Institutes & Conferences 2 part 5/15

For the elder took from his woodpile a twig, which had long since been cut and made ready for use in the fire; and while the occasion for cooking was delayed, it lay not only dry but almost rotten with the age of time. And when he had fixed it in the ground before him, he commanded that water be brought and it be watered twice daily, so that, forsooth, rooted by the daily moisture and reviving into an ancient tree, with spreading branches it might present delight to the eyes and shade in the burning heat to those resting beneath it.

This command the young man received with his accustomed reverence, without any consideration of its impossibility, and fulfilled it day by day, so that, unceasingly carrying water for nearly two miles, he in no way ceased to water the stick; and throughout the whole span of a year neither bodily weakness, nor the solemnity of a feast, nor the pressure of any necessity — which might even honorably have excused him from carrying out the command — nor, finally, the intervening harshness of winter could hinder him from the observance of this precept.

And when the elder had silently and secretly watched this diligence of his day by day, and saw that with a simple affection of heart he kept the command as though sent from God, without any change of countenance or discussion of its reasonableness, approving the sincere obedience of his humility and at the same time pitying so long a labor, which throughout the whole span of a year he had spent in his zeal of devotion, the elder, coming to the dry twig, said, 'O John, has this tree sent forth roots or not?' And when he had said that he did not know, the elder, as though inquiring into the truth of the matter and as though testing whether it now stood by its own roots, plucked up the twig before him with a slight motion, and, casting it aside, commanded that thenceforth he cease to water it.

And so, when the young man, schooled by exercises of this kind, grew daily in this virtue of compliance, and the grace of his humility shone forth, and the sweet fragrance of his obedience wafted through all the monasteries, certain of the brethren, coming to the elder under the pretext of testing him — nay rather of edification — when they marveled at that submission of his of which they had heard, the elder, suddenly calling him, said, 'Go up, and taking the flask of oil' (which alone in the desert supplied the very thinnest liquid of fatness for the use of himself and of those arriving) 'cast it down through the window.'

And he, when he had quickly flown up to the upper story, bringing it out through the window let it fall to the ground to be shattered, giving little thought or reflection to the folly of the command, to the daily need, to the weakness of the body, to the scarcity of provisions, to the straits and difficulties of the squalid desert — in which, even if money were at hand, nonetheless the lost commodity could not be found nor repaired. Again, when others desired to be edified by the example of his obedience, the elder, calling him, said, 'Run, John, roll that rock hither as quickly as you can.'

He at once strove to roll forward the huge rock — which a great throng of men could not have moved — applying now his neck, now his whole body, with such straining and effort that with the sweat of all his limbs he not only drenched his whole garment but even moistened the rock itself with his neck; in this too measuring little the impossibility of the command or of the deed, out of reverence for the elder and the sincere simplicity of his compliance, whereby he believed that the elder in his whole faith could command nothing in vain or without reason. Let it suffice to have said these few things out of many concerning Abbot John. Now I shall relate a deed of Abbot Patermutus worthy of memory.

For this man, desiring to renounce this world, persevered so long, keeping watch before the doors of the monastery, that by his unmovable perseverance, contrary to the whole custom of the monasteries, he brought it about that he should be received together with his little son, who was about eight years old. And when at last they had been received, immediately they were not only handed over to different superiors, but even separated in the dwelling of their cells, lest, forsooth, by the constant sight of the little one the father should remember that out of all the property which in renouncing he had cast away, and out of fleshly affection, there yet remained to him at least his son, and lest, just as he knew himself to be rich no longer, so likewise he should not fail to know that he was a father.

And that it might be more fully proved whether he would set greater store by the affection of blood and the love of his own flesh, or by the obedience and mortification of Christ, which whoever renounces ought for love of Him to prefer, the little one was deliberately neglected: clad in rags rather than garments, and so covered and defiled with filth that he might offend rather than delight his father's eyes whenever he was looked upon by him; and moreover he was exposed to the cuffs and slaps of various persons, which for the most part the father saw inflicted even without cause upon the innocent child before his very eyes, so that he never saw the boy's cheeks except stained with the dirty traces of tears.

