John Cassian and The Reading of Egyptian Monastic Culture

JOHN CASSIAN AND THE READING
OF EGYPTIAN MONASTIC CULTURE
MEDIEVAL HISTORY AND CULTURE

VOLUME 8
This page intentionally left blank
STUDIES IN
MEDIEVAL HISTORY AND CULTURE
edited by
Francis G. Gentry
Professor of German
Pennsylvania State University
A ROUTLEDGE SERIES
OTHER BOOKS IN THIS S ERIES
1. "AND THEN THE END

WILL COME"
Early Latin Christian Interpretations
of the Opening of the Seven Seals
Douglas W. Lumsden
2. TOPOGRAPHIES OF GENDER IN
MIDDLE HIGH GERMAN
ARTHURIAN ROMANCE
Alexandra Sterling-Hellenbrand
3. CHRISTIAN, SARACEN AND GENRE

IN MEDIEVAL FRENCH LITERATURE
Imagination and Cultural Interaction
in the French Middle Ages
Lynn Tarte Ramey
4. WORD OUTWARD
Medieval Perspectives on the Entry
into Language
Corey Marvin
5. JUSTICE & THE SOCIAL CONTEXT

OF EARLY MIDDLE HIGH GERMAN
LITERATURE
Robert G. Sullivan
6. MARRIAGE FICTIONS IN OLD FRENCH

S ECULAR NARRATIVES, 1 170-1250
A Critical Re evaluation of the
Courtly Love Debates
Keith Nickolaus
7. WHERE TROUBADOURS
WERE BISHOPS
The Occitania ofFolc
ofMarseille (c. 1150-1231)
Nichole M. Schulman
JOHN CASSIAN AND THE
READING OF EGYPTIAN
MONASTIC CULTURE
Steven D. Driver
RO U T L E D G E
NEW YORK & LONDON
Published in 2002 by
Routledge
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Routledge is a member of the Taylor & Francis Group.
Copyright © 2002 by Steven D. Driver.
The author is grateful to Peeters Publishers for permission to reprint portions of

"The Development of Jerome's Views on the Ascetic Life," Recherches de theologie
ancienne et medievale, 1995; and to The American Benedictine Review, Inc. for
permission to reprint portions of "From Palestinian Ignorance to Egyptian Wisdom:
Jerome and Cassian on the Monastic Life," American Benedictine Review, 1997.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized
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invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or
retrieval system, without written permission from the publishers.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Driver, Steven D., 1964-

John Cassian and the reading of Egyptian monastic culture / by Steven D. Driver.
p. cm. - (Medieval history and culture)
Includes biographical references and index.
ISBN 0-415-93668-3 ISBN 978 1 136 70797 1 (ebk)
1. Desert Fathers. 2. Cassian, John, ca. 360-ca. 435. I. Title. II. Studies in
medieval history and culture.
BR190 .D75 2002

271' .02062-dc21
2001048565
Series Editor Foreword
Far from providing just a musty whiff of yesteryear, research in Medieval

Studies enters the new century as fresh and vigorous as never before. Scholars
representing all disciplines and generations are consistently producing works
of research of the highest caliber, utilizing new approaches and methodologies.
Volumes in the Medieval History and Culture series will include studies on
individual works and authors of Latin and vernacular literatures, historical
personalities and events, theological and philosophical issues, and new critical
approaches to medieval literature and culture.
Momentous changes have occurred in Medieval Studies in the past thirty
years in teaching as well as in scholarship. Thus the goal of the Medieval
History and Culture series is to enhance research in the field by providing
an outlet for monographs by scholars in the early stages of their careers on all
topics related to the broad scope of Medieval Studies, while at the same
time pointing to and highlighting new directions that will shape and define
scholarly discourse in the future.
Francis G. Gentry
Vll
To my parents, whose love and support made this book possible
Contents
Preface Xlll
Introduction 1
1. John Cassian 11
What Can Be Known 12
Intriguing Possibilities 14
2. Stories and Histories of Early Egyptian Monasticism 21

The Story of Christian Monasticism 21
A Revision of the Story 24
Reading Evagrius Ponticus 35
3. Western Perceptions of Egyptian Monasticism 45

The Lives of Antony and Paul 45
Jerome's Early Monastic Vision 48
Jerome's Influence 51
Apatheia and Inpeccantia 53
4. Literary Structure and Monastic Praxis 65

Appropriating the Self in the Text 65
Reading the Institutes 72
Reading as Monastic Praxis 83
Xl
xu Contents
5. Implications for Praxis: A Reconsideration of the Solitary Life 91

Framing the Question 91
Anachoresis in the Institutes 93
Piamun and John on the Solitary Life 98
Anachoresis as Interiority 101
6. Implications for Theoria: Reading, Interiority and the

Transfiguration of the Self 107
Withdrawal and Interiority 107
Reading and Mystical Knowledge 109
Reading and the Interiorization of the Text 113
Reading and the Transfiguration of the Self 115
Reading and Egyptian Monastic Culture 117
Bibliography 121
Index 145
Preface
This book began as a dissertation under the supervision of J. N. Hillgarth and

Robert Sinkewicz. I cannot sufficiently thank either gentleman for their warm
and enthusiastic support of my entire graduate program. Nor can I calculate
the many ways that gallons of coffee and hours of conversation in the com
mon room of the Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies shaped the course of
my research and of this particular project. Among those who consumed that
coffee and spent those hours in conversation with me were Lisa Maugans
Driver, James Ginther, Kimberly Rivers, David Wiljer and Jeremy Worthen.
I would also like to thank Columba Stewart, who read my dissertation while
he was completing his own study of Cassian's theology and offered helpful
suggestions.
Since defending my dissertation in 1995, I have received research support
from the American Academy of Religion, Loyola College in Maryland, and
the Ecumenical Institute of Theology. Valparaiso University graciously
allowed me to delay the start of my present position so that I might complete
final revisions. The support I have received has enabled me to present papers
at the International Congress on Medieval Studies at Western Michigan
University, the International Conference on Patristic, Medieval, and
Renaissance Studies at Villanova University, and the Mid-Atlantic Regional
Meeting of the American Academy of Religion. I am grateful for the sugges
tions and criticisms that I received at those conferences and, where possible, I
have attempted to address the concerns that were raised. I would also like to
thank the editors at Recherches de theologie ancienne et medievale, the American
Benedictine Review and the Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies Press for
their suggestions when completing related articles and for allowing me to
reprint revised portions of those articles in this book.
Finally, I would like to thank my wife Lisa, whose love and encouragement
have enabled me to complete what at times seemed an impossible task.
Xlll
XlV Pre/ace
A note about translations: The translations of Cassian are my own. At

times, I have been guided in these translations by the English translations of
Boniface Ramsey and Edgar Gibson, and by the French translations of Eugene
Pichery and Jean-Claude Guy.
JOHN CASSIAN AND THE
READING OF EGYPTIAN
MONASTIC CULTURE
Introduction
In the second decade of the fifth century, Castor, the bishop of Apt, estab
lished a monastery in his episcopal see. Having already undertaken a monastic
vocation on his own, Castor sought a way of life that could serve as a model
for himself and for his community.! There were already several monastic com
munities in the surrounding region which could have provided such a model.
There were also at Lerins and elsewhere rudimentary rules which Castor could
easily have adapted to govern his own fledgling community.2 Nevertheless,
Castor rejected the examples of his countrymen and instead looked to the East.
It would seem that Castor had accepted the widely held belief that only in the
East, and particularly in Egypt, was monasticism practised in its truest form.
He therefore commissioned John Cassian, a recent emigre from the East and
an erstwhile resident of the Egyptian monastic communities of Nitria, Kellia
and Scetis, to describe the fundamental principles of monastic life.3 Cassian
responded to this commission with a series of books on the institutes of the
Egyptians and an elementary discussion of the discernment of thoughts.
Before he had even seen the Institutes, Castor commissioned Cassian again, this
time to relate the spiritual teachings of the desert fathers.4 At the behest of
Castor and others after him, Cassian would eventually complete twenty-four
dialogues or Conferences, each of which purported to relate his conversations
with the elders of the Egyptian desert.
To have earned these commissions, Cassian must have commanded signifi
cant respect. He had already been allowed by Proculus, the bishop of
Marseilles, to establish monasteries for both men and women in the city's envi
rons.5 The interest of Castor and later patrons shows that Cassian's reputation
had spread well beyond this port. Cassian's authority to teach, however, did
not come from his own reputation as much as it did from his lengthy sojourn
among the desert fathers. Castor and the others wanted to hear the Egyptian
abbas, not Cassian himself. Cassian ostensibly accepted these limitations
and described his function as an author as being nothing more than that of an
1
2 Introduction
organizer and reporter. He promised that he would describe only what he had
seen and experienced while travelling among the Egyptians more than two
decades earlier and that he would introduce no innovations of his own. As
though to guarantee this promise, Cassian cast much of his teaching in the
form of autobiographical dialogues in which he recorded the very words
the abbas had spoken to him.
For the most part, Cassian was taken at his word. While his contemporaries
noted that some of his conferences had more to do with western theological
debates than with life in the Egyptian desert, Cassian was nevertheless respect
ed as a witness to a long line of saints who had surrendered all for the sake of
union with God.6 Fifteen centuries later, the first modern scholars to examine
Cassian also took him at his word.7 While Salvatore Marsili and M. Olphe
Galliard noted that Cassian's monastic theology differed in some respects from
that of his masters, his "historical account" went largely unchallenged.8
This credulity was partly due to ignorance of ancient Egyptian monastic life,
for much of the literary and archaeological evidence upon which we rely
today was not available to earlier scholars. However, Cassian's historical
account was also accepted because of modern expectations about the nature of
autobiography. Cuthbert Butler, for example, found "it impossible to doubt
the substantial truth of Cassian's picture of monastic life, based, as it appears
to be, upon the writer's personal observation."9 Consequently, scholars traced
Cassian's itinerary, identified the saints he mentioned, and used his description
of the lives and doctrines of the monks to fill out otherwise sketchy informa
tion about the origins of Egyptian monasticism. If Cassian should be shown to
err or to contradict other witnesses, it would typically be dismissed as an
inevitable lapse in memory.
More recently, a greater knowledge of Egyptian monasticism and a closer
analysis of Cassian's claims have led scholars to question Cassian's role as an
historian. Owen Chadwick, for example, demonstrated that Cassian's account
of the origin of Matins is inconsistent and cannot possibly be accurate.10
Adalbert de Vogue noted that Cassian's two different versions of the origins
of monasticism are more concerned with his monastic theology than with his
torical fact.l1 In a sweeping survey of Cassian's historical claims, Jean-Claude
Guy effectively sounded the death knell for Cassian as an historian by arguing
that his itinerary is unlikely at best, his topographical errors cannot be put
down to mere lapses in memory, and his account of the anthropomorphite
controversy is one-sided and incomplete.12 Most importantly, Guy concluded
that Cassian likely did not meet some of the abbas whose acquaintence he
claimed. While the fictive aspect of Cassian's dialogues had long been
acknowledged, Guy argued that some of the conferences likely had not
occurred at all. While Guy did not deny the fundamental role that Cassian's
Egyptian experiences had played in his formation, he asserted that Cassian's
choice of an autobiographical form was little more than an attempt to invoke
the authority of a venerated lineage of desert fathers.13
Introduction 3
Cassian's devaluation as a monastic historian has encouraged the examina

tion of his writings in a new light. Guy himself described Cassian as a thinker
of "remarkable originality and depth."14 H. o. Weber and de Vogue looked
beyond the confines of the Delta region to examine the wide variety of
monastic writers who had helped to shape his theology.15 Peter Munz largely
avoided the question of Cassian's monastic roots and instead interpreted his
understanding of friendship and community according to the thought of
Origen and Cicero.16 Others shifted the focus of study away from the envi
ronment that formed Cassian to the one in which he wrote. Philip Rousseau,
for example, suggested ways in which the contemporary situation in Gaul
influenced Cassian's thought.17 Paul Christophe and more recently Robert
Markus examined Cassian within the context of the growing christianization
of Gaul and the universal development of an ascetic, bicameral world-view.18
Elizabeth Clark has suggested that Cassian's thought should be examined
under the rubric of "Origenism," although she cautions that "Origenist" must
be understood to signify a set of theological presuppositions molded much
more by fourth-century debate than by Origen's own writings.19
While great strides have been made toward understanding Cassian as a
monastic theologian, the increased interest in particular aspects of his thought
has created difficulties of its own. Since it is now accepted that Cassian was not
an historian, much less an "autobiographer," any serious consideration of the
autobiographical structure of his works has been largely abandoned.
Moreover, the Institutes have increasingly come to be ignored, for they are
often regarded as little more than an amalgamation of disparate literary sources
and an expansion of Evagrius Ponticus' teaching on the vices.20 Scholarly
interest has instead focused on the synthesis of monastic theology that Cassian
developed in his Conferences. His monastic works have been culled to deter
mine where and how he addressed issues relevant to patristic theology, monas
tic spirituality or late ancient ascesis. Moreover, since Cassian's monastic
works are no longer regarded as "historical," their evident lack of any system
atic arrangement is no longer as easily forgiven. Instead, they are now often
characterized as circular, repetitive, and disorganized. In what he considered to
be an act of charity, Owen Chadwick suggested that Cassian's writings have
suffered from a disorganized exemplar rather than from a disorganized mind.21
By examining particular topics or themes of Cassian's monastic corpus,
scholars have risked introducing "systems" of their own, creating from its
seemingly disjointed parts a theological structure that Cassian himself would
not have recognized. Alarmed by this trend, de Vogue charged that the analy
sis of Cassian's monastic teaching has suffered from the failure of scholars to
consider adequately its form and arrangement. To demonstrate that there is in
fact a discernible structure or organization to Cassian's writings, de Vogue
sketched a brief outline of the Conferences that suggests an alternation between
the discussion of monastic theology and its practical application in the life of
the reader.22 While he did not entirely discount the validity of a thematic
4 Introduction
approach, de Vogiie contended that the analysis of any facet of Cassian's

