Books: The Hermits

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This the old man saw, and after two years there befell the present
inroad of the Arians, {72a} and the plunder of the churches, when
they carried off the holy vessels by violence, and made the heathen
carry them: and when too they forced the heathens from the prisons
to join them, and in their presence did on the holy table what they
would. {72b} Then we all perceived that the kicks of those mules
presignified to Antony what the Arians are now doing without
understanding, like the brutes. But when Antony saw this sight, he
exhorted those about him, saying, "Lose not heart, children; for as
the Lord has been angry, so will he again be appeased, and the
Church shall soon receive again her own order and shine forth as she
is wont; and ye shall see the persecuted restored to their place,
and impiety retreating again into its own dens, and the pious faith
speaking boldly everywhere with all freedom. Only defile not
yourselves with the Arians, for this teaching is not of the Apostle
but of the daemons, and of their father the devil: barren and
irrational and of an unsound mind, like the irrational deeds of
those mules." Thus spoke Antony.

But we must not doubt whether so great wonders have been done by a
man; for the Saviour's promise is, "If ye have faith as a grain of
mustard-seed, ye shall say to this mountain, Pass over from hence,
it shall pass over, and nothing shall be impossible to you;" and
again, "Verily, verily, I say unto you, if ye shall ask my Father in
my name, he shall give it you. Ask, and ye shall receive." And he
himself it is who said to his disciples and to all who believe in
him, "Heal the sick, cast out devils; freely ye have received,
freely give." And certainly Antony did not heal by his own
authority, but by praying and calling on Christ; so that it was
plain to all that it was not he who did it, but the Lord, who
through Antony showed love to men, and healed the sufferers. But
Antony's part was only the prayer and the training, for the sake
whereof, sitting in the mountain, he rejoiced in the sight of divine
things, and grieved when he was tormented by many, and dragged to
the outer mountain.

For all the magistrates asked him to come down from the mountain,
because it was impossible for them to go in thither to him on
account of the litigants who followed him; so they begged him to
come, that they might only behold him. And when he declined they
insisted, and even sent in to him prisoners under the charge of
soldiers, that at least on their account he might come down. So
being forced by necessity, and seeing them lamenting, he came to the
outer mountain. And his labour this time too was profitable to
many, and his coming for their good. To the magistrates, too, he
was of use, counselling them to prefer justice to all things, and to
fear God, and to know that with what judgment they judged they
should be judged in turn. But he loved best of all his life in the
mountain. Once again, when he was compelled in the same way to
leave it, by those who were in want, and by the general of the
soldiers, who entreated him earnestly, he came down, and having
spoken to them somewhat of the things which conduced to salvation,
he was pressed also by those who were in need. But being asked by
the general to lengthen his stay, he refused, and persuaded him by a
graceful parable, saying, "Fishes, if they lie long on the dry land,
die; so monks who stay with you lose their strength. As the fishes
then hasten to the sea, so must we to the mountain, lest if we delay
we should forget what is within." The general, hearing this and
much more from him, said with surprise that he was truly a servant
of God, for whence could an unlearned man have so great sense if he
were not loved by God?