And when the infant was thus treated under his eyes day by day, nonetheless, for the love of Christ and by the virtue of obedience, the father's inward feelings remained always rigid and unmoved. For he no longer reckoned him his own son, whom he had offered together with himself to Christ; nor did he care about his present injuries, but rather rejoiced that he saw them borne by no means without fruit, giving little thought to the child's tears, but concerned for his own humility and perfection.

The superior of the monastery, perceiving this severity of his mind and its unmovable rigor, in order thoroughly to prove the constancy of his soul, when one day he had seen the infant weeping, pretending to be provoked against him, commanded the father to take him up and cast him into the river. Then he, as though it had been commanded him by the Lord, immediately seizing his son in his own arms with swift course carried him even to the bank of the river, about to cast him in.

And this would assuredly have been carried out to completion by the fervor of his faith and obedience, had not brethren been deliberately posted to guard the river-bank carefully, and, when the little one was now cast in and in a manner snatched from the top of the channel, had they not caught him up, and recalled from the accomplishment of the deed and from its very end the fulfillment of the command that had been completed by the father's compliance and devotion. His faith and devotion were so acceptable to God that it was immediately confirmed by divine testimony. For it was straightway revealed to the elder that by this obedience the man had fulfilled the work of the patriarch Abraham.

And when, after a short time had passed, the same abbot of the monastery departed from his sojourn in this world to Christ, he set this man over all the brethren, leaving him as his successor and abbot to the monastery. Nor shall we pass over in silence a brother also known to us, of a family of the highest rank according to the order of this age; for he was sprung from a father who was a count and most wealthy, and he had been instructed not moderately in liberal studies as well.

When, having left his parents, he had flown to the monastery, in order to prove the humility of his mind and the ardor of his faith, it was at once commanded him by the elder that, loading upon his neck ten baskets — which there was no need to sell publicly — he should carry them about the streets to be sold, with this added condition, whereby he might be kept longer at this task: that if perchance one man should wish to buy them all together, he should not yield, but should sell them one by one to those who sought them.

This he fulfilled with all devotion, and, trampling upon all the shame of embarrassment for the name and desire of Christ, placing the baskets on his shoulders he sold them at the appointed price and brought the money back to the monastery, in no way terrified by the strangeness of so lowly and unaccustomed a task, nor considering the unworthiness of the matter, the splendor of his birth, and the indignity of selling, while through the grace of obedience he longed to obtain that humility of Christ which is true nobility. The measure of our little book constrains us to hasten toward its end; but the good of obedience, which holds the primacy among the other virtues, does not suffer us to pass over in utter silence the deeds of those who through it shone forth.

Wherefore, fittingly tempering both — that is, serving both brevity and the desires and profit of the studious — we shall set down yet one example of humility, which, accomplished not by a beginner but by one who was perfect and an abbot, will be able not only to instruct the younger but even to incite the elders by its reading to the perfect virtue of humility. We saw, then, Abbot Pinufius, who, being the presbyter of an immense monastery which is in Egypt not far from the city of Panephysis, and being honorable and venerable to all for the very reverence due to his life, his age, and his priesthood, saw that for this very reason he could not exercise that humility which he had desired according to the ardor of his mind, nor had anything whereby to stretch out the virtue of the submission he desired. So, fleeing secretly from the monastery, he withdrew alone into the farthest parts of the Thebaid, and there, laying aside the habit of monks and taking on secular clothing, he sought the monastery of the Tabennesiotes, which he knew to be stricter than all others, and in which he believed he could easily be hidden, whether because of the distance of the region he would be unknown, or because of the greatness of the monastery and the multitude of the brethren he could easily be concealed.

There, persevering long before the doors, prostrate at the knees of all the brethren, he begged with the highest entreaties to be received. And when at last, with much contempt, he had been admitted — because, forsooth, a decrepit old man who had lived out his whole life was asking to enter the monastery at a time when he was no longer even strong enough to serve his own pleasures, and because they asserted that he was seeking even this very thing not for the sake of religion but constrained by the necessity of hunger and want — the care and cultivation of the garden was assigned to him, as to one old and utterly unfit for any work.

Exercising this care under another, younger brother, who kept him as one entrusted to himself, he so submitted himself to him and cultivated the desired virtue of humility with such great obedience that he fulfilled with all daily diligence not only those things that pertained to the tending of the garden, but also all the offices that were harsh or unworthy for everyone and were held in horror by all. Indeed, rising also at night, he did many things thus secretly, with no witness or accomplice, the darkness concealing them, so that no one at all detected the author of the work.