thought must take into account not only its immediate context, but also its
place within the overall arrangement of the Conferences. Columba Stewart
demonstrated that similar attention must be given to the internal arrangement
of individual Conferences.23 Substituting the term "spiralling" for the derogato
ry "repetitive," Stewart argued that while Cassian frequently returns to issues
he has already discussed, his treatment becomes progressively more sophisti
cated and sublime. Lauren Pristas has made a similar argument regarding
Cassian's understanding of grace and free will.
While going far toward showing that the content of Cassian's writings
cannot be separated from its form, these studies have tended to leave aside the
related question of how the text was to be read. Since Cassian structured his
text to encourage particular cognitive acts within his reader, the interpretation
of the Institutes and Conferences depends at least partly on the manner in which
they were to be read. Cassian intended his monastic corpus to be read by a
narrowly defined audience within a limited set of circumstances. It would
therefore be helpful to describe briefly the identity of his intended reader and
the historical context of his literary efforts.
Modern scholars were not the first to notice the difficulty of representing
Cassian's monastic teaching as a "system." Cassian himself alluded to this
problem at the outset of his work.24 In the preface to his Institutes, Cassian
complained that Castor had not fully understood the magnitude of his
commission. Though a literary commonplace of the day, this statement
contained an essential truth, for Cassian had been commissioned to collect in
a single work, or to "systematize," what were in fact widely differing and often
contradictory monastic customs. Cassian addressed this problem by refusing
to represent "eastern monasticism" as a unified or synthetic experience.
Palestinian monasticism, he claimed, was inferior to that of Egypt, and
there were different customs and teachings even among the Egyptians.25
Instead, Cassian emphasized the practices of a small group of settlements in a
limited geographical area: those of Nitria, Kellia and Scetis. He took his under
standing of the monastic life and of the larger world principally from the
"Origenist" monks who resided there and relied particularly on the writings
of Evagrius Ponticus, whose collected works remain our best source for the
thought and practices of these monks.
The establishment of strict geographical and theological boundaries, how
ever, was still not sufficient to allow Cassian to relate the institutes of the
Egyptians. Instruction and learning in these monastic settlements were largely
experiential. Doctrine was integrally related to praxis and both depended upon
the interaction between the master and the student. Typically, the master
would offer logoi, or words that would lead to salvation, after he had discerned
the particular needs of the one seeking advice. These logoi received elaboration
or explanation in a number of ways: from the master himself, either verbally
or by example; from the personal enlightenment of a particularly introspective
Introduction 5
monk; from discussions among the brethren; etc. Each of these ways had in
common the fact that they were situated within a coherent and systematic way
of life. Spheres of interaction between the master and student, and among
the brethren themselves, were clearly demarcated. It was necessary for each
member to act within established parameters if the community as a whole
were to function effectively.
Cassian's difficulty lay in how to "systematize", or convey in a written text,
an experience heavily based upon supervision, discernment, and discourse
among one's fellows. A guide for conduct or a list of monastic practices would
not have conveyed the depth and richness of the monastic experience. Nor
would it have addressed the practical problems of guidance and supervision.
The young monk seeking a logos from a book could not benefit from the dis
cernment of an abba. There would be no certainty that the logoi would address
either the reader's plight or his capacity for understanding. On the other hand,
a theoretical discourse on the goals of the spiritual life would have risked offer
ing sacred mysteries to those who should not possess them. If a monk were
more ambitious than spiritually trained, he might stumble upon texts for
which he was unprepared. Like Evagrius and the fathers of the Apophthegmata,
Cassian believed that incautious authors shared in the guilt of their readers.26
These difficulties were compounded by the fact that Cassian's Gallic audi
ence had at best a very limited access to the literary and cultural milieu of the
Origenist monks. They did not share with their Egyptian counterparts a com
mon monastic experience; nor did they possess the exegetical keys to unlock
Egyptian monastic teaching. The view of Egyptian monasticism which pre
vailed in Gaul was in some ways worse than ignorance. Instead of a tabula rasa,
Cassian was confronted with a series of misconceptions and unrealistic expec
tations. One must include among these a peculiar fascination with miracles
and thaumaturgy; a skewed perception of anachoresis as complete isolation; a
partial knowledge of mysteries that exceeded any degree of praxis; and little
understanding of the relationship between master and student that was the
crux of Egyptian monastic life. It is also likely that Cassian's readers were ill
disposed to the name of Origen. His entire corpus had been summarily con
demned by Anastasius I in 400 and Jerome, who had embedded much of his
polemic against Origen in his biblical commentaries and monastic writings,
enjoyed wide circulation among Gallic monks. Thus, while Cassian's audience
would not often possess a complete grasp of Origen's theology, they were
nonetheless hostile to things "Origenist".
Cassian's task was consequently threefold. First, he was asked to convey in
a written text the totality of the Egyptian monastic experience. Second, he was
compelled to anticipate the expectations and preconceptions of his readers in
order to lead them to a new understanding of their vocation. Finally, he faced
the challenge of conveying his tradition in a way that preserved its fundamen
tal principles while avoiding the hostility toward Origen that still simmered in
the West.
6 Introduction
From a critical standpoint, these three problems are closely related. This
study will argue that Cassian addressed the absence of a common monastic
experience by attempting to recreate it as an experience of reading. In other
words, Cassian encouraged a form of interaction between reader and text that
in some ways corresponded to the interaction between disciple and abba. To
understand this interaction, we must first examine the ways in which the struc
ture of Cassian's text encouraged structured acts within the reader. This
requires an analysis of how the text both anticipates and transforms the images
the reader can be supposed to have brought to it. It is this transformation that
would lead the reader to a deeper understanding of himself and his vocation,
and his deeper understanding in turn would facilitate the development of new
modes of conduct. Consequently, Cassian's first two tasks are closely linked,
for the successful creation of a particular kind of reading experience depended
upon his ability to anticipate and respond to his reader's expectations. The
third aspect of Cassian's task comes into play when we consider the implica
tions of this reading experience for the reader. As the reader's understanding
of himself and his vocation is transformed through the act of reading, it will
combine with newly formed or altered habits to create a disposition different
from that which had existed before. This transformation is described accord
ing to the understanding of the human condition and of monastic life that
Cassian had gained while among the monks of Egypt. Consequently, as the
reader is transformed through interaction with the text, he is transformed
according to the terms of Origenist monastic thought.
The problems that Cassian faced and the way in which he attempted to
address them bring us once again to the "autobiographical" structure of
Cassian's text. Cassian's description of his travels in Egypt is vivid. He does
not merely observe the Egyptians; he interacts with them. He accepts their
warm hospitality and, in exchange, adopts their way of life. As a fellow monk
he shares in their synaxeis and participates in their sacred rites. He records the
words of the monks not as a mere stenographer but as a participant in their
conversations. Cassian himself seeks words of advice from the abbas and their
responses address his innermost needs and fears. Through his discourse with
the desert fathers and the application of their words, Cassian eventually sheds
his youthful ignorance and acquires the maturity necessary for pure prayer.
The true subject of Cassian's account is his inner self. His autobiography is
a journey of the soul. It is his interior life that is important, for his interior self
forms the essence of his humanity. Any account of events that pertained more
to his external condition was of secondary importance. While Cassian likely
misrepresented or even entirely fabricated some of his "historical" encounters
with the abbas, he nevertheless faithfully represented his interior growth
and transformation. Guy's argument that Cassian's account is not autobio
graphical is therefore not entirely valid. The fact that Cassian's physical
sojourn could not have occurred exactly as he described it does not mean that
he misrepresented the salient features of the journey of his soul.
Introduction 7
If Cassian's interior self is the subject of his account, we must inquire

further into the role of this self in the text. More precisely, we must examine
whether and how the self of the text interacts with the self of the reader.
Cassian did not merely describe his own spiritual transformation; he also
encouraged that of his reader. This was accomplished by encouraging the read
er to identify with the self in the text. As the reader progressed through the
text, he gradually appropriated the voice of Cassian and, as a consequence,
became, in a way, the self in the text. It was therefore the reader as well as
Cassian who journeyed through Egypt and who grew into spiritual maturity.
It was the reader who adopted the discipline of the Egyptian monastic com
munities and acquired the purity of heart necessary for true contemplation.
The inclusion of false historical data particular to Cassian's own life does
not hinder this progress. While many of the historical events Cassian describes
did occur and can be confirmed from other sources, these events are not sig
nificant in themselves. They in no way create an obstacle to the appropriation
of Cassian's voice. One might take note of a related, though more celebrated,
concern in Augustine's Confessions. Pierre Courcelle has argued that the details
of Augustine's conversion in a Milanese garden are to a large extent a literary
fiction.27 It is unlikely that children or anyone else would have been chanting
the improbable expression of tolle, lege .28 It is far more likely that Augustine
was representing in physical terms the inner voices of his soul or an angelic call
to abandon his current situation and to live wholly for God. Similarly,
Augustine's account of his stealing fruit from a tree as a youth receives far
more attention than simple petty theft would seem to merit.29 What is impor
tant is the interior reality of sin, not the specific nature of the sinful act. While
there is little reason to doubt that both the conversion and the theft occurred
in some fashion or another, the details of the stories do not prevent the read
er from appropriating Augustine's voice as one's own. They are images that
can be appropriated because of the unity of all human experience. All have
sinned. All who seek God have in some way been called to him. This call has
led them to regret their sin and to fear its consequences. Consequently, the
reader need not have heard voices in a garden or stolen his neighbor's fruit to
share with Augustine the more profound experiences of sin and conversion.
Like the Confessions, the Institutes and the Conferences appealed to the
shared experiences, images and ideals of their readers. To accomplish this, they
needed to establish some connection, some sort of link between the reader and
the text, and contemporary critical theory can go far toward explaining the
interaction between the reader and Cassian's text. However, Cassian already
had at his disposal an analysis of the spiritual and psychological difficulties of
the monastic life based on long experience in a self-conscious, closely knit com
munity. He also had at hand a sophisticated understanding of reading and of
the self which was derived to a large extent from Origen's method of biblical
exegesIS.
8 Introduction
Origen's exegesis of the Psalms is to a large extent a matter of voice appro

priation. The goal of Origen's interpretation is "to locate the hearer or reader
[of the Psalms] within the situation of [the Psalmist] and to place the words of
the text in the mouth of the listener so that he can appropriate them as his
own."30 The reader is to ascertain the situation of the Psalmist and to dwell
upon how the Psalmist's situation reflects his own. After the reader has
grasped the way in which he and the Psalmist share particular needs, joys,
sorrows, fears, etc., he (the reader) can speak the words of the Psalmist as his
own. The differences in historical situation are not barriers to this. The
Psalmist and reader are linked by a shared humanity and a shared need for
union with God that transcend particular historical circumstances.
This method of reading was not limited to Origen. Termed prosopopoeia, it
was employed by other exegetes of the Psalms.3! It was also recommended to
monks as a form of praxis in Athanasius' Epistula ad Marcellinurn and Cassian
described it as a sublime method of prayer that could be achieved when the
key to pure prayer had been found.32 More important, prosopopoeia was a
method of reading that was not limited to the Psalms. A classical rhetorical
trope, it could be applied in varying degrees to other books of the Bible and
also to didactic exernpla.
Cassian adapted Origen's exegetical method as a model for reading his own
monastic works. Just as Origen encouraged the interiorization of the
Psalmist's voice, so Cassian encouraged the interiorization of his own. A cru
cial part of Cassian's method of instruction was therefore the act of reading
itself. Consequently, the process of instruction is as important as its content.
In other words, the content cannot be separated from its form.
NOTES
1. Cassian, De institutis coenobiorum, praef 2-3; hereafter Inst.