Another general, named Balacius, bitterly persecuted us Christians
on account of his affection for those abominable Arians. His
cruelty was so great that he even beat nuns, and stripped and
scourged monks. Antony sent him a letter to this effect:--"I see
wrath coming upon thee. Cease, therefore, to persecute the
Christians, lest the wrath lay hold upon thee, for it is near at
hand." But Balacius, laughing, threw the letter on the ground and
spat on it; and insulted those who brought it, bidding them tell
Antony, "Since thou carest for monks, I will soon come after thee
likewise." And not five days had passed, when the wrath laid hold
on him. For Balacius himself, and Nestorius, the Eparch of Egypt,
went out to the first station from Alexandria, which is called
Chaereas's. Both of them were riding on horses belonging to
Balacius, and the most gentle in all his stud: but before they had
got to the place, the horses began playing with each other, as is
their wont, and suddenly the more gentle of the two, on which
Nestorius was riding, attacked Balacius and pulled him off with his
teeth, and so tore his thigh that he was carried back to the city,
and died in three days. And all wondered that what Antony had so
wonderfully foretold was so quickly fulfilled. These were his
warnings to the more cruel. But the rest who came to him he so
instructed that they gave up at once their lawsuits, and blessed
those who had retired from this life. And those who had been
unjustly used he so protected that you would think he and not they
was the sufferer. And he was so able to be of use to all; so that
many who were serving in the army, and many wealthy men, laid aside
the burdens of life and became thenceforth monks; and altogether he
was like a physician given by God to Egypt. For who met him
grieving, and did not go away rejoicing? Who came mourning over his
dead, and did not forthwith lay aside his grief? Who came wrathful,
and was not converted to friendship? What poor man came wearied
out, and when he saw and heard him did not despise wealth and
comfort himself in his poverty? What monk who had grown remiss, was
not strengthened by coming to him? What young man coming to the
mountain and looking upon Antony, did not forthwith renounce
pleasure and love temperance? Who came to him tempted by devils,
and did not get rest? Who came troubled by doubts, and did not get
peace of mind? For this was the great thing in Antony's asceticism,
that (as I have said before), having the gift of discerning spirits,
he understood their movements, and knew in what direction each of
them turned his endeavours and his attacks. And not only he was not
deceived by them himself, but he taught those who were troubled in
mind how they might turn aside the plots of daemons, teaching them
the weakness and the craft of their enemies. How many maidens, too,
who had been already betrothed, and only saw Antony from afar,
remained unmarried for Christ's sake! Some, too, came from foreign
parts to him, and all, having gained some benefit, went back from
him as from a father. And now he has fallen asleep, all are as
orphans who have lost a parent, consoling themselves with his memory
alone, keeping his instructions and exhortations. But what the end
of his life was like, it is fit that I should relate, and you hear
eagerly. For it too is worthy of emulation. He was visiting,
according to his wont, the monks in the outer mountain, and having
learned from Providence concerning his own end, he said to the
brethren, "This visit to you is my last, and I wonder if we shall
see each other again in this life. It is time for me to set sail,
for I am near a hundred and five years old." And when they heard
that they wept, and embraced and kissed the old man. And he, as if
he was setting out from a foreign city to his own, spoke joyfully,
and exhorted them not to grow idle in their labours or cowardly in
their training, but to live as those who died daily, and (as I said
before) to be earnest in keeping their souls from foul thoughts, and
to emulate the saints, and not to draw near the Meletian
schismatics, for "ye know their evil and profane determinations, nor
to have any communion with the Arians, for their impiety also is
manifest to all. Neither if ye shall see the magistrates
patronising them, be troubled, for their phantasy shall have an end,
and is mortal and only for a little while. Keep yourselves
therefore rather clean from them, and hold that which has been
handed down to you by the fathers, and especially the faith in our
Lord Jesus Christ which ye have learned from Scripture, and of which
ye have often been reminded by me." And when the brethren tried to
force him to stay with them and make his end there, he would not
endure it, on many accounts, as he showed by his silence; and
especially on this:--The Egyptians are wont to wrap in linen the
corpses of good persons, and especially of the holy martyrs, but not
to bury them underground, but to lay them upon benches and keep them
in their houses; {77} thinking that by this they honour the
departed. Now Antony had often asked the bishops to exhort the
people about this, and in like manner he himself rebuked the laity
and terrified the women; saying that it was a thing neither lawful
nor in any way holy; for that the bodies of the patriarchs and
prophets are to this day preserved in sepulchres, and that the very
body of our Lord was laid in a sepulchre, and a stone placed over it
to hide it, till he rose the third day. And thus saying he showed
that those broke the law who did not bury the corpses of the dead,
even if they were holy; for what is greater or more holy than the
Lord's body? Many, then, when they heard him, buried thenceforth
underground; and blessed the Lord that they had been taught rightly.
Being then aware of this, and afraid lest they should do the same by
his body, he hurried himself, and bade farewell to the monks in the
outer mountain; and coming to the inner mountain, where he was wont
to abide, after a few months he grew sick, and calling those who
were by--and there were two of them who had remained there within
fifteen years, exercising themselves and ministering to him on
account of his old age--he said to them, "I indeed go the way of the
fathers, as it is written, for I perceive that I am called by the
Lord." . . .