And when he had lain hidden there for three years, while throughout all Egypt he was sought by the brethren scattered everywhere, he was at last seen by a certain man who had come from the parts of Egypt, who could scarcely recognize him because of the humility of his dress and the lowliness of the office he was performing. For, stooping down with a hoe, he was loosening the earth for the vegetables, and then, carrying dung on his shoulders, he was heaping it upon their roots.

And when the brother, gazing upon this, had been held for a very long time in hesitation about recognizing him, at last coming closer and carefully examining not only his face but also the sound of his voice, he fell down at his feet close beside him. At first indeed he struck the utmost astonishment into all who saw it, why forsooth he had done this to one who among them was reckoned the lowest, as a novice and one lately gone forth from the world; but afterward they were smitten with a greater marvel, when he at once disclosed his name, which had been known even among them by great reputation.

All the brethren begged pardon of him for their former ignorance, in that they had assigned him for so long a time among the younger and the little ones; and against his will and weeping — because by the envy of the devil he had been cheated of a manner of life and humility worthy of himself, which, so long sought, he rejoiced to have at last found, and had not been permitted to end his life in that submission which he had seized upon — they brought him back to his own monastery, guarding him with the utmost diligence lest he should likewise slip away from them anywhere and flee. Where, when he had lingered a short time...

Again, kindled with the desire and ardor of humility, seizing the silence of the night, he fled away so that now he might seek not a neighboring province but unknown and foreign regions far apart; for boarding a ship he took care to journey to the parts of Palestine, believing that he would lie hidden more safely if he betook himself to those places in which not even his name had been heard. When he had arrived, he immediately sought out our monastery, which was not far from the cave in which our Lord deigned to be born of the Virgin. Hiding there for a very short time, according to the saying of the Lord, like a city set upon a mountain, he could not long be hidden.

For immediately certain of the brethren, who had come from the parts of Egypt to the holy places for the sake of prayer, recognizing him, by the utmost force of entreaties recalled him to his own monastery. This old man, then — because of the confidence we had had with him in our monastery — when after these things we most diligently sought him out in Egypt, I have a mind to weave into this little work the exhortation which he gave to a brother whom he was receiving into his monastery in our presence, because I think that from it some instruction can be gained. 'You know,' he said, 'for how many days, keeping watch before the doors, you have today been received. Of this difficulty you ought first to recognize the cause.'

'For it will be able to profit you much in this way which you desire to enter, if, having recognized the reason of it, you approach the service of Christ consequently and as you ought. For just as immense glory is promised for the future to those who faithfully serve God and cling to Him according to the rule of this institution, so the gravest punishments are prepared for those who have carried it out tepidly and negligently, and who, according to that which they have professed or which they are believed by men to be, have neglected to exhibit also the fitting fruits of holiness. For it is better, according to the sentence of Scripture, that one should not vow than that he should vow and not pay; and cursed is he who does the works of the Lord negligently.'

'Therefore you were for so long a time refused by us, not because we do not with all our desire wish to embrace your salvation and that of all, and would not choose even to run out from afar to meet those who desire to be converted to Christ, but lest, rashly receiving you, we should make both ourselves guilty before God of levity and you liable to a graver punishment, if, being easily received for the present and not understanding the weight of this profession, you should afterward prove either a deserter or lukewarm. Wherefore you ought first of all to recognize the very cause of renunciation, and, this being perceived, you may be more clearly instructed from its reason as to what it befits you to do.'

'Renunciation is nothing else than the token of the cross and of mortification, and therefore know that on this present day you have died to this world and to its deeds and desires, and that, according to the Apostle, you are crucified to this world and this world to you. Consider therefore the conditions of the cross, under whose sacrament you must henceforth live in this light, because now it is no longer you who live, but He lives in you who was crucified for you. In that same habit and figure in which He hung for us upon the gibbet, we too must needs pass this life, so that, according to David, nailing our flesh through the fear of the Lord, we may hold all our wills and desires, not serving our own concupiscence, but fastened to His mortification.'