2. E.g., de Vogiie, "Regula," 39-45.
3. Cassian's commission was to relate the "instituta monasteriorum, quae per
Aegyptum ac Palaestinam custodiri conspeximus." Inst., praef 3. He would later use
regula in place of instituta. Inst., praef 8.
4. Cassian, Conlationes 1-10, praef 1; hereafter Con.
5. Smith and Wace, Dictionary, 4:489-490, suggest that Proculus may have held his see
beyond 426. He could not have been archbishop after 428, Gams, Series, 573, and
Duchesne, Fastes, 1:274. All agree that he held his post from at least 381. For
Cassian's monastic foundations, Gennadius, De viris inlustribus 65.
6. Among those who doubted Cassian's veracity was Prosper of Aquitaine, who in his
De gratia Dei accused Cassian of placing the western heresy of Pelagianism in the
mouth of the Egyptian Chaeremon. Even Prosper, however, showed deference to
Cassian's reputation as a monk.
Introduction 9
7. The following brief survey is intended merely to indicate the general direction that
studies of Cassian have taken. For a more complete survey of the scholarship
through 1960, see Weber, Stellung, 1-18, and to the present, Stewart, Cassian, 3-26.
8. Marsili, Giovanni Cassiano; Olphe-Galliard, "Purete de coeur," 28-60 and "Vie
contemplative," 252-288.
9. Butler, Lausiac History, 1:205.
10. O. Chadwick, John Cassian, 2nd ed., 71-77.
1 1 . De Vogue, "Monachisme et eglise," 213-240.
12. Guy, "Jean Cassien," 363-372.
13. Guy, "Jean Cassien," 372.
14. "En fait, Cassien n'a rien d'un historien: il est un theoricien de la vie spirituelle, et
un theoricien d'une originalite et d'une profondeur remarquable." Guy, "Jean
Cassien," 372.
15. Weber, Stellung; de Vogue, "Sources," 241-312.
16. Munz, "John Cassian," 1-22.
17. Rousseau, Ascetics, 169-234.
18. Christophe, Cassien, 7-40. Markus, End, 157-197.
19. Clark, Origenist, 249-259.
20. De Vogue, "Interpolation," 217-22 1, and "Morceau," 7-12, is an exception to this,
although even de Vogue's interest is principally one of source criticsm.
21. O. Chadwick, John Cassian, 2nd ed., 43.
22. De Vogue, "Comprehendre," 250-272.
23. Stewart, "Unceasing," 159-177.
24. Inst., praef 3.
25. E.g., Inst. 4.1, 17; Can. 17.2.2; 17.5.2.
26. Inst. 7.13; Can. 1 . 1 ; 21 .32. 1 .
27. Courcelle, Recherches, 188-202.
28. Augustine, Confessiones 8.12.
29. Augustine, Confessiones 2.4.
30. Torjeson, Hermeneutical, 50.
3 1 . Rondeau, Commentaires, passim.
32. Can. 10.10-11; Athanasius, Ep. ad Marc. 15-23.
CHAPTER 1
John Cassian
Whether tracing the course of Cassian's life or interpreting his theology, one
cannot help but be drawn into the various controversies that swirled around
Origen and the so-called Origenists. It might therefore seem odd that Cassian
rarely alluded, even indirectly, either to Origen's theology or to the Origenist
controversies. Cassian recorded that he was present in the Egyptian monastic
community of Nitria when Theophilus, the patriarch of Alexandria, used his
annual paschal letter to condemn imagining God in human form during
prayer. However, Cassian's narrative ends before Theophilus' dramatic rever
sal and subsequent persecution of the Origenist monks residing there. Nor did
Cassian mention his embassy to Rome on behalf of John Chrysostom, the
patriarch of Constantinople, even though the same Theophilus played a
significant role in John's deposition and John had lost favor in Constantinople
in part because of his support of the exiled Origenist monks who had fled to
him. While Cassian is largely silent about the years between his leaving
Constantinople and arriving in Marseilles, it is quite possible that he was in
Palestine when another controversy over Origen arose, this time under the
guise of Pelagianism and its supporters. Even when Cassian defended his vision
of Egyptian monastic life and theology against the attacks of Jerome, a
late-comer to the anti-Origenist camp who compensated for lost time with
the ferocity of his attacks, he did so obliquely rather than through direct
confrontation.
The controversies that Cassian so carefully avoided mentioning do more
than provide beacons for charting the course of his career; they also offer
insight into the presentation and content of his monastic theology. Even
though they had been tainted with the stain of Origenism, Cassian numbered
some of the Origenist monks among the great heroes of monastic life. He was
also heavily influenced by the theology of Evagrius Ponticus, the most prolif
ic author if not the intellectual leader of the Origenists. At times, one can also
detect the influence of Origen on Cassian's theology in a way that has not been
11
12 John Cassian and Egyptian Monastic Culture
filtered through Evagrius. Nevertheless, Cassian mentions neither Origen nor

Evagrius by name and was careful to avoid key terms associated with their
thought.
It was not an aversion to conflict that led to Cassian's relative silence about
his monastic and theological forebears, for he participated in other theological
debates of his day. Instead, Cassian's caution was dictated by the intended
audience of his monastic writings. If his potential readers were to abandon
reading his corpus at the first sign of Origenist heresy, then Cassian would not
have been able to convey the wealth of his monastic experience and thought.
It will be argued later that this concern played a significant role in both the
form and the content of Cassian's monastic theology. For now, however, it
would be best to see what might be gleaned from Cassian's writings about his
life, or at least those aspects of his life that are pertinent to interpreting
his monastic theology.
WHAT CAN BE KNOWN
The information that Cassian provides about himself is limited by his concern
to record an interior rather than an exterior journey. Rather than slavishly
record the actual events of his sojourn through Egypt, Cassian describes his
spiritual journey from an immature novice filled with misconceptions about
the monastic vocation to one sufficiently mature to grasp the nature of pure
and ceaseless prayer. He tends to record those facts and events that relate the
customs and doctrines of the Egyptian monks and are of spiritual and didactic
import, rather than those that would be of most use to a modern biographer.
Nevertheless, Cassian does reveal a few things about himself. He was born
of wealthy Christian parents whose piety was such that they would have sup
ported him in his monastic endeavors if he had ever returned home.l Longing
for his home in his last Conference, Cassian describes its surrounding terrain.2
At some point early in his life, he befriended Germanus. Despite Germanus'
greater age, the two were of one mind in their monastic zeal. 3 At an uncertain
date, they travelled together to Palestine where they entered a monastic
community near the cave of the nativity. The two companions soon became
dissatisfied with the monks of the region and Cassian frequently expresses his
frustration with monastic life in Palestine, criticizing the Palestinians for their
legalism and lack of zeal and comparing their customs unfavorably to those of
the Egyptians.4 As will be shown in chapter 3, Cassian's complaints about
Palestinian and Syrian monasticism are typically general and do not always
refer to his own community near Bethlehem. However, he does write that he
and Germanus feared their spiritual life would be jeopardized if, upon return
ing from Egypt to Bethlehem, they had been compelled to remain there.5
While a young monk in Bethlehem, Cassian and Germanus did encounter
one exemplar of monastic perfection, the abba Pinufius. Tellingly, Pinufius
hailed not from Palestine but from Egypt. As part of a continuing effort to
John Cassian 13
seek a more humble station, Pinufius had fled from his responsibilities as abba
of the monks at Panephysis.6 Some of his brethren ultimately discovered
Pinufius while they were on pilgrimage to Bethlehem and they convinced him
to return to Egypt, but the example of Pinufius' humility and the perfection
of his virtue were not lost on Cassian and Germanus.
The companions' own circumstances in Palestine could not compete with
the example of Pinufius and the growing reputation of Egyptian monastic life.
Adopting the widely held belief that the solitary life was superior to the
communal, they left their community in Bethlehem in order to dwell among
the Egyptian anchorites who had come to exemplify the utter abandonment
of one's self for God.7 According to the itinerary set out in Cassian's monastic
writings, the two travelled a great deal in lower Egypt and the Delta and
eventually settled at Nitria.8 They sought guidance from a number of monks,
including their friend Pinufius, and the advice that was given to them
comprises the bulk of the Conferences.9
Before leaving Bethlehem Cassian and Germanus had been compelled by
their superiors to vow that they would soon return.10 This came to weigh
heavily upon them and after seven years in Egypt they felt it necessary to
fulfill their vow. 11 This return was merely perfunctory. Upon arriving back at
Bethlehem, the companions announced to their superiors that they intended
to reside permanently at Nitria. Although they quickly returned to Egypt, this
intention would also go unfulfilled. Sometime after their return, Theophilus'
paschal letter of 399 inaugurated strife and even violence among the monks
of Nitria and Kellia.12 Cassian is next seen in Constantinople being ordained
deacon against his will by John Chrysostom.13
Cassian later composed his Institutes and Conferences at the request of
several monastic and episcopal figures in southern Gaul. He dedicated his first
work, the Institutes, to Castor, for whom the only date is a mention in a papal
letter from 419.14 Chadwick has plausibly argued that Cassian's second set of
Conferences, numbered 11-17, were published in 427 and that the third set,
Conferences 18-24, were published a year later.1s Cassian's last work, written
against Nestorius, would have been superfluous after the Council of Ephesus
in 431. It is therefore possible on the basis of internal evidence to place
Cassian's literary activity roughly in the third decade of the fifth century.
Other writers have also provided information about Cassian's career.
Gennadius, is the most authoritative source. even though he wrote in the
latter part of the fifth century. He relates that Cassian was born in Roman
Scythia minor, or modern Dobrudj a, and was ordained deacon by John
Chrysostom. As a priest at Marseille, Cassian founded two monasteries, one
each for men and for women. Gennadius also provides a detailed description
of Cassian's monastic and theological works which confirms the order of
composition set out in their prefaces. Finally, Gennadius writes that Cassian
died a monk in Marseille.16 Palladius wrote half a century earlier than
Gennadius but from a greater distance. He relates that Cassian was a disciple
of John Chrysostom and had served as an emissary to Rome on his behalf.

Though only a deacon, Cassian played a significant role in the mission by
bearing a letter from Chrysostom to Innocent. !7 The Roman bishop's reply
confirms Cassian's role, and the Greek version of this reply was recorded
by Sozomen.!8 In two later letters, Innocent mentions a certain compresbyter
Cassianus who served as an emissary from Alexander, the patriarch of
Antioch, although it is not certain that this was John Cassian.!9 In short, the
number and rank of the people whom Cassian mentioned in his writings and
who refer to Cassian in their own show that, by the end of his life, Cassian
had become a significant monastic and ecclesiastical figure.2o
INTRIGUING POSSIBILITIES
Though sparse, most of the evidence concerning Cassian's career is straight

forward and requires little elaboration. However, while the sequence of the
known events can be mapped fairly easily, the precise chronology of these
events is far from certain and has been the object of much speculation.
Cassian's activities between his mission to Rome in 404 and his arrival at
Marseille, not later than 426, are also a matter for conjecture.21 While these two
questions are of no small importance for Cassian's development as a monk and
theologian, yet another question remains that has received an inordinate
amount of attention: the place of Cassian's birth.22
Gennadius records that Cassian was natione Scytha.2l That Cassian was born
in Scythia Minor accords very well with what is known of him. Being
raised in an eastern Latin province would go far toward explaining his fluency
in both Latin and Greek. Moreover, Marrou has noted that Cassianus is
recorded as a family name in a region of Scythia Minor whose geography
corresponds to Cassian's description of his homeland.24 Some, however, have
attempted to place Cassian's patria anywhere from Provence to Scythopolis
to Serta. Marrou, reviewing these efforts, rightly concludes that "c'est bien 1.1
Ie type de ces 'problemes' ou l't�rudition, accumulant des efforts desordonnes,
n'a abouti qu'a embrouiller, jusqu'a la rendre inextricable, une question a la
verite fort simple."25 Even if not "simple," the question is of little relevance
to Cassian's monastic life and thought, except that Cassian's birthplace was
likely the source of his linguistic ability.
Bethlehem and Egypt
Cassian does not reveal his age upon entering the monastery near
Bethlehem and his emphasis on his spiritual rather than temporal journey in
Egypt render it impossible to derive a precise chronology of his career. When
describing his infantia and pueritia, for example, Cassian could easily have
been refering to his spiritual development rather than to the span of his life.
Chadwick has suggested that Cassian was most likely not an oblate. While he
concedes that youths, or even boys, were not unheard of in monasteries at this
John Cassian 15
time, he rightly points out that placing a boy in a monastery so far from his
home would have been very unusuaU6 Chadwick instead proposes that, as a
youth, Cassian made a conscious decision to travel to Palestine to pursue a
monastic vocation. Cassian's departure from Palestine for the more rigorous,
and potentially more fruitful, ascesis in Egypt would also indicate a personal
vocation to the monastic life. His journey to Egypt might also shed light on
his willingness to travel from Scythia Minor to Bethlehem, for it shows that
distance and inconvenience were not barriers to his spiritual endeavors.
Eduard Schwartz has suggested that Germanus encouraged Cassian's initial
venture, but again this is not certain.27 Cassian was deferential to Germanus
and frequently referred to him as abba. However, he also spoke of Germanus
as a companion in spiritual combat and noted the harmony of their minds and
souls, which would imply equality rather than subordination.28
Cassian is also silent about when he arrived at Bethlehem and how long he
remained there. Schwartz, noting Cassian's frequent references to ill health
and fear of not completing his literary endeavors, assumes that he died some
time in the 430's. This can also be supported by Gennadius. Counting back,
Schwartz concluded that Cassian must have arrived in Palestine within the last
two decades of the fourth century. An earlier arrival, Schwartz suggested,
would have warranted comment as to Cassian's longevity.29
Chadwick has attempted to be more precise and argues that Cassian proba
bly left Bethlehem before 386 and must have left by 391 .30 The first date hinges
on Cassian's relative silence about Jerome, who with Paula took up residence
near the cave of the nativity in the autumn of 386.31 Essentially, Chadwick
doubts that Cassian could have been reserved when commenting on Jerome
if they had lived within close proximity of each other. If Jerome's forceful
personality had not provoked comment, then surely his bitter harassment of
the Origenist monks fleeing to Palestine from Nitria would have required
some mention.32 Palladius, who was a younger contemporary of Cassian and a
partisan of the Origenists, was acerbic in his description of Jerome. 33
This argument is not compelling. Admittedly, in his polemic against
Nestorius, Cassian praised Jerome as a teacher of catholic Christians.34 This
praise is not effusive, however, and may very well have been exaggerated
according to the principles of the genre. To bolster his position, Cassian would
have wanted to inflate the reputations of all those who supported the ortho
dox view. In like manner, Cassian praised Rufinus of Aquileia, whom Jerome
had come to hold in bitter contempt. What is more telling is that, in the pref
ace to his Institutes, Cassian belittles Jerome's monastic experience and quietly
undercuts him as a monastic writer. When referring to Jerome's own monas
tic writings and translations, Cassian criticizes Jerome for describing only
what he has heard, not what he has experienced.35 Even if Cassian had not crit
icized Jerome, Cassian's silence would not necessarily demonstrate a lack of
acquaintance, for he makes no mention of figures who had made a far greater
impact on his life, such as Evagrius. Cassian also avoids openly criticizing the
Augustinians who had labelled him a heretic, even though he engaged them
in debate in Conference 13. Cassian's associations with other people and
affiliations with certain schools of thought are not to be traced through the
names he drops. Rather, they are to be traced through the ideas he espouses.
Chadwick's second date hinges on Cassian's brief return to Bethlehem. To
have remained in Egypt for seven years, visited Palestine and returned to
Nitria in time to hear the paschal letter of 399 would require him to have first
arrived in Egypt by 391. However, in the second edition of his work,
Chadwick himself suggests that the passage describing Cassian's brief return
to Bethlehem may be an interpolation. Consequently, the seven-year delay,
and even the return itself, may not have occurred.36 Therefore, Cassian may
have been in Egypt for a period that could be measured either in decades or
in months.
These chronological uncertainties make it difficult to determine the specif
ic events that contributed to Cassian's monastic formation. His sojourn in
Palestine before he arrived in Egypt could have been much longer than the
time he spent in Egypt. Also, the itinerary of the Conferences suggests that
Cassian and Germanus wandered for some time before arriving at Nitria in
time to hear Theophilus' paschal letter. It is therefore possible that, while
undoubtedly influenced by Evagrius' thought, Cassian may not have been in
Nitria and Kellia sufficiently long to have become acquainted with him per
sonally. Finally, given that Cassian was associated with the Origenist monks
who had fled from Egypt to Constantinople and may have resided with them
for several years in Syria, he may have had a more profound exposure to
Egyptian monastic life and even to Evagrius' theology as a refugee in Syria
rather than in Egypt itself. Regardless of whether he encountered them more
often in their Egyptian monasteries or as refugees in Constantinople and Syria,
the theology and way of life of these monks were determining factors in how
Cassian understood the monastic vocation.
Constantinople and Syria
Since Cassian claims to have been present at the events immediately

