . Zeitschrififu r

Kirchengeschichte 90 (1979): 158-92.
Thelamon, F. Paienset chretiens au iveme siecle. Paris: Etudes augustiniennes, 1981.
Thorgerson, E. “The Vita Augustini of Possidius: The Remaking o f Augustine for a

Post-Augustinian World” . PhD Diss., Princeton University, 1999.
Turner, C. “The Lausiac History of Palladius”. Journal o f Theological Studies 6

(1905): 321-355.
Turner, V. and E. Turner. Image and Pilgrimage in Christian Culture:

Anthropological Perspectives. New York: Columbia U P, 1978.
Valantasis, R. “Daemons and the Perfecting of the Monk’s Body: Monastic

Anthropology, Daemonology, and Asceticism”. Semeia 58 (1992): 47-79.
Valantasis, R. Spiritual Guides o f the Third Century: A Semiotic Stuffy o f the Guide-
Disciple Relationship in Christianity, Neoplatonism, Hermetism, and
Gnosticism. Minneapolis: Fortress P, 1991.
Van Dam, R. “Emperors, Bishops, and Friends in Late Antique Cappadocia”.

Journal o f Theological Studies, n.s., 37 (1986). 53-76.
Van Dam, R. Saints and Their M iracles in Late Antique Gaul. Princeton, NJ:
Princeton U P, 1993.
Van Dam, R. “Self-Representation in the Will of Gregory o f Nazianzus”. Journal o f

Theological Studies, n.s., 46 (1995): 118-148.
Van Ommeslaeghe, F. “Jean Chrysostome et Eudoxie”. Analecta Bollandiana 97

(1979): 131-159.
Veilleux, A. La Liturgie dans le cenobitisme pachdmien au quatrieme siecle. Rome:

Liberia Herder, 1968.
Verheijen, L. Nouvelle approche de la regie de saint Augustin. Louvain: Institut

Historique Augustinien, 1988.
Verheijen, L. La Regie de saint Augustin. 2vols. Paris: Etudes augustiniennes, 1967.
254
Verheijen, L. Saint Augustine’s Monasticism in the Light o f Acts 4.32-35.
Philadelphia: Villanova U P, 1979.
Vessey, M. “The Demise o f the Christian Writer and the Remaking of 'Late
Antiquity’: From H.-I. Marrou's Saint Augustine (1938) to Peter Brown’s Holy
Man (1983)”. Journal o f Early Christian Studies 6 (1998): 377-411.
Vessey, M. “Jerome’s Origen: The Making o f a Christian Literary Persona". Studia

Patristica 28 (1993): 135-145.
Veyne, P. Le pain etle cirque. Paris: Seuil, 1976.
Viden, G. “St. Jerome on Female Chastity: Subjugating the Elements of Desire”.

Symbolae Osloenses 73 (1998): 139-57.
Vogue, A. de. Histoire litteraire du mouvement monastique dans Tantiquite. 5

volumes. Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1991-6.
Vogue, A. de. De Saint Pachome a Jean Cassien: etudes litteraires et doctrinales sur
le monachisme egyptien a ses debuts. Roma: Pontificio ateneo S. Anselmo,
1996.
Voobus, A. A History o f Asceticism in the Syrian Orient. 3 volumes. Louvain:

Secretariat du CorpusSCO, 1958-1988.
Ware, K. “Silence in Prayer”. In M. Pennington, ed., One Yet Two. Kalamazoo,

Mich: Cistercian Publications, 1976, pp. 22-49.
Webb, R. “Ekphrasis Ancient and Modem: The Invention o f a Genre”. Word &
Image 15 (1999): 7-18.
Weiskotten, H.T. Sancti Augustini Vita scripta a Possidio episcopo. Princeton, NJ:
Princeton U P, 1919.
Wilkinson, J. Egeria's Travels. London: SPCK, 1971.
Williams, M. “77»e Life o f Antony and the Domestication o f Charismatic Wisdom”. In

M. Williams, ed., Charisma and Sacred Biography. Chambersburg, PA:
American Academy o f Religion, 1982, pp. 23-45.
Williams, M. Rethinking ‘Gnosticism’: An Argumentfo r Dismantling a Dubious

Category. Princeton, NJ: Princeton U P, 1996.
Williams, R. Arius: Heresy and Tradition. London: Darton, Longman, and Todd,
1987.
255
Williams, R., ed., The Making o f Orthodoxy: Essays in Honor o f Henry Chadwick.
Cambridge: Cambridge U P, 1989.
Wimbush, V. and R. Valantasis, eds., Asceticism. New York: Oxford U P, 1995.
Wipszycha, E. Les Ressources et les activities economiques des eglises en Egypte du

TV* au VIIT siecles. Brussels: Fondation Egyptologique Reine Elisabeth, 1972.
Wisse, F. “Gnosticism and Early Monasticism in Egypt”. In B. Aland, ed., Gnosis.

Gottingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 1978, pp. 431-40.
Young, F. From Nicaea to Chalcedon: A Guide to Its Literature and Background.

Philadelphia: Fortress P, 1983.
Zumkeller, A. Augustine's Ideal o f the Religious Life. Translated by E. Colledge.

New York: Fordham U P, 1986.
256

Defining The Holy - Visions of The Ascetic in Late Antiquity

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

You might also like

Defining The Holy - Visions of The Ascetic in Late Antiquity

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Title

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Defining The Holy - Visions of The Ascetic in Late Antiquity

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

INFORMATION TO USERS

The quality of this reproduction is dependent upon the quality of the

Oversize materials (e.g., maps, drawings, charts) are reproduced by

Photographs included in the original manuscript have been reproduced

ProQuest Information and Learning

VISIONS OF THE ASCETIC IN LATE ANTIQUITY

PRESENTED TO THE FACULTY

IN CANDIDACY FOR THE DEGREE

RECOMMENDED FOR ACCEPTANCE

ProQuest Information and Learning Company

accumulated over time, my dissertation aims at re-exploring late antique asceticism,

picture of asceticism with the audiences in mind.

To understand how an audience would have used the texts, how an

dissertation. To give the discussion a more dynamic focus, my dissertation

preacher, or holy man.

Lifestyle brings us back to the ascetics themselves, as it enables us to

Apophthegmata Patrum, Panarion, Life o f Hilarion, Life o f Augustine, and Life o f

vocabulary and a new understanding of asceticism, an asceticism which is

thoroughly late antique and not at all modem.

Several people played a pivotal role in bringing my dissertation to completion.

authoritative guidance. James O’Donnell and Claudia Rapp made numerous

suggestions at an early stage, suggestions which helped me clarify and articulate

Epiphanius; Yannis Papadoyannakis provided critical information throughout the

and the Graduate School o f Princeton University, I owe an immense debt of

Bakhshandehpour, Deborah Gibbons, John Lee, Emily Tse, Warren Petrofsky,

What's past is prologue.1

One o f the truly amazing achievements in human history is that o f the

never was the same again.

Underlying this Christiano-centric interpretation o f history is the belief that the

1 W. Shakespeare, The Tempest.

lying at the religion’s core.

prey to a couple o f fundamental errors.

These errors involve history, context, and language. Immersed in a monastic

for following the monastic discipline.

In order to answer this question, it will be crucial for my dissertation to rectify

a second error permeating scholarship of late antique asceticism. This is an error of

translation is always an interpretation, making decisions about how to understand an

ancient author at every turn.

It also seems difficult to get a sense o f ancient ascetic authors by failing to

has shown that political regimes, theological controversies, and geographical

controversy or reads the Pachomian vitae without thinking o f Pachomius7 defense at

the Council of Latopolis. It would be extremely shortsighted to read these texts

without their share o f influences.

my dissertation, a dissertation which will attempt nothing less than a re-assessment of

and audiences, their words, ideas, and contexts.

To this end, the central question of my dissertation will be what qualities

Man in Late Antiquity”, an article which offers a wealth o f insights on Theodoret of

lose their claim to this title?

a man o f consequence in his immediate surroundings. It is the lifestyle o f the ascetic,

defined, legislated, and modified?

Answers, as always, are elusive, so my dissertation will consist of a series of

questions laid out in the preceding paragraphs.

mainstream Christians, as some of the most popular hagiographies depicted ascetic

heroes, heroes like Martin of Tours, Pachomius, and Antony.

hagiography as well as the hagiographies and ascetic writings of Jerome. It will

and the ramifications o f Athanasius’ portrayal before proceeding to analyze Jerome’s

ascetic writings and their implications for Athanasius’ portrayal o f Antony,

emulatory nature o f Athanasius’ aoKrjoi$.