[Then follows a general exhortation to the monk, almost identical
with much that has gone before, and ending by a command that his
body should be buried in the ground.]

"And let this word of mine be kept by you, so that no one shall know
the place, save you alone, for I shall receive it (my body)
incorruptible from my Saviour in the resurrection of the dead. And
distribute my garments thus. To Athanasius the bishop give one of
my sheepskins, and the cloak under me, which was new when he gave it
me, and has grown old by me; and to Serapion the bishop give the
other sheepskin; and do you have the hair-cloth garment. And for
the rest, children, farewell, for Antony is going, and is with you
no more."

Saying thus, when they had embraced him, he stretched out his feet,
and, as if he saw friends coming to him, and grew joyful on their
account (for, as he lay, his countenance was bright), he departed
and was gathered to his fathers. And they forthwith, as he had
commanded them, preparing the body and wrapping it up, hid it under
ground: and no one knows to this day where it is hidden, save those
two servants only. And each (i.e. Athanasius and Serapion) having
received the sheepskin of the blessed Antony, and the cloak which he
had worn out, keeps them as a great possession. For he who looks on
them, as it were, sees Antony; and he who puts them on, wears them
with joy, as he does Antony's counsels.

Such was the end of Antony in the body, and such the beginning of
his training. And if these things are small in comparison with his
virtue, yet reckon up from these things how great was Antony, the
man of God, who kept unchanged, from his youth up to so great an
age, the earnestness of his training; and was neither worsted in his
old age by the desire of more delicate food, nor on account of the
weakness of his body altered the quality of his garment, nor even
washed his feet with water; and yet remained uninjured in all his
limbs: for his eyes were undimmed and whole, so that he saw well;
and not one of his teeth had fallen out, but they were only worn
down to his gums on account of his great age; and he remained sound
in hand and foot; and, in a word, appeared ruddier and more ready
for exertion than all who use various meats and baths, and different
dresses. But that this man should be celebrated everywhere and
wondered at by all, and regretted even by those who never saw him,
is a proof of his virtue, and that his soul was dear to God. For
Antony became known not by writings, not from the wisdom that is
from without, not by any art, but by piety alone; and that this was
the gift of God, none can deny. For how as far as Spain, as Gaul,
as Rome, as Africa, could he have been heard, hidden as he was in a
mountain, if it had not been for God, who makes known his own men
everywhere, and who had promised Antony this from the beginning?
For even if they do their deeds in secret, and wish to be concealed,
yet the Lord shows them as lights to all, that so those who hear of
them may know that the commandments suffice to put men in the right
way, and may grow zealous of the path of virtue.

Read then these things to the other brethren, that they may learn
what the life of monks should be, and may believe that the Lord
Jesus Christ our Saviour will glorify those who glorify him, and
that those who serve him to the end he will not only bring to the
kingdom of heaven, but that even if on earth they hide themselves
and strive to get out of the way, he will make them manifest and
celebrated everywhere, for the sake of their own virtue, and for the
benefit of others. But if need be, read this also to the heathens,
that even thus they may learn that our Lord Jesus Christ is not only
Lord and the Son of God, but that those who truly serve him, and
believe piously on him, not only prove that those daemons whom the
Greeks think are gods to be no gods, but even tread them under foot,
and chase them out as deceivers and corrupters of men, through Jesus
Christ our Lord, to whom be glory and honour for ever and ever.
Amen.

Thus ends this strange story. What we are to think of the miracles
and wonders contained in it, will be discussed at a later point in
this book. Meanwhile there is a stranger story still connected with
the life of St. Antony. It professes to have been told by him
himself to his monks; and whatever groundwork of fact there may be
in it is doubtless his. The form in which we have it was given it
by the famous St. Jerome, who sends the tale as a letter to Asella,
one of the many noble Roman ladies whom he persuaded to embrace the
monastic life. The style is as well worth preserving as the matter.
Its ruggedness and awkwardness, its ambition and affectation,
contrasted with the graceful simplicity of Athanasius's "Life of
Antony," mark well the difference between the cultivated Greek and
the ungraceful and half-barbarous Roman of the later Empire. I
have, therefore, given it as literally as possible, that readers may
judge for themselves how some of the Great Fathers of the fifth
century wrote, and what they believed.