preceding Theophilus' persecution of the Origenist monks, and since he is
next found in Constantinople, it has generally been assumed that Cassian left
Nitria in the company of the fleeing monks. However, Cassian's final
Conference reveals a longing to return home and it is possible that he left Egypt
before Theophilus' reversal. If Cassian were indeed from Scythia Minor, then
Constantinople could have been intended merely as a stopping point.37 It is
also possible that Constantinople was neither a refuge nor a stop-over, but
that John Chrysostom's reputation drew two monks already known for their
willingness to travel long distances in the pursuit of holiness.38
Cassian remained in Constantinople for some time and was ordained a dea
con by Chrysostom. His mission to Pope Innocent in 404 was made necessary
at least in part because of John's support of the monks who had fled from
John Cassian 17
Theophilus. John had appointed many of these monks to church offices and
their presence angered many. Even if Cassian had left Egypt before the exodus,
once in Constantinople he would have been closely associated with the monks
from Nitria and Kellia. It was in this context that Palladius remembers him.39
After his mission to Innocent, Cassian disappears from recorded history for
at least a decade. It is possible that, after fulfilling his responsibilities to
Chrysostom, Cassian remained in Rome, where he formed a friendship with
Leo that Cassian would later mention in the preface to his anti-Nestorian
treatise.40 It need not have been during the first decade of the fifth century,
however, that Cassian befriended a much younger Leo. Moreover, the con
ventions of correspondence in Late Antiquity would have allowed Cassian to
refer to Leo as a friend even if they had never met.
Elie Griffe has pointed out that it would be more reasonable to assume that
Cassian returned to Constantinople to report on the success of his mission.4!
While he was only one of many who had appealed to Innocent on
Chrysostom's behalf, Cassian played an important role as messenger. This role
was perhaps facilitated by his knowledge of Latin. Griffe has further argued
that the compresbyter Cassianus mentioned in Innocent's later letters was
indeed John Cassian. This would mean that Cassian, along with many other
of John Chrysostom's supporters, was expelled from Constantinople soon
after his return to the city and travelled with them to Syria and Palestine.42
There he would have come to know Alexander, the future patriarch of
Antioch and a supporter of Chrysostom's followers. According to Griffe,
Cassian then conducted a second mission to Innocent on behalf of Alexander,
who wished to re-establish communion between the two patriarchates.
Cassian may have been elevated from the diaconate to the priesthood as prepa
ration for this mission, thereby earning Innocent's attribution of compresbyter.
Marseille
Such a scenario raises the inevitable question of why Cassian would make a
third journey to the West, this time to settle in Marseille. Griffe has proposed
that Cassian accompanied Lazarus of Aix on his return to Provence from
Palestine. Lazarus' friendship with Proculus, the bishop of Marseille, would
explain how Cassian came to establish two monasteries there. Cassian's third
journey to the West would also reveal something about his character. Rather
than having fled the turmoil of the East at the turn of the century, it would
show him as once more travelling a great distance to find an atmosphere
conducive to the spiritual life. Rather than as a fugitive, he should be portrayed
as a restless, unsettled man, who at least four different times abandoned his
current situation in the hope of finding something better. It still remains to be
shown, however, why Cassian and Lazarus should have been drawn to one
another and what Lazarus could have offered Cassian in Marseille.
The answer to the first question may come from a brief glimpse at Lazarus'
career. In the last decade of the fourth century, Lazarus had acted with
Proculus to bring the charge of adultery against Briccius, the successor to

Martin of Tours.43 They were aided in this by Heros, the archbishop of Arles.
Briccius, deposed not by an ecclesiastical court but by popular outcry, was
eventually restored to his see. Pope Zosimus was later to call the charge against
him nothing but calumny.H
Together with Heros, who had suffered misfortunes of his own, Lazarus
left Gaul for Palestine. When they learned that Pelagius was also in Palestine,
they accused him of heresy and provoked the calling of a council at Diospolis.
At least partly because neither Lazarus nor Heros appeared to prove their
accusations, the council determined that Pelagius' teaching was orthodox.45
Although nothing more is heard of Heros, Lazarus is next seen in Marseille in
the summer of 417, once again assisting Proculus in an ecclesiastical dispute.46
Following Griffe's hypothesis, Cassian would have accompanied Lazarus from
Palestine to Marseille and arrived there in 416 or very early in 417.
The action that Lazarus and Proculus took against Briccius demonstrates an
affection for Martin of Tours and, by extension, an affinity for the monastic
vocation. Heros, Lazarus' companion in other misadventures, was also associ
ated with Martin. Prosper of Aquitaine, painting a very different portrait of
him than did Zosimus, called Heros "a holy man and a disciple of the blessed
Martin."47 Cassian may have been attracted to Lazarus through a shared inter
est in the monastic life. Lazarus also could have promised to support Cassian
if he were to accompany Lazarus on his return to Marseille. Very soon there
after, Cassian either founded or was placed in charge of the monastery of
St. Victor in the port of Marseille. This almost certainly would have required
the permission of Proculus, the bishop of Marseille. It is plausible that Lazarus,
drawing upon his friendship with the bishop, had persuaded him to welcome
Cassian. In turn, Cassian could have been attracted by the prospect of living
out his life in a region that spoke his native tongue, had numerous contacts
with the East, and was still relatively unscathed by the political turmoil beset
ting the rest of the Empire.48
Of course, much of this is supposition. Griffe himself admitted that there is
no way to be certain that John Cassian and Innocent's compresbyter Cassianus
were the same person.49 Nor is there any proof of the connection between
Cassian and Lazarus. However, Griffe's reconstruction is plausible, and the
possibility that Cassian remained in the East at least a decade longer than has
generally been supposed is intriguing. The nature of Cassian's monastic and
theological formation is again called into question. If Cassian had spent con
siderable time among the Palestinian and Syrian monks greatly influenced by
the Egyptian exiles and the fallout from the Origenist controversy, it would go
far to explain possible Syrian influences on Cassian's descriptions of compunc
tion and fiery prayer.50 The circumstances of Cassian's arrival in Marseille also
provoke thought. If Cassian had been enticed to the West by what was in fact a
"Martinian camp," his later rejection of accounts of miracles and the voyeurism
of monastic tourists would indicate significant differences with his hosts. 51
John Cassian 19
What is not known about Cassian is perhaps more intriguing than what is
known. We simply cannot be sure of Cassian's activities between 403 and his
writing of the Institutes. However, Griffe's hypothesis is reasonable. It is more
plausible than the assumption that Cassian abandoned his first mission to
Rome without reporting back to Constantinople. It also helps to indicate at
least some of the threads linking Martinian monasticism and the growth of an
ascetic movement in Provence. The sparse details of Cassian's life can only
suggest the atmosphere of his spiritual development and the context of his
literary efforts. If these suggestions are to be given any weight, we must
examine Cassian's ascetic works with an eye to the milieux from which they
arose. This requires a basic understanding of the origins and development of
Christian monasticism in Egypt and in Gaul.
NOTES
1. Can. 24. 1.2-3.

2. Can. 24. 1.2.
3. Can. 1.1; 16. 1. Cassian frequently refers to Germanus as father or abba. Cassian is
also described as adulescentior, Can. 14.9.4. Cassian and Germanus were not related,
Can. 16. 1 .
4 . For the location o f Cassian's monastery, Inst. 3.4.1; 4.3 1 .
5. Can. 17 passim.
6. Inst. 4.30-3 1 . The story is repeated in Can. 20.1 .2-5.
7. Inst. 5.36. 1-2.
8. While Guy, "Jean Cassien," 363-72, has shown that their itinerary is suspect, this
does not preclude the possibility that the two wandered for some time among the
monastic communities of the Delta region.
9. Pinufius' exhortation to a novice is recorded at the end of the fourth Institute.
10. This vow serves as the principal topic of Can. 17.
1 1 . Can. 17.30.2. That the account of their return may be an interpolation, o. Chadwick,
Cassian, 2nd ed., 17-18.
12. Can. 10.2-3. Cassian records only Theophilus' original position and does not
recount his reversal and the violence that resulted.
13. De incarnatione domini 7.3 1. This was against his will, Inst. 1 1 . 18.
14. Bonifatius, "Valentinae." For the date, Duchesne, Fastes, 1:282, and Jaffe, Regesta,
53.
15. o. Chadwick, "Euladius," 204-205. The first set would therefore have been composed
sometime before 427.
16. Gennadius, De viris inlustribus 62, recorded that Cassian died "Theodosio et
Valentiniano regnantibus." These two emperors were consuls in 435, but the
vague reference might have a broader meaning. PLRE, 2: 1243.
17. Palladius, Dialogus 3.
18. Innocentius, Epistula 7.1; Sozomenus, Historia Ecclesiastica 8 .26.
19. Innocentius, "Apostolici favoris" and "Quam gratia mihi." For the dates, Jaffe, Regesta
ponti/icum, 47.
20. For Cassian's immediate legacy, Stewart, Cassian, 24-25.
21. Cassian's arrival before 426 is based on the only firm date for his writings, Can.
1 1-18, in 427.
22. Stewart describes the speculation on this issue as "a subindustry within Cassian
studies." Cassian, 4.
23. Gennadius, De viris inlustribus 62.
24. Marrou, "Patrie," 588-596. Cassian's description, Can. 24. 1.2.
25. Marrou, "Jean Cassien," 7. For a detailed survey of the arguments concerning Cassian's
birthplace, Stewart, Cassian, 4-6.
26. o. Chadwick, Cassian, 1st ed., 9. This of course requires accepting Scythia or some
other distant place as Cassian's home.
27. Schwartz, "Lebensdaten," 4.
28. Can. 1 . 1 ; 16.1.
29. Schwartz, "Lebensdaten," 10.
30. o. Chadwick, Cassian, 2nd. ed., 10-18.
3 1 . Kelly, Jerome, 129, for the date of Jerome's arrival in Palestine.
32. o. Chadwick, Cassian, 2nd. ed., 1 1 .
3 3 . Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 36, 4 1 .
34. De incarnatione domini 7.26.
35. Inst., praef 5-7.
36. o. Chadwick, Cassian, 2nd ed., 17-18.
37. Rousseau, Ascetics, 171-172. This argument is challenged by the internal chronolo
gy of the Conferences, which describes Cassian pining for home long before the
eruption of the anthropomorphite controversy.
38. Marrou, "Jean Cassien," 17.
39. Palladius, Dialogus 3.
40. De Incarnatione domini, praef 1 .
41. Griffe, "Cassien," 240-244.
42. Palladius, De vitaJoannis 20, mentions this region among others as a place of refuge.
43. Zosimus, "Postquam a nobis" 3.
44. Zosimus, "Cum adversus statuta" 2.
45. Augustine, De gestis Pelagii 2.
46. Zosimus, "Cum adversus statuta" 2, written 2 1 September 417. For the date, Jaffe,
Regesta, 49.
47. "Vir sanctus et beati Martini discipulus." Prosper, Epitoma Chronicon, an. 412
(1247).
48. Much of Palestine had been overrun by raiders in 4 1 1 . Jerome and his community
had felt it necessary to flee. Jerome, Ep. 126.2; Kelly, Jerome, 306, n. 53.
49. Griffe, L'eglise, 254-255, later became much more sure of his hypothesis.
50. Stewart, Cassian, 1 14-130 for a "tentative" (although to this reader quite profound)
study of these influences.
5 1 . Inst., praef 7; Can. 15.2.3; 18. 1.3.
CHAPTER 2
Stories and Histories of Early