'For thus we shall fulfill the command of the Lord who says: He who does not take up his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. But perhaps you may say: how can a man continually bear the cross, or how can one who is living be crucified? Hear the reason briefly. Our cross is the fear of the Lord. Just as one who is crucified no longer has the power to move or turn his limbs anywhere according to the impulse of his mind, so we too must apply our wills and desires, not according to that which is sweet to us and delights us for the present, but according to the law of the Lord, wherever it shall bind us.'

'And just as he who is fastened to the gibbet of the cross no longer contemplates present things nor thinks about his own affections, is not distracted with anxiety and care for the morrow, is moved by no concupiscence of possessing, is inflamed by no pride, no strife, no rivalry, grieves not over present injuries, remembers no longer those now past, and, while he still breathes in the body, believes himself to be dead to all the elements, sending forward the gaze of his heart thither, whither he doubts not that he will presently pass — so we too, crucified by the fear of the Lord, ought to be dead to all these things, that is, not only to carnal vices but even to the very elements, having the eyes of our soul fixed there, whither we ought to hope that we shall migrate at every single moment.'

'For in this way we shall be able to have all our concupiscences and carnal affections mortified. Beware therefore lest at any time you take back any of those things which in renouncing you have cast away, and, contrary to the Lord's prohibition, returning from the field of gospel labor, you be found reclothed in the tunic which you had put off; nor be rolled back to the humble and earthly concupiscences and pursuits of this world, and, coming down from the roof of perfection contrary to Christ's command, presume to take up any of those things which in renouncing you have renounced.'

'Beware lest you remember your parents or your former affection, and, being recalled to the cares and anxieties of this world, according to the Saviour's saying, putting your hand upon the plough and looking back, you be unable to be fit for the kingdom of heaven.'

'Beware lest at any time the pride which now, as a beginner in the ardor of faith and full of humility, you have trampled down, when you have begun to taste some knowledge of the psalms or of this profession, being little by little exalted you meditate to revive; and, according to the Apostle's sentence, rebuilding again the things you have destroyed, you make yourself a transgressor; but rather that in this nakedness which you have professed before God and His angels you may endure even to the end, and in this humility and patience also, with which — that you might be received into the monastery — for ten days you persevered before the doors, imploring with many tears, you may not only persist but even advance and grow.'

'For it is wretched enough that, whereas you ought to be advanced from your rudiments and beginnings and to tend toward perfection, you should instead begin from these very things to fall back to lower things. For not he who has begun these things, but he who has persevered in them unto the end, he shall be saved. For the crafty serpent always watches our heels, that is, lies in wait for our end, and strives to trip us up even to the end of our life. And therefore it will not profit us to have begun well, nor to have seized the outset with the full fervor of renunciation, unless a fitting end likewise commends and concludes it...'

'...and unless the humility and poverty of Christ which you have now professed before Him be kept by you even to the end of your life, in the same manner as it was seized upon. And that you may be able to fulfill this, always watch its heads, that is, the beginnings of thoughts, at once bearing them to the elder. For thus you will learn to crush its pernicious beginnings, if you conceal nothing of them from revealing to your elder. Wherefore, according to the sentence of Scripture: Going out to serve the Lord, stand in the fear of God, and prepare your soul — not for rest, not for security, not for delights, but for temptations and straits. For through many tribulations we must enter into the kingdom of God.'

'For narrow is the gate and strait the way which leads to life, and few there are who find it. Consider therefore that you have been made one of the few and the elect, and do not grow cold after the example and lukewarmness of the multitude, but live as the few, that with the few you may be worthy to be found in the kingdom; for many are called, but few chosen, and it is a little flock to which it has pleased the Father to give the inheritance. And so know that it is no light sin for one who has professed perfection to pursue those things which are imperfect. To which state of perfection one attains by these steps and this order. The beginning of our salvation and the safeguard of it is the fear of the Lord.'