THE LIFE OF SAINT PAUL, THE FIRST HERMIT

BY THE DIVINE HIERONYMUS THE PRIEST. (ST. JEROME.)

PROLOGUE

Many have often doubted by which of the monks the desert was first
inhabited. For some, looking for the beginnings of Monachism in
earlier ages, have deduced it from the blessed Elias and John; of
whom Elias seems to us to have been rather a prophet than a monk;
and John to have begun to prophesy before he was born. But others
(an opinion in which all the common people are agreed) assert that
Antony was the head of this rule of life, which is partly true. For
he was not so much himself the first of all, as the man who excited
the earnestness of all. But Amathas and Macarius, Antony's
disciples (the former of whom buried his master's body), even now
affirm that a certain Paul, a Theban, was the beginner of the
matter; which (not so much in name as in opinion) we also hold to be
true. Some scatter about, as the fancy takes them, both this and
other stories; inventing incredible tales of a man in a subterranean
cave, hairy down to his heels, and many other things, which it is
tedious to follow out. For, as their lie is shameless, their
opinion does not seem worth refuting.

Therefore, because careful accounts of Antony, both in Greek and
Roman style, have been handed down, I have determined to write a
little about the beginning and end of Paul's life; more because the
matter has been omitted, than trusting to my own wit. But how he
lived during middle life, or what stratagems of Satan he endured, is
known to none.

THE LIFE OF PAUL

Under Decius and Valerius, the persecutors, at the time when
Cornelius at Rome, and Cyprian at Carthage, were condemned in
blessed blood, a cruel tempest swept over many Churches in Egypt and
the Thebaid.

Christian subjects in those days longed to be smitten with the sword
for the name of Christ. But the crafty enemy, seeking out
punishments which delayed death, longed to slay souls, not bodies.
And as Cyprian himself (who suffered by him) says: "When they
longed to die, they were not allowed to be slain." In order to make
his cruelty better known, we have set down two examples for
remembrance.

A martyr, persevering in the faith, and conqueror amid racks and
red-hot irons, he commanded to be anointed with honey and laid on
his back under a burning sun, with his hands tied behind him; in
order, forsooth, that he who had already conquered the fiery
gridiron, might yield to the stings of flies.

* * *

In those days, in the Lower Thebaid, was Paul left at the death of
both his parents, in a rich inheritance, with a sister already
married; being about fifteen years old, well taught in Greek and
Egyptian letters, gentle tempered, loving God much; and, when the
storm of persecution burst, he withdrew into a distant city. But

"To what dost thou not urge the human breast
Curst hunger after gold?"

His sister's husband was ready to betray him whom he should have
concealed. Neither the tears of his wife, the tie of blood, or God
who looks on all things from on high, could call him back from his
crime. He was at hand, ready to seize him, making piety a pretext
for cruelty. The boy discovered it, and fled into the desert hills.
Once there he changed need into pleasure, and going on, and then
stopping awhile, again and again, reached at last a stony cliff, at
the foot whereof was, nigh at hand, a great cave, its mouth closed
with a stone. Having moved which away (as man's longing is to know
the hidden), exploring more greedily, he sees within a great hall,
open to the sky above, but shaded by the spreading boughs of an
ancient palm; and in it a clear spring, the rill from which, flowing
a short space forth, was sucked up again by the same soil which had
given it birth. There were besides in that cavernous mountain not a
few dwellings, in which he saw rusty anvils and hammers, with which
coin had been stamped of old. For this place (so books say) was the
workshop for base coin in the days when Antony lived with Cleopatra.

Therefore, in this beloved dwelling, offered him as it were by God,
he spent all his life in prayer and solitude, while the palm-tree
gave him food and clothes; which lest it should seem impossible to
some, I call Jesus and his holy angels to witness that I have seen
monks one of whom, shut up for thirty years, lived on barley bread
and muddy water; another in an old cistern, which in the country
speech they call the Syrian's bed, was kept alive on five figs each
day. These things, therefore, will seem incredible to those who do
not believe; for to those who do believe all things are possible.