Egyp tian Monasticism
THE STORY OF CHRISTIAN MONASTICISM
The story of the beginning of Christian monasticism is one that has been told
and retold many times. It is, according to many narrators, a story that is easy
to tell.! With the advent of a Christian Empire, monastic withdrawal replaced
martyrdom as the ultimate expression of selfless love for God. This new ideal
was first manifested by the hermits of Egypt, who rejected all human inter
course for the sake of communion with God. The life of the hermits was harsh
and their monastic practices exceeded the limits of human endurance. Known
for their withdrawal from society, or anachoresis, these anchorites shunned all
forms of human interaction and penetrated deeper and deeper into the desert
for the sake of God.
The hermits' journey into the desert was more than simply a flight from the
crowds; it was also a declaration of war against the powers of darkness. If the
desert was a shelter from the distractions of daily life, it was also a wasteland
inhabited by demons.2 The hermits were the first to flee society, but they were
also the vanguard for the conquest of the desert and its demonic inhabitants in
the name of God. Freed from all distractions, the hermits could confront the
demons with a fixed mind and clarity of purpose that could be achieved
nowhere else.
While no one doubted the sanctity of such a life, few could endure its hard
ships. Consequently, eremitical zeal was slowly harnessed and trained, and the
communal virtues of humility and obedience came to be emphasized over soli
tary contemplation.3 Cenobitic monasticism, especially in the form practiced
by the Pachomian communities, came to be regarded as the second of only two
legitimate monastic vocations. Monks who wandered from village to village,
or who depended on the gifts of others for their sustenance, or who lived in
small and undisciplined groups, were regarded as being in some sense hetero
dox. Eventually, nearly all true monks began their vocation within a commu
nity. If they proved their worthiness, they could later join an elite group who
21
had progressed beyond the more limited life of the cloister to pursue a solitary
life of prayer." As the fourth century drew to a close, the number of cenobites
was growing almost exponentially while that of the hermits was slowly dwin
dling. The fiery zeal for conquering the desert was cooling as the initial fervor
of the apostolic community had a few centuries earlier.
Whether anchorites or cenobites, Egyptian monks shared a profound mis
trust of speculative theology. Drawn largely from the ranks of Egyptian peas
ants, few spoke Greek and most were illiterate. Their faith was simple, almost
crude, and they possessed a child-like simplicity. Some had not even pro
gressed sufficiently beyond their former pagan idolatry to allow them to con
ceive of an abstract God.5 The monks were therefore deeply suspicious of
"Greek" theological speculation and the principles of allegorical exegesis
that had originated in Alexandria. They were especially careful to avoid the
heretical teachings of Origen and his followers.
After more than half a century of glory, Egyptian monasticism was rent
asunder by heresy, violence and the corruption of its institutions. Origenism
had penetrated the desert and tainted the spiritual teachings of the fathers.
Strife had arisen between the native Egyptians and the Greek interlopers and
the ensuing violence reverberated throughout the Christian world. Proven to
be dangerous asps rather than saintly monks, the Origenists were finally driv
en from Egypt, but this could not halt the decline of Egyptian monasticism.
Even the native communities had declined. Discipline had become lax and the
reasons for many practices had been forgotten. Where discipline had been
preserved, it had taken on a regimented, almost military aspect.6 The heroes of
the past had passed and they had not been replaced. Instead of demons in the
desert, the pious now feared the presence of boys within the community.
Nevertheless, even as it declined in its native land, Egyptian monasticism
flourished as an ideal that had already spread throughout the Christian world.
Athanasius had been the first to carry this ideal to the West, initially through
the example of the monks in his entourage and then by the Latin translations
of his Life 0/ Antony.7 After Athanasius the West became inundated with
monastic literature. Pilgrims brought back accounts of monks. Ecclesiastical
turmoil produced many exiles, exposing the West to eastern practices and
allowing westerners access to monastic havens in the East.S Jerome offered
advice based on his experiences as a hermit in Syria and later as a cenobite in
Bethlehem. He defended the burgeoning monastic tradition from the mali
cious attacks of Jovinian and he translated Pachomius' rules into Latin.
Rufinus of Aquileia, though not as innovative as Jerome, was an even more
prolific translator. He gave to the West several works of Origen, Basil's
Asceticon, the Historia monachorum in Aegypto, the Sententiae of Sextus, and
the Practicus, Sententiae ad monachos and Ad virginem of Evagrius Ponticus.
The Latin West embraced the Egyptian ideal with astonishing enthusiasm.
Accounts of western monks were patterned after Egyptian literary models.
Monks in Gaul were measured according to Egyptian standards and, at least in
Early Egyptian Monasticism 23
the case of Martin of Tours, an ascetic competition between Gaul and Egypt
was created. Gallic aspirants to the monastic life eagerly sought information
about the heroes of the Egyptian desert and descriptions of their practices
served as the basis for establishing western monastic communities.9 John
Cassian played a crucial role in providing this information, for he recounted
his own experiences in Egypt at length and recorded the words of the elders
themselves.1o
Although it was undoubtedly inspired and given form by the Egyptians,
Latin monasticism evolved to accommodate the more reserved and civilized
disposition of the West.l1 While westerners continued to venerate the hermit
as a monastic hero, they clearly emphasized the establishment of well-run,
orderly communities. Obedience to an abbot replaced discipleship to a charis
matic leader. Monastic rules were expanded and refined. Monastic practices
were modified and regulated both to accommodate the Gallic climate and to
avoid extreme and unsavory behavior.12 Western monks also interacted more
easily with the church as a whole than did their Egyptian counterparts. They
were more receptive to ecclesiastical authority and it was not uncommon to
find them holding ecclesiastical office.13 Some modern scholars would attribute
this heightened ecclesiastical role to the higher levels of education found in
western monasteries for, in order to accommodate the aristocratic sensibilities
of many of the monks, monastic communities often established schools.14
Other scholars ascribe the education and civilized behavior of western monks
to the more civilized Latin temperament. IS
It would be difficult to have imagined a better story. There are identifiable
protagonists (Antony, Athanasius, and Jerome) and antagonists Govinian, the
Origenist monks, and monks who by their manner of life can be classified nei
ther as anchorites nor as cenobites) . It explains the origin and nature of many
of the monastic practices which still exist today and places many elements of
monastic life into easily grasped and recognizable categories. The story also
helps to define orthodoxy, both in doctrine and in practice. What can be
traced back in a clear line of descent to Egypt is acceptable, while what cannot
be so easily traced is at the very least suspect. Finally, the story has a happy
ending. After a variety of fits and starts, the threads that appear hopelessly
tangled at the beginning are slowly woven together to produce a beautiful
fabric that is the Western European monastic tradition.
As attractive as this story is, however, it is not accurate. The origins of
Christian monasticism are not so easily traced and the multitude of monastic
practices that existed in the fourth century are not so easily categorized. The
story that has been told is not so much an historical account as it is a pastiche
of literary artifacts taken largely from the Life 0/ Antony, Jerome's ascetic
works and other early monastic literature. It is therefore derived from a genre
of monastic literature that accentuated the eremitical hero to the point of
excluding more common forms of monastic life. As such, the story is more a
part of the history of early monasticism than a description of it.
A REVISION OF THE STORY
In order to examine the nature of Cassian's monastic formation, it is necessary

to revise this story. While it is beyond the scope of this work to offer a
complete history of early Egyptian monasticism, it is important to address
three fundamental claims that are relevant to the interpretation of Cassian's
monastic theology: that there was a strong division between native Coptic and
foreign Greek monks in Egypt; that there were only two legitimate forms
of monastic life practiced in Egypt; and that most Egyptian monks were
inherently suspicious of sophisticated theological expressions of the monastic
vocation.
Copt and Greek
The supposed division between Coptic monks (those Egyptians preserving