'For through this both the beginning of conversion, and the purgation of vices, and the safeguarding of virtues are acquired by those who are being initiated into the way of perfection. When it has penetrated a man's mind, it begets contempt of all things, produces forgetfulness of parents, and engenders horror of the world itself; and by contempt and the privation of all possessions, humility is acquired. And humility is proved by these tokens:'

'First, if he has all his wills mortified within himself; second, if he conceals from his elder nothing not only of his acts but even of his thoughts; third, if he commits nothing to his own discretion, but entrusts all things to the elder's judgment, and thirsting and gladly listens to his admonitions; fourth, if in all things he keeps the meekness of obedience and the constancy of patience; fifth, if he not only inflicts injury on no one, but does not even grieve or be saddened at an injury inflicted upon himself by another; sixth, if he does nothing, presumes nothing, which either the common rule or the examples of the greater men do not encourage; seventh, if he is content with all lowliness, and judges himself unworthy as a bad workman for all things that are supplied to him; eighth, if he pronounces himself inferior to all not with the surface of the lips, but believes it with the inmost affection of the heart; ninth, if he restrains his tongue, and is not clamorous in voice; tenth, if he is not easy and ready in laughter.'

'For by such tokens and by others like them true humility is discerned. And when it has been possessed in truth, it will forthwith lead you by a loftier step to that charity which has no fear, through which you will begin to keep, without any labor, as though naturally, all those things which before you observed not without the penalty of dread, no longer through the contemplation of punishment or of any fear, but through love of the good itself and delight in the virtues.'

'And that you may be able to attain to this more easily, the examples of imitation and of a perfect life are to be sought, while you dwell in the community, from a few — nay, from one or two, not from many. For besides that a life examined and refined to purity is found in few, this profit also accrues from it, that one is more diligently imbued and formed by the example of one man for the perfection of this purpose, that is, of the coenobitic life. And that you may be able to attain all these things and to endure perpetually under this spiritual rule, these three things must needs be kept by you in the community, namely, that according to the Psalmist's saying: But I, as one deaf, heard not.'

'And like a mute man who does not open his mouth; and I became as a man that hears not, and that has no reproofs in his mouth — you too must walk as one deaf and mute and blind, so that, apart from the contemplation of him who by the merit of his perfection has been chosen for you to imitate, whatever you see having less of edification, you may, as one blind, not see, nor, moved by the authority or example of those who do these things, be led over to that which is worse and which you had before condemned. If you hear one disobedient, one contumacious, one detracting, or admitting something otherwise than has been handed down to you, be not offended, nor be subverted by such an example to imitate him, but as one deaf, who has utterly not heard these things, pass them all by.'

If reproaches are cast at you or at anyone else, if wrongs are inflicted, be unmoved, and listen like a mute man to any thought of repaying in kind, ever singing in your heart this little verse of the Psalmist: 'I said: I will take heed to my ways, that I sin not with my tongue. I set a guard to my mouth, while the sinner stood against me. I was dumb, and was humbled, and kept silence from good things.'

But cultivate this fourth thing above all, for it adorns and commends the three we mentioned above: that is, according to the Apostle's precept, that you make yourself a fool in this world, that you may be wise; discerning nothing, that is, and judging nothing of what has been commanded you, but always rendering obedience with all simplicity and faith, judging that alone to be holy, that alone useful, that alone wise, whatever the law of God or the examination of your elder shall have enjoined upon you. For grounded upon such a discipline you will be able to endure forever under this rule, and by no temptations of the enemy, by no factions, will you be rolled out of the monastery.

Therefore you ought not to hope for your patience from the virtue of others—that is, to possess it only when you are provoked by no one (which, that it may not happen, does not lie within your power)—but rather from your own humility and long-suffering, which depend upon your own will. And that all these things, which have been set forth in a fuller discourse, may more easily be impressed upon your heart and may be able to cling most tenaciously to your understanding, I will gather from them a certain summary, by which through the brevity and compendium of the precepts you may be able to embrace the whole in memory. Hear, then, in few words the order by which you may prevail to climb to the highest perfection without any toil or difficulty.

The beginning of our salvation and of our wisdom is, according to the Scriptures, the fear of the Lord. From the fear of the Lord is born a salutary compunction. From compunction of heart proceeds renunciation, that is, the nakedness and contempt of all possessions. From nakedness humility is begotten. From humility is generated the mortification of the will. By the mortification of the will all vices are uprooted and wither away. By the expulsion of vices the virtues sprout and grow up. By the burgeoning of virtues purity of heart is acquired. By purity of heart the perfection of apostolic charity is possessed. ON THE SPIRIT OF GLUTTONY. CHAPTERS. I. The transition from the institutes of the monks to the struggle against the eight principal vices. II.