But to return thither whence I digressed. When the blessed Paul had
been leading the heavenly life on earth for 113 years, and Antony,
ninety years old, was dwelling in another solitude, this thought (so
Antony was wont to assert) entered his mind--that no monk more
perfect than he had settled in the desert. But as he lay still by
night, it was revealed to him that there was another monk beyond him
far better than he, to visit whom he must set out. So when the
light broke, the venerable old man, supporting his weak limbs on a
staff, began to will to go, he knew not whither. And now the mid
day, with the sun roasting above, grew fierce; and yet he was not
turned from the journey he had begun, saying, "I trust in my God,
that he will show his servant that which he has promised." And as
he spake, he sees a man half horse, to whom the poets have given the
name of Hippocentaur. Seeing whom, he crosses his forehead with the
salutary impression of the Cross, and, "Here!" he says, "in what
part here does a servant of God dwell?" But he, growling I know not
what barbarous sound, and grinding rather than uttering, the words,
attempted a courteous speech from lips rough with bristles, and,
stretching out his right hand, pointed to the way; then, fleeing
swiftly across the open plains, vanished from the eyes of the
wondering Antony. But whether the devil took this form to terrify
him; or whether the desert, fertile (as is its wont) in monstrous
animals, begets that beast likewise, we hold as uncertain.

So Antony, astonished, and thinking over what he had seen, goes
forward. Soon afterwards, he sees in a stony valley a short
manikin, with crooked nose and brow rough with horns, whose lower
parts ended in goat's feet. Undismayed by this spectacle likewise,
Antony seized, like a good warrior, the shield of faith and
habergeon of hope; the animal, however, was bringing him dates, as
food for his journey, and a pledge of peace. When he saw that,
Antony pushed on, and, asking him who he was, was answered, "I am a
mortal, and one of the inhabitants of the desert, whom the Gentiles,
deluded by various errors, worship by the name of Fauns, Satyrs, and
Incubi. I come as ambassador from our herd, that thou mayest pray
for us to the common God, who, we know, has come for the salvation
of the world, and his sound is gone out into all lands." As he
spoke thus, the aged wayfarer bedewed his face plenteously with
tears, which the greatness of his joy had poured forth as signs of
his heart. For he rejoiced at the glory of Christ, and the
destruction of Satan; and, wondering at the same time that he could
understand the creature's speech, he smote on the ground with his
staff, and said, "Woe to thee, Alexandria, who worshippest portents
instead of God! Woe to thee, harlot city, into which all the demons
of the world have flowed together! What wilt thou say now? Beasts
talk of Christ, and thou worshippest portents instead of God." He
had hardly finished his words, when the swift beast fled away as
upon wings. Lest this should move a scruple in any one on account
of its incredibility, it was corroborated, in the reign of
Constantine, by the testimony of the whole world. For a man of that
kind, being led alive to Alexandria, afforded a great spectacle to
the people; and afterwards the lifeless carcase, being salted lest
it should decay in the summer heat, was brought to Antioch, to be
seen by the Emperor.

But--to go on with my tale--Antony went on through that region,
seeing only the tracks of wild beasts, and the wide waste of the
desert. What he should do, or whither turn, he knew not. A second
day had now run by. One thing remained, to be confident that he
could not be deserted by Christ. All night through he spent a
second darkness in prayer, and while the light was still dim, he
sees afar a she-wolf, panting with heat and thirst, creeping in at
the foot of the mountain. Following her with his eyes, and drawing
nigh to the cave when the beast was gone, he began to look in: but
in vain; for the darkness stopped his view. However, as the
Scripture saith, perfect love casteth out fear; with gentle step and
bated breath the cunning explorer entered, and going forward slowly,
and stopping often, watched for a sound. At length he saw afar off
a light through the horror of the darkness; hastened on more
greedily; struck his foot against a stone; and made a noise, at
which the blessed Paul shut and barred his door, which had stood
open.

Then Antony, casting himself down before the entrance, prayed there
till the sixth hour, and more, to be let in, saying, "Who I am, and
whence, and why I am come, thou knowest. I know that I deserve not
to see thy face; yet, unless I see thee, I will not return. Thou
who receivest beasts, why repellest thou a man? I have sought, and
I have found. I knock, that it may be opened to me: which if I win
not, here will I die before thy gate. Surely thou shalt at least
bury my corpse."

"Persisting thus he spoke, and stood there fixed:
To whom the hero shortly thus replied."

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