their native culture and language) and Greek monks (either foreigners or
Hellenized Egyptians) rests partly on claims about Egyptian society as a
whole. It has traditionally been argued that the spread of Greek language and
culture in Egypt followed the same course as Ptolemaic and later Roman
administration: from its fountainhead in Alexandria it flowed up the Nile to
the metropolitan cities and then, at a much diminished level, to the smaller
towns and villages. The penetration of Greek into the countryside and
especially into southern Egypt would have been very limited and, on the few
occasions where native and Hellenized Egyptians would meet, the dominance
of those who spoke Greek would have been firmly established.
One could therefore imagine that Christianity was received first by
Hellenistic Jews and other Greek-speaking peoples, and only later by native
Egyptians. As such, Christianity would have been seen as the religion of the
dominant minority and a threat to traditional Egyptian culture. Instinctively
suspicious of Greek interlopers, native Egyptian converts to Christianity slow
ly carved out an independent church marked by the use of a new written form
of Egyptian (Coptic) and an aversion to anything resembling the speculative
theology prevalent in Alexandria. Egyptian monasticism, arising first among
illiterate peasants such as Antony, was hostile to Greek language and education
and (with Antony being the noted exception) fiercely independent of the patri
arch of Alexandria. Despite Athanasius' attempts to co-opt the monastic
movement for his own purposes, underlying linguistic and cultural differences
eventually gave way to open theological dispute in which the Egyptian monks
sided with their national church against their Greek patriarch.
It is indeed true that, at least in its early years, Egyptian Christianity was
for the most part a sect within the large and prosperous Jewish community.!6
As such, the early Christians enjoyed close ties with the Judaeo-Christian
communities in Palestine and bore the mark of the Hellenistic culture that
many diaspora Jews had embraced.!? It is not long, however, before contem
porary scholarship begins to diverge from the traditional story. While most of
Egypt's Jewish population did reside in Alexandria, many Jews had settled fur
ther south, enabling Christianity to spread rapidly southward as well.
Moreover, the Jewish community in Egypt suffered greatly after its revolt
against Trajan (115-117) and this compelled Christians in Egypt to forge an
identity independent of their Jewish forebears.!S By the end of the second
century, evidence begins to appear of widespread and unstructured Christian
communities throughout Egypt.!9
Administration
It is also at the end of the second century that changes can be seen in the
administration of Egypt. While Augustus had established a Roman prefect in
Alexandria answerable only to the emperor, Septimius Severus moved away
from this central administration to a greater reliance on the Egyptians
themselves.2o He extended considerable administrative authority to the metro
politan cities by allowing them to form their own councils, or boulai. While
they had no legislative powers, these councils maintained the food supply
and infrastructure of the cities, helped to supply the army, and ensured the
collection of taxes.
Membership in these boulai entailed some risk, for the office-holders were
responsible for making up any short-fall in the taxes out of their own pockets.
Nevertheless, many thought the risk worth taking when these councils were
first introduced.2! As the Empire increasingly fell into disarray during the third
century, these offices became increasingly burdensome. The maintenance of
the food supply became more difficult and many civic institutions began to
decline.22 At least one attempt was made to incorporate wealthy villagers into
the ranks of the bouleutai in order to relieve the burden of the position, but
this apparently met with little success.23
About this time one also begins to read more often of withdrawal
(anachoresis) as a means of fleeing financial and civic responsibilities. Both the
economic turmoil of the Empire and the failure of the Severan reforms
contributed to the distress of propertied and poor alike. Farmers began to
abandon their land because they were unable to pay the taxes on it. Prominent
citizens began to grow more aggressive in their attempts to avoid the liturgies
that were imposed upon them. Land began to lie fallow and the population as
a whole became more transient.24 Anachoresis became a significant concern
for both the Romans and the Egyptians. The Romans wanted to maintain the
supply of grain that Egypt traditionally provided and the Egyptian villagers
shared a corporate responsibility to ensure that Rome's demands were
met. When people fled, the burden increased for those who remained. The
imperial response was to offer a reward for the return of anchorites and to
forbid towns and villages from harboring them. This resulted in poorer
Egyptians becoming tied to their villages in a manner similar to coloni tied to
their estates.25
Bagnall has argued that "far from being crushing and steadily increasing,
[the system of taxation] was moderate, fairly proportioned to normal
productivity of land, and stable over a period of more than 250 years."26
However, this does not address the manner in which the taxes were levied or
who bore the principal responsibility for paying the tax. Boak and Youtie, for
example, have noted a papyrus from 309/310 that complains of townsmen who
plotted to burden yet another person in the town with an unfair proportion of
the liturgies. Moreover, these same townsmen were sheltering others from hav
ing to pay any tax at all.27 It is not difficult to imagine such machinations occur
ring fairly frequently as responsibilities were placed more and more into the
hands of local land-holders.28
Diocletian again reorganized the administration of Egypt by weakening
the boulai in favor of the administration of a single logistes, or curator
civitatis, who was himself a townsman.29 The financial administration of the
surrounding countryside was reorganized in a piecemeal fashion and a new set
of offices was created within the towns themselves. The effect of these changes
was to link the administration of the countryside more directly with that
of the towns and their principal citizens. As administration increasingly came
to be accomplished through the liturgical responsibilities of the native
Egyptians, Egyptian property owners in turn established closer relations with
the imperial government. 3D The divisions between urban and rural became less
distinct and the separation between local, native government and imperial
administration became less clear.]! This has led Bagnall to conclude that "in a
small village, it is not difficult to imagine that a quarter or a third of the adult
male population had some liturgical appointment, even without taking
compulsory labor into account. When villagers met the bureaucracy, then, it
was themselves."l2
The changing roles of native Egyptians in their government and the loss of
a clear delineation between city and countryside make it difficult to imagine a
significant percentage of Egyptians avoiding contact with Greek language and
culture. The shifting administrative and social structures also make it difficult
to claim that a clear hierarchy existed in which the most Hellenized would
inevitably be dominant. Instead, the history of Roman Egypt suggests a much
more fluid society where dividing lines constantly shifted, if they could be
drawn at all.
Language
This fluidity is reflected in the evolution of the Egyptian language. The
Ptolemies had established Greek as the official language of the government, an
act that quickly rendered Egyptian court scribes obsolete. This left the priest
hood as the only significant institution capable of preserving Egyptian in writ
ten form. Using Demotic, a difficult script to write, the priesthood continued
to serve as a producer and repository of written Egyptian. In the early stages
of Roman rule the priesthood even received a boost, for Augustus sponsored
building projects throughout Egypt and portrayed himself as the successor to
the pharaohs.33 Augustus also provided the priests with direct monetary sup
port. This direct support came at a tremendous cost, however, for Augustus
also confiscated temple lands. In this way, he brought the priesthood under his
direct influence and made it dependent upon the empire for its survival. When
later emperors no longer felt dependent upon the priesthood to maintain
stability in Egypt, they withdrew their financial support and the priesthood
withered. There is no evidence of imperial sponsorship of Egyptian religious
practices after Antoninus and no evidence of temples receiving money from
the imperial administration after the middle of the third century.34
The decline of the public role of the priesthood contributed to the decline
of written Egyptian, at least as it was traditionally recorded in Demotic. A
vicious cycle gradually developed in which the fading of the traditional priest
hood from public view discouraged the already rare use of the Demotic script.
This in turn led to the further decline of the priesthood. From the middle of
the first to the middle of the third centuries, it was generally necessary for
Egyptian to be translated into Greek in order to be recorded.15
The gradual disappearance of Demotic goes far toward explaining why the
earliest Christian papyri are in Greek rather than in Egyptian. For most peo
ple, Greek was the only readily available written language. The use of Greek
by Christian copyists does not necessarily indicate that Christianity was the
province of an educated, Hellenized culture that existed apart from native
Egyptian culture. In fact, most of the papyri that betray a definite Christian
provenance are not written in educated or cultivated hands. The scripts instead
suggest that the papyri were written by "tradesmen, farmers, minor govern
ment officials to whom knowledge of and writing in Greek was an essential
skill, but who had few literary interests."l6 Thus, rather than Christianity
being the possession of an educated elite, linguistic and papyrological evidence
suggests the rapid diffusion of Christianity into all levels of society. It also
argues against Christianity being imposed by Hellenes from Alexandria. The
Egyptian Church of the late-second and third centuries, which was prospering
in Middle and Upper Egypt as well as in the Delta region, was "composed not
so much of intellectuals or the wealthy as of ordinary men of the middle and
lower classes."l?
The decline of Demotic paved the way for various attempts to transliterate
Egyptian into Greek characters and Coptic eventually triumphed. As Coptic
came to be more widely used, it was taken up by Egyptian Christians for use
in biblical and liturgical texts. Many of the earliest Coptic papyri have a
Christian provenance and Christianity gave impetus to the widespread use of
the script. However, the use of Coptic in the liturgical life of the Egyptian
church should not be taken to mean that Egyptian Christianity arose inde
pendently of or in hostility to its Greek-speaking counterpart. Coptic would
have failed as a liturgical language if some form of Greek had not been
common currency, for Coptic's numerous borrowings from Greek would
otherwise have rendered the liturgy unintelligible. Moreover, Bagnall and oth
ers have demonstrated that Coptic was not the product of an educated or cler
ical elite deliberately attempting to cultivate a linguistic identity independent
of Greek language and culture. It arose instead as a practical necessity within a
largely bilingual milieu and functioned alongside Greek for several centuries.18
Thus, contrary to the earlier view of late Roman Egypt, it is now possible
to conclude that there was little hostility between the two linguistic groups.
To be fair, Greek remained the language of the government and pejorative
references to native Egyptians do appear, but the dissolution of traditional
administrative and religious institutions tended to blur the distinctions
between Egyptian and Greek. Egyptian religion had been waning since
the Ptolemies, and its twilight was marked more by disuse than by the impo
sition of Hellenistic culture from above. Egyptians possessed considerable
auton-omy, especially at the local level, and there was extensive and varied
interaction between the two linguistic groups. By the fourth century there is
evidence of an Egyptian, rather than Greek, elite in the towns and villages.39
While Egypt cannot be described as a wholly bilingual society, papyrological
evidence does suggest that the use of Greek was widespread and that there was
a significant overlap between the Greek and Egyptian communities.40
By the beginning of the fourth century the Egyptian church resembled the
society as a whole. There was not inherent within the church, just as there was
not inherent within Egyptian society, an unbridgeable chasm between Greek
and native. Christianity was not imposed from above, even in the South, and
it was not a mechanism of social or economic exclusion. This revised descrip
tion of Egyptian society and the church can also be applied to its monks. "The
bilingualism of the fourth-century papyrus finds connected with monastic
establishments certainly shows that literate members of these communities
were bilingual, but it may also point to bilingualism as a widespread-but not
universal-condition of life."41 The fact that most of the monks were Egyptian
does not mean that most were hostile to Greek language or culture.42
Forms of Monastic Life
The second claim that must be addressed is that only two forms of monas
tic life were regarded as legitimate in Egypt: anchoretic and cenobitic. The
earliest historical records suggest otherwise. The first recorded use of the term
monachos provides a significant insight into the role of Christian monks in
Egyptian society. The papyrus in which the term occurs describes a criminal
assault to which a deacon and a monk were witnesses. Monachos is used in the
papyrus in a straightforward manner, which has led E. Judge to conclude that
the term was accepted as a title within legal, or at least conventional, discourse.
Moreover, the fact that the monk was cited as a witness to a crime suggests that
he would be available for any future proceedings.43 It is therefore reasonable to
assume that the monachos was not a dweller of the deep desert. Judge has gone
even further to argue that the monk's association with a deacon means that the
former was associated with a local church.44 This may not have been the case,
for the meeting of the two may have been by chance, or the deacon may have
been associated with a nearby monastery. Judge is correct, however, in his
assertion that the monk was easily recognizable, readily available and likely
connected with the village in some way. This would not have been unusual.
Other papyri reveal apotaktikoi (those who renounce) , the more common
term for monks, functioning within a wide variety of circumstances. They
owned, inherited and bequeathed property; they rented rooms; and they
appeared as both plaintiffs and defendants in civil and criminal cases.45
It is tempting to dismiss these worldly monks as belonging to Jerome's
Remnuoth, false monks who were regarded with scorn by the Christian
community.46 This dismissal would be inappropriate, however, for these
apotaktikoi appear often in the papyri and their existence seems to have been
readily accepted. Moreover, a brief look at the traditional sources of monastic
history reveals that even properly delimited hermits and cenobites often
played active roles in neighboring villages and towns.
The Pachomian communities, for example, were often established in the
midst of populated areas.47 This was in consonance with Pachomius' ideal
of "an asceticism closely bound up with a sense of obligation toward other
people," an obligation which entailed both relief of suffering and the evange
lization of the countryside.48 The Pachomian communities engaged in exten
sive economic activity, both to support themselves and to relieve the plight
of the poor. They produced clothing, baskets and other goods both for them
selves and for public sale. They farmed their own land and hired themselves
out as laborers. They received and managed extensive estates and farmed
abandoned land.49 The latter activity would have been of great assistance to
the neighboring villages, for it would have helped to ease their corporate
responsibilities. Since the monasteries were not free from taxation, they would
have shared the burden with surrounding farmers. This extensive economic
activity blurred the distinction between monastic community and wealthy
estate, and Pachomian monks would have been a common sight in the
surrounding region.
Nor was this sort of activity limited to the Pachomians. The Historia
monachorum describes Oxyrhynchus as a veritable city of monks.50 Apollo,
although a hermit living in the desert, was nonetheless frequently of service to
neighboring villages. He interfered with a pagan procession in order to
convert a village. 51 On more than one occasion he interceded between villages
about to engage in armed combat over disputed boundaries. 52 He also acted as
a healer and provided relief to the poor during a famine. 53 Sarapion is described
as both ruling a large community and managing a sizable rural estate.54
The monks under his jurisdiction produced so much surplus food that they
were able to ship some of it to Alexandria to relieve the poor in that city. The
author of the Historia monachorum notes that all the monks whom he
mentions gave alms to the pOOr.55 While he records this activity to show
the sanctity of the monks, his description goes far toward demonstrating that
even hermits were not entirely isolated from the surrounding community.
They interceded in crises, healed the sick, fed the poor and even helped to fend
off the occasional wild animal. 56 Other sources suggest much the same thing. 57
Evagrius Ponticus describes a monk who sold his Bible in order to help the
poor and elsewhere writes of the need to give alms.58 While there can be no
doubt that Evagrius vigorously championed complete detachment from the
distractions of urban life, he nevertheless acknowledged that this might not
be possible.59 Even the gnostic who has acquired the stillness necessary for the
contemplation of divine mysteries is expected to receive guests hospitably
and to care for the poor through alms and healing.60 Palladius mentions the
presence of Christian monks in and around Atribis and Arsinoe.61 The
Canones of ps.-Athanasius also attest to urban monks.62
The need for both anchorites and cenobites to support themselves is reflect
ed throughout early monastic literature. Palladius describes the monks of
Nitria as supporting themselves through the manufacture of cloth.63 Palladius,
Evagrius and the Apophthegmata record the presence of bursars to manage the
economy of the monasteries.64 The Apophthegmata provide further testimony
to the economic affairs of the monks.65 The monks traded with nearby towns
and villages to obtain the necessities they could not produce themselves and
to acquire the raw materials for their manufacturing.66 They owned and
cultivated fields, and hired themselves out to other land-owners during the
harvest season.67 John the Dwarf wove baskets and ropes and arranged for their
transportation to market.68 Poemen interceded in the affairs of a nearby town
in a manner reminiscent of Apollo.69 The layout and location of monastic cells
also suggest economic activity. Cells often contained walled gardens, storage
rooms, diversified living spaces and, in some cases, luxurious appointments.7o
Many communities were located in or near suburbs in order to facilitate inter
action with the general population.71
Trade was not sought for its own sake and in many instances the
Apophthegmata celebrate those who managed to avoid such distractions.
Although John the Dwarf engaged in manufacture and trade, for example, he
is praised for the utterly detached manner in which he carried this out.72
Complete isolation was an option available to only a very few, however, and
the more typical monk labored to support himself and his community in a
manner similar to that of his previous life in a nearby village or town. Not
surprisingly, this continuity of activity is reflected in monastic dwellings.
Many of the cells that have been uncovered bear a strong resemblance to the
houses that existed in the nearby villages.
The traditional view of Egyptian monks as illiterate peasants completely
withdrawn from the larger world must therefore be revised. Most monks did
not entirely abandon human intercourse. Many lived within towns and
villages, and for others the desert was nothing more than the strip of wasteland
that immediately adjoined cultivated fields. Some monks even inhabited pock
ets of desert in the midst of populated areas. Many retained ties with local
churches and several assumed important roles in neighboring towns. Monks
engaged in a wide range of economic activity and this variety suggests that they
came from a wide range of backgrounds.
A Theology of the Monastic Life
Papyri and other sources can suggest the demographic COmpOSltlOn of

monastic communities and reveal the nature and extent of their economic
activity. At times, the papyri can even show the use of Greek within the
communities. They cannot, however, describe the manner in which Greek
language and culture helped to shape the method and content of monastic
teaching. For this we must turn to how the monks described themselves and
the lives that they led.
Antony and Origen

The Letters of Antony provide the best starting point. The Life 0/ Antony
describes Antony as unlearned, disinterested in school and opposed to philo
sophical discourse as a means of attaining wisdom.73 Many scholars have large
ly accepted this description as definitive and have regarded the Letters as being
of little value to understanding either Antony himself or early monasticism
more generally.74 However, Samuel Rubenson has recently challenged
this view by showing that the Letters were composed in Coptic and deserve
precedence over the Life as a source for the historical Antony.75 While
Antony's Letters are brief and leave many crucial terms undefined, their
content is nevertheless sufficient to show that, contrary to the depiction of
him in the Life, Antony was not hostile to all things Greek. Instead, the Letters
reveal a Coptic hermit not only conversant with prevailing philosophical
traditions, but also influenced by them in his epistemology, cosmology and
anthropology.76 The Letters therefore help to challenge the traditional claim of
a division between illiterate Egyptian and educated Greek, or between
Egyptian monks and the Hellenized church of Alexandria.
There now can be little doubt that the Letters were influenced by a popular
Hellenizing world-view and a theological tradition emanating from
Alexandria. Philosophical ideas were discussed among Egyptian monks
writing in Coptic in central and southern Egypt. Antony's understanding
of spiritual knowledge would seem to have been influenced by a Platonic
epistemology and his call for attention to and mastery of the self bears a Stoic
stamp. While the brevity of the Letters make it difficult to trace the influence
of any one text or author, they nevertheless echo the theology of Origen at
key points.77
Antony writes in his Letters that true knowledge consists of knowledge
of God.78 This knowledge is the basis of the equanimity of the soul, for the
soul rests undisturbed only when it is in the presence of God.79 Humanity,
however, has been wounded by the fall and has lost this knowledge. The fall
and our subsequent ignorance has opened a great chasm between us and God
and has disturbed the original equanimity of our souls. The wound of our
ignorance and the disturbance of our souls can be healed only by recovering
the knowledge lost through the fall.so To enable us to recover this lost knowl
edge, God has provided three great dispensations: natural law, Mosaic law, and
the coming of Christ.8! As the mind of God, Christ facilitates the restoration
of the soul to God by mediating between our rational natures and the divine
nature. Antony characterizes the restored unity of the soul as membership in
Christ's body.82
Because we are created in the image of God, knowledge of God begins with
knowledge of ourselves.83 In order to know ourselves truly and to recognize
the image of God within us, we must resist the deleterious effects of our
material bodies and cultivate our rational natures. We must be attentive to
ourselves by purifying our bodies, quelling the interior movements of our
souls and living in harmony with reason.84 A rational life requires discernment,
which enables us to distinguish not only good from bad, but what is real from
what is unreal. 85 Rather than as a means of punishing the body because it is the
source of sin or an opportunity to share in the suffering of Christ, Antony
describes ascesis as the process of purification necessary to know oneself and
God. In Rubenson's terms, Antony's ascesis is a "method of purification of the
body and soul in order to bring them into harmony and regain man's natural
condition."86
Antony's emphasis on attention to oneself in order to know God recalls the
theology of Origen. In his Commentary on the Song of Songs, for example,
Origen comments on the verse beginning "Unless you know yourself" nisi -
cognoveris te in Rufinus' translation. In the course of his commentary Origen

describes the bridegroom "establishing the height of salvation and blessedness
in the knowledge and understanding of oneself."87 Self-knowledge, according
to Origen, is the first stage of an ascent of the soul that culminates in knowl
edge of the Trinity, which is the "principal function of knowledge."88
Origen describes self-knowledge as having two aspects. The first is knowl
edge of the internal movements of our soul, such as our emotions and
the motives for our actions. Exploring these movements contributes to a
process of purification. Through the praxis of reflecting on our behavior and
conforming our emotions and our actions to what we know to be true, we
transcend our carnal appetites and gradually restore the proper constitution of
our soul.89 This restoration cannot be complete, however, without the second
aspect of self-knowledge, which is knowledge of our soul's nature and cause of
being. Self-examination and purification lead us to discover not only our sin,
but also the glory of our being created in the image of God. Recognition of
our own creation in the image of God leads to knowledge of our creator, and
it is our likeness to God that allows us to have knowledge of him. Origen
therefore links introspection with revelation, for self-knowledge is inspired by
and leads to God.
Spritual Exercises and Christian Philosophy

Despite the similarities between the two theologians' understanding of self
knowledge, however, Origen need not have been the immediate source of
Antony's views. The practice of "spiritual exercises" as a means of self-knowledge
was common to late ancient philosophy more generally. While different

philosophical traditions, such as Stoicism and Platonism, made different
cosmological and epistemological claims, they were nonetheless united in
regarding philosophy as a manner of knowing as well as a means for acquiring
knowledge. Pierre Hadot has shown that late ancient philosophy itself was
regarded as a spiritual exercise, or as an "activite interieure de la pensee et de la
volunte. "9o The goal of philosophy was not merely to acquire knowledge,
but to form oneself so that one can live according to reason. Stoicism, for
example, recommended an interior discipline which entailed attention to one
self in order to examine one's conscience and to discern what is right and
wrong.91 Central to this idea is attention to one's present situation, which
Hadot has summarized as "control of one's thoughts, acceptance of the divine
will, and the purification of one's intentions with regard to others."92 While
this notion was developed within a Christian context by Origen among
others, it transcends any one tradition.93
Attention to oneself and to the present is found in the Life 0/ Antony as well
as in his Letters. As Antony first began to withdraw from society, he struggled
to forget his previous circumstances.9+ Having removed himself to the tomb,
Antony imagined himself daily beginning his monastic practice anew.95 On his
deathbed Antony counseled his closest followers to live as though each day
were their last.96 This same theme also appears in the Apophthegmata and in
Cassian's monastic writings. Echoing Antony's need to forget the past, Cassian
describes a monk who burned letters from his home without reading them
in order to remain attentive to the present rather than to the past.97 When
speaking of fasting, Cassian evokes the theme of Antony's final words by
counseling monks to fast as though they might live 100 years (that is, not to
harm themselves through excessive fasting) , but also to live as though each day
might be their last.98
The understanding of philosophical study as a spiritual exercise had a
significant impact upon methods of instruction. Philosophical instruction
was often regarded as spiritual guidance in which dialogue between teacher and
student played a major role. While the teacher was expected to impart
an understanding of the world and of humanity's role within it, he was
also expected to encourage the self-awakening of his student. Philosophical
dialogue was an exercise in which the student submitted to reason and found
truth in the depths of his SOUP9 Hadot has argued that the oral nature of philo
sophical instruction was crucial to the cultivation of the self, for "only the spo
ken word makes dialogue possible, that is, it makes it possible for the disciple
to discover the truth himself amid the interplay of questions and answers and
also for the master to adapt his teaching to the needs of the disciple."l0o When
written texts were required, they were often composed in a way that attempt
ed to reproduce at least in part the personal relationship between the teacher
and the student. Philosophical texts were therefore rarely systematic in the
modern sense of the term. Stoics, for example, often employed aphorisms and
exempla in order to encourage the internalization of an idea.lOl The oral nature

of philosophical instruction was further enhanced by the fact that students
were not alone in their responsibility for self-examination. The authority
of the teacher rested precisely on his own ability to live the life he recom
mended for his students. He taught by example as well as by word.102
Teaching and Learning in the Egyptian Desert

One can discern many of these same elements in Antony's Letters. In
them, Antony frequently calls for the self-awakening of his correspondents,
encouraging them to know themselves so that they might know God.103
He also describes the path to true knowledge as a process of purification.
While the Letters cannot be described as a dialogue, Antony does attempt to
cultivate a relationship between himself and his reader based on love and
respect. He also appeals to his own experience as the source of his authority.
Like his pagan counterparts, it was necessary for Antony to live the life he
recommended for others.104
The Letters are not the only monastic texts that reveal an interest in the
relationship between teacher and student. The Apophthegmata show that this
relationship was also a concern in the communities of Nitria, Kellia, and
Scetis. When describing monastic instruction in the Egyptian desert, Guy has
identified three principal features: the need for an elder in the formation of a
beginner, an apprenticeship based on experience, and the exposure of one's
thoughts to the elder.lOS While the patterns of monastic life revealed in the
Apophthegmata were quite varied, Guy has argued that the method of educa
tion was virtually universal. The basis of the teaching relationship was the
absolute obedience that the disciple owed to his abba. The abba was not sim
ply the disciple's superior; he was the disciple's spiritual director. Instruction
was highly personal and the elder's advice often varied according to the needs
of the advisee. The elder was to use "his gift of spiritual discernment to adapt
each of his prescriptions to the needs and capacities of his disciple."!06 For his
part, the disciple was expected to expose all his thoughts to his elder in order
that they might be examined. His trust in the elder was to be complete. Only
gradually would the disciple learn to discern his own thoughts. 107
More recently, Graham Gould has considered the teaching relationship
among the desert fathers as one of many forms of interaction revealed in the
Apophthegmata. He agrees with Guy that the teaching relationship "was a
personal relationship which made great demands on the abba and his
disciple alike. "I08 He also accepts Guy's claim that the disciple owed absolute
obedience to his elder, but qualifies this by showing that if the relationship
were to prove unfruitful, then the disciple was free to look for a new abba. 109
Gould surpasses Guy, however, by suggesting that the responsibilities of
the abba went beyond the proper discernment of his disciple's needs to the
regulation of his own conduct.llo
The nature of instruction described in the Apophthegmata and articulated
by Guy and Gould are markedly similar to those of late ancient philosophy
more generally. In both instances, teaching took place "in the context of a
personal relationship."111 Both traditions were concerned with the student's
life and moral development as well as the imparting of knowledge. Both
devised methods of instruction that allowed for meditation and rumination.
One therefore cannot easily separate the instruction of the desert fathers from
the milieu in which it arose, just as one cannot easily isolate the content of the
instruction. This is not to suggest that the method of instruction found
in Antony's Letters or in the Apophthegmata was derived solely from Stoic
or other philosophical instruction. It is intended merely to challenge Guy's
claim that the desert fathers had developed "an altogether original method of
education. "112
READING EVAGRIUS PONTICUS
Perhaps the best example of the nature of monastic instruction is the corpus of
Evagrius Ponticus. The son of a chorepiscopus in Pontus, Evagrius was
ordained lector by Basil of Caesarea and deacon by Gregory N azianzen. He
later travelled to Constantinople with Gregory, where he served as archdea
con.11l Evagrius learned philosophy and sacred scripture under Gregory, and it
was probably Gregory who introduced Evagrius to the work and theology of
Origen.ll4 After Gregory's retirement, Evagrius remained in Constantinople
and developed a reputation as a skillful debater with heretics.ll5 At prayer
one evening, Evagrius had a vision that warned him away from his love for
the wife of a high official, and within twenty-four hours he took leave of the
capita1.116 He eventually arrived at the monastic community at the Mount of
Olives, which was governed by Melania the Elder and Rufinus of Aquileia.
While there Evagrius became extremely ill. Melania nursed him back to health
and convinced him to take monastic VOWS.ll7 Evagrius remained at the Mount
for two years before departing for Egypt.
After arriving in Egypt Evagrius maintained a correspondence with both
Melania and Rufinus. ll8 Palladius would seem to have played a significant role
in this, for he most likely served as Evagrius' messenger.ll9 Later in his career,
Evagrius returned briefly to the Mount of Olives to seek refuge from
Theophilus, who had threatened to ordain him bishop of Thmuis. 120 Evagrius
spent two years at Nitria and then fourteen at Kellia, dying on Epiphany,
399.121 While in Egypt Evagrius became associated with a group of monks
known for their fondness for Origen. These monks were led by Ammonius,
the Tall Brothers and, according to Palladius, Evagrius himself.122
Evagrius composed several works and many of these are small collections
of logoi or aphorisms. These collections have often been characterized as
without order; as possessing discernible themes but no discernible structure.
Despite this characterization, many of Evagrius' works show signs of having
been intricately constructed. In his extensive study of the Sententiae ad mona
chos, for example, Jeremy Driscoll has shown that Evagrius carefully linked
logoi together to form a coherent summary of the spiritual life.123 Driscoll
further argues that this is Evagrius' most complete work, for in it he surveys
the spiritual life from an incipient fear of the Lord to the contemplation of the
Trinity.124 Driscoll's approach is promising and deserves to be applied to other
of Evagrius' works.
Although it is not as comprehensive as the Sententiae ad monachos,
Evagrius' De oratione shows similar signs of being structured in the form of a
spiritual ascent. The work begins with the need for compunction and purity
and moves on to consider the various obstacles to prayer. It eventually ascends
to a discussion of the nature of pure prayer. The work is premised on the
notion that the reader is progressing in his own spiritual life as he progresses
through the text. Transitions from one topic to another are often marked, and
it is assumed that the reader has mastered what has been read before going on.
When he first introduces true prayer, for example, Evagrius cautions that if the
reader cannot remain focused during prayer, then he still prays as one attached
to the world rather than as a monk.125 When discussing the dangers that assail
the mind at the height of prayer, he writes as though the reader has already
made significant progress toward this goal. 126 Evagrius later expresses his hope
that the reader has achieved the full gift of prayer and counsels patience if
he has not. 127 Evagrius' aphorisms encourage intensive study and rumination.
The reader is not to go on to the next until he has mastered the last.
The role which memorization plays in reading Evagrius' texts can be seen
in the guarded and coded language that he frequently uses. He often alludes to
key elements of his thought through cryptic and even incomprehensible
references to them. Only later, or perhaps in a different work entirely, will
the references be explained. As the reader progresses through the text, and
eventually through Evagrius' entire corpus, he will return to key terms
and concepts many times. He will thereby be forced to consider the terms in
a new light. The depth and richness of the terms grow in proportion to the
reader's capacity for understanding.
An example of this is Evagrius' description of the logismoi, or evil thoughts,
as children. In his Sententiae ad monachos, Evagrius echoes Psalm 137 (136):9
when he writes: "He who completely destroys evil thoughts in his heart, he is
like the one who dashes his children against the rock."128 Evagrius also refers
to children in his Rerum monachalium rationes. There, he cites Jeremiah 16.4,
which prohibits Jeremiah from fathering children. Evagrius explains that the
children whom Jeremiah mentioned signify not only human children but also
the desires of the flesh, for they are the sons and daughters of the heart.129 In
his Scholia in psalmos, Evagrius sheds more light on the matter. He reinforces
the idea that children signify evil thoughts and also explains that the rock
against which they are dashed is the doctrine of Christ.130 A similar chain
explains the different dimensions of "rock" as a metaphor for Christ. Yet
another example is how Evagrius describes the shield of faith that quenches
flaming arrows. He takes up this Pauline image in his Sententiae ad monachos
when he writes: "A flaming arrow ignites the soul, but the man of praktike will
extinguish it."131 In the Kephalaia gnostica Evagrius explains that the arrows are
evil thoughts which are formed in the passionate part of the soul.132 In the
Practicus we read that praxis is the method of purifying the passionate part of
the soul. 133
The reader is not expected to have all of Evagrius's works at hand so that
he might cross-reference these terms. Instead, the terms and the aphorisms are
to be memorized over a long period of time. The meanings of the text, and
hence the depth of Evagrius' monastic teaching, will be revealed only slowly.
A text that has been learned, or even memorized without being understood,
will gradually be explained as the student progresses. The use of aphorisms
allows Evagrius to interweave introspection and practical advice in a spiralling
manner in which the reader, when he moves on to a new aspect of the
spiritual life, is already expected to have mastered the former.
Using aphorisms in this way also allows for the simultaneous discussion of
several themes, which reflects the complex personality of a reader whose
spiritual life cannot be compartmentalized in convenient linear categories. In
a manner similar to the philosophical instruction described above, the reader
is to explore every aspect of his emotional and spiritual life. The manner in
which the reader is to read and memorize Evagrius' aphorisms has led Driscoll
to describe the Sententiae ad monachos, which is a collection of sayings, as
a model dialogue. He concludes that the text "can hold no interest for the
reader who does not accept the proverbs as invitations to dialogue."134
This approach to Evagrius' corpus does not differ greatly from his approach
to the Bible, for the Bible also possesses many levels of meaning that can only
be mastered after a long period of prayer and study. 135 Both texts also require
the practical application of their principles for their meaning to be grasped.
The goal of scriptural interpretation is to establish a unity between the princi
ples in the text and the life of the reader. "It is through the fulfillment of the
text in one's life that the text expresses its full transformative power."136 A
monk therefore cannot claim to have mastered a text, either biblical or
Evagrian, until he has successfully applied it to his life. In each case, the text
must engage the reader and transform him, thereby leading him to a deeper
awareness of himself and of God.
There is an inherent irony in Evagrius' corpus, however, in that the com
munity which provided the basis for these writings in some ways would have
been antithetical to them. I am not here referring to the supposed anti-intel
lectualism revealed in the Apophthegmata, which can easily be explained by the
fact that the sayings were collected after the Origenist and other theological
controversies. These later writings are evidence of a wariness of theological
speculation that was not such a force in the latter part of the fourth century.
Nor do I wish to suggest that Evagrius was not read in Egypt. O'Laughlin, for
example, cites evidence that Evagrius was read in Scetis.1J7 Guillaumont goes so
far as to suggest that Evagrius' De oratione was the flash point for the Origenist
controversy, for it attacks the visualization of God during prayer, a practice
common among some of the monks in the region. 138
I am instead referring to the fundamentally oral nature of the desert

communities. Study required a guide. It was not to be undertaken alone. The
beginner did not possess the discernment necessary to assess his progress.
He therefore could not have heeded Evagrius' warnings not to proceed before
mastering what had already been read. It was the abba's task to evaluate
the condition of his disciple and discern his needs. The abba would diagnose
what ailed his disciple and provide the remedy. Moreover, the disciple was to
show some indication that he was prepared to follow the advice of the abba.139
Without such a demonstration, the logos would be ineffective and, eventually,
the abba would cease to function effectively as a spiritual guide.
Why, then, did Evagrius write? The works he composed required keys for
their interpretation and the immediate possessors of these keys would have
had little use for the books themselves. The community itself served as a repos
itory of wisdom and experience that could be "read" and discussed, and the
abba could provide his disciple with what he needed to know.
The answer to the question lies in the identity of Evagrius' addressees.
Considerable evidence points to an extensive correspondence between
Evagrius and the monastery on the Mount of Olives. Gabriel Bunge has shown
that several of Evagrius' letters were addressed to Melania and Rufinus as well
as John of Jerusalem, a patron of the community on the Mount. At least two
of Evagrius' ascetic works were addressed to them, as well as an epistolary
discourse on theology.14o The link between Evagrius and the Mount of Olives
is made even more clear by Rufinus' translation of the Historia monachorum
in Aegypto, which betrays an affinity for the Evagrian understanding of the
monastic life, and by Rufinus' translations of Evagrius himself.
The Mount of Olives would have been one of the few monastic communi
ties outside Egypt that could have "unlocked" Evagrius' corpus. Melania had
resided for some time among the monks of Nitria and had sheltered them at
Diocaesarea during their exile from Egypt under Valens. 141 At Jerusalem, she
continued her immersion in the works of Origen, Didymus the Blind,
and other writers who provided the intellectual foundation of "Origenist"
monasticism.142 Rufinus, too, had lived among the Egyptians and claimed to
have studied under Didymus the Blind for six years.143 Thus, both leaders
were familiar with monastic life at Nitria and attempted to emulate at least
some aspects of it on the Mount of Olives. They also shared with the Nitrians
a common exegetical and speculative tradition based on Origen and developed
by Didymus and the monks themselves. Melania and Rufinus therefore
possessed the same interpretative keys as the Nitrian monks. The two, along
with their more senior disiciples, could have served as the ammas and abbas
who interpreted the needs of the less advanced in their community and
provided the gradual revelation that was necessary for their growth.
If this answer should be accepted, yet other questions must be posed. If
Evagrius' teaching could be grasped by only a closely knit and similarly
trained group of monks, how could it be conveyed to those outside this group?
How could one represent in a written text a method of instruction that was
dependent upon the personal relationship between master and disciple? As will
be seen below, one method that Cassian used to overcome this enormous dif
ficulty was to attempt to recreate as far as he could the dialogue between abba
and disciple as an experience of reading. Before this can be examined in more
detail, however, we must first become familiar with the context in which he
wrote.
NOTES
1. The following account is derived from a number of studies and represents a tradi
tional view of the origin of Christian monasticism. The account merely indicates
the direction many previous studies have taken and is in no way a detailed survey
of scholarship in the field.
2. For this two-fold image of the desert, Guillaumont, "Conception," 3-2 1.
3. Hardy, Egypt, 90; De Clerq, "Influence," 169-176; Spidlik, Spirituality, 21.
4. Chitty, Desert, 32; Byrne, "Cenobitic," 282.
5. Baus, Reichskirche, 378; Clark, Origenist, 56-57.
6. Griggs, Egyptian, 201.
7. Lorenz, "Anfange," 1-2.
8. Baus, Reichskirche, 390-391.
9. Baus, Reichskirche, 398.
10. Byrne, "Cassian," 4-5.
1 1 . Lorenz, "Anfange," 35.
12. Courtois, "Evolution," 53.
13. J. F. Kelly, "Gallic," 506.
14. Frend, "Paulinus," 10. Bardy, "Occident," 86-104, challenges this view.
15. E.g., Antin, "Monachisme," 108-109.
16. Pace Klijn, "Jewish Christianity," 161-175, who argues that there was more theo
logical and ethnic variety in the early Alexandrian communities.
17. Roberts' analysis of Christian nomina sacra provides much of the evidence for the
spread of Christianity among the Jewish population. Manuscript, 26-48.
18. For the devastation of both the Jewish and the Gentile populations that resulted
from these revolts, Smallwood, Jews, 393-412.
19. Roberts, Manuscript, 71.
20. Bowman, Town Councils, 126-127.
21. Bagnall, Egypt, 55-56.
23. Lewis, Life, 49-50.
24. Rubenson, Letters, 93.
25. Boak, "Flight," 327-329.
26. Bagnall, Egypt, 172.
27. Boak, "Flight," 332-337.
28. Bagnall, Egypt, 56, n. 71.
29. Bowman, "Some Aspects," 43.

30. Bagnall, Egypt, 62-63; Bowman, "Some Aspects," 51.
31. Rousseau, Pachomius, 3-13.
32. Bagnall, Egypt, 136; Bowman, "Some Aspects," 45.
33. Bagnall, Egypt, 262; Lewis, Life, 15.
39. Wipszycka, "Monachisme," 41.
40. Rousseau, Pachomius, 7, concludes that "it is no longer possible to suppose that the
Hellenistic culture of Alexandria inspired only a few Greek-speaking notables in
the southern metropoleis and confirmed a sharp distinction between people of their
standing and the Egyptian peasantry." Also Bagnall, Egypt, 259.
42. Wipszycka, "Monachisme," 41, suggests that the division between Origen's sup
porters and detractors lay in their allegiance to Theophilus rather than in their
native language or level of literacy.
43. Judge, "Earliest," 72-89.
44. Judge, "Earliest," 73-74.
45. Judge, "Fourth-Century," 619. This article lists and describes the contents of papyri
which mention apotaktikoi and monachoi.
46. Jerome, Ep. 22.34.
47. Wipszycka, "Monachisme," 1 1-14, suggests that by the end of the fourth century
a community founded along Pachomian lines was present in Alexandria itself.
48. Rousseau, Pachomius, 65.
49. Rousseau, Pachomius, 153-158. Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 32, also describes the dif
ferent trades plied by the Tabennesiotes, although at a later date than the sources
cited in Rousseau.
50. Historia monachorum 5.
51. Historia monachorum 8.26-29.
52. Historia monachorum 8.30-3 1, 36-37.
53. Historia monachorum 8.7, 44-47.
54. Historia monachorum 18. 1.
55. Historia monachorum 18.3.
56. Bes saved farmers from a rampaging hippopotamus and a crocodile on different occa
sions. Historia monachorum 4.3. Elias healed the sick. Ibid. 7.2.
57. Goehring, "World," 134-144, and Wipszycka, "Monachisme," 1-44, describe the pres
ence of ascetics within cities.
58. Evagrius, Practicus 97, for the story; Gnosticus 7, Ad monachos 25, 29, and Antirrheticus
3.37 for the need to give alms.
59. Evagrius, Rerum 6, for the need to avoid distraction; Practicus 41, and Ad monachos
83, for proper conduct while in a village.
60. Evagrius, Gnosticus 7, 22, 33.
61. Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 29. 1; 58.1; 59. 1 .

62. Wipszycka, "Monachisme," 8-9.
63. Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 7.5.
64. Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 10.3; Evagrius, Cnosticus 30; Apophthegmata Anoub 1.
65. For a discussion of monastic economic activity, Chitty, Desert, 34; Goehring,
"World," 139.
66. Apophthegmata Agathon 27, 30; Isidore the Priest 7; Macarius 30; Poemen 10, 163.
67. Apophthegmata Benjamin 1; John the Dwarf 35; Macarius 7; Pion 1.
68. Apophthegmata John the Dwarf 5, 30-31; Goehring, "World," 139.
69. Apophthegmata Poemen 9.
70. Site monastique, 21-27; Husson, "L'habitat," 191-207.
71. Wipszycka, "Monachisme," 35.
72. Apophthegmata John the Dwarf 5, 30-31.
73. Vita Antonii 1, 72-73, 79-80. Jerome found this image so striking that he attempt
ed to co-opt it in his Vita Pauli. See below, Chap. 3.
74. Gribomont, "Review, " 50, noted the possible significance of the Letters many years
ago in his review of Garitte's edition, but his argument was not widely accepted at
the time.
75. Rubenson, Letters, 15-42; accepted by Barnes, "Review," 724.
76. Rubenson, Letters, 59-88 .
77. That the Letters are insufficient to prove a direct link t o Origen, Barnes, "Review," 727.
78. Antony, Ep. 6.4. The Letters are numbered according to their arrangement in PC 40.
79. Antony, Ep. 2.1, 4.1.
80. Antony, Ep. 1.7, 2.2, 5.2, 6.2.
81. Antony, Ep. 2.2, 6.1.
82. Antony, Ep. 2.9, 4.2.
83. Antony, Ep. 6.1, 4; 7.
84. Antony, Ep. 1 .2-4.
85. Antony, Ep. 4.3.
87. "Summam salutis et beatitudinis in scientia < sui > et agnitione constituit." Origen,
Comm. in cant. 2.5.6.
88. "Igitur principale munus scientiae est agnoscere Trinitatem, secundo vero in loco
cognoscere creaturam eius." Origen, Comm. in cant. 2.5.20.
89. Origen, Comm. in cant. 2.5.17.
90. P. Hadot, Exercices, 61.
91. P. Hadot, Exercices, 19-2 1.
92. P. Hadot, Philosophy, 132
93. P. Hadot, Exercices, 69-70. For a survey of the sources of various Christian under-
standings of self-knowledge, Courcelle, Connais-tois, vol. 1, passim.
94. Athanasius, Vita s. Antonii 3.
97. Inst. 5.32. 1-3.
98. Inst. 5.41.
99. P. Hadot, Exercices, 36.

100. P. Hadot, Philosophy, 62.
101. "The written works of this period remain closely tied to oral conduct." P. Hadot,
Philosophy, 62.
102. 1. Hadot, "Spiritual Guide," 448-449.
103. Antony, Ep. 6.1,4; 7.
105. Guy, "Educational," 44-5 1.
106. Guy, "Educational," 47.
107. Guy, "Educational," 49.
108. Gould, Desert Fathers, 25.
109. Gould, Desert Fathers, 73-74. Considerable thought went into dissolving the teach
ing relationship, however, for the disciple had to be sure that the urge to leave
arose from a genuine risk of harm rather than from an assertion of self-will.
1 10. Gould, Desert Fathers, 58-63.
1 1 1. Gould, Desert Fathers, 26. 1. Hadot, "Spiritual Guide," 445, asserts that "philo
sophical instruction was necessarily most efficient when it was based on a per
sonal and friendly intercourse between student and teacher."
1 12. Guy, "Educational," 45.
1 13. Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 38.2.
1 14. Sozomenus, Historia ecclesiastica 6.30.8. O'Laughlin, "Origenism," 13-14, 26, argues
that Gregory trained Evagrius from a young age.
1 15. Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 38.2.
1 16. Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 38.3-7; Sozomenus, Historia ecclesiastica 6.30.9.
1 17. Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 38.8-9.
1 18. Bunge, "Origenismus," 35-39; Briefe, 331ff.
1 19. O'Laughlin, "Origenism," 60-63.
120. O'Laughlin, "Origenism," 64.
121. Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 38. 10,13.
122. Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 1 1 .4; 24; 35. O'Laughlin, "Origenism," 59, has argued
that "it was characteristic of this group that they maintained greater contact with
the outside world, especially with Alexandria and Palestine." Regnault, Vie,
35-36, basing his argument on their apparent willingness to engage in theological
speculation, has proposed that these monks stood outside the tradition of the
desert fathers that is revealed in the Apophthegmata. These claims are not tenable,
however, for they are predicated upon an assumption that native Egyptian monks
were strongly opposed to Greek thought in general and to Origen in particular,
an assumption that must now be questioned.
123. Driscoll, "Key," 361-392, for a summary of his research.
124. Driscoll, "Key," 361.
125. Evagrius, De oratione 44.
128. Evagrius, Sententiae ad monachos 45. Translations of the Sententiae are taken from
Driscoll, The 'Ad monachos, ' 45-70.
129. Evagrius, Rerum 1.

130. Evagrius, Scholia in psalmos 136.9.
131. Ephesians 6: 16. Evagrius, Sententiae ad monachos 70.
132. Evagrius, Kephalaia gnostica 6.53; For this link, Driscoll, The 'Ad monachos, ' 256,
n. 44.
133. Evagrius, Practicus 78.
134. Driscoll, The 'Ad monachos, ' 368.
135. For the levels of meaning in scripture corresponding to the stages of the spiritual
life, G�hin, "L'Exegese Evagrienne," in Schol. in Prov., 28.
136. Burton-Christie, Word, 217; also 135.
137. O'Laughlin, "Origenism," 67.
138. Guillaumont, Les 'Kephalaia, ' 66.
139. "The predisposition of those who came to hear a word from the elder deeply
affected the kind and power of the words which the elder would speak. Only
those who showed a willingness to take the words seriously, to put them into
practice, would find the verbal treasures which they sought." Burton-Christie,
Word, 157, referring especially to Apophthegmata Theodore of Pherme 3, 9; Ares
1; Felix 1. Also, Gould, Desert Fathers, 87.
140. These are the Sententiae ad monachos, Ad virginem and the Epistula ad Melaniam.
Bunge, "Origenismus," 35-39; Driscoll, The 'Ad monachos, ' 39-43.
141. Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 46.3-4.
142. Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 55.
143. Rufinus, Apologia 2. 12,15.
CHAPTER 3
Western Percep tions of Egyp tian

Monasticism
The story of ancient monasticism that began the previous chapter is very
much a western story. Although it has its roots in Egypt, and Egyptian
practices are described as normative, the story nevertheless flowered most
fully among Latin-speaking Christians. The story appealed to the West because
it satisfied the strong desire of many Christians to find roots within a contin
uing tradition. The gulf between the apostolic and the imperial church had
come to be keenly felt, especially after the triumph of Christianity under
Theodosius.1 The Egyptian monks were often portrayed as successors to the
apostles, for they had preserved unblemished the purity of the apostolic
church.2 The story also appealed to the West because it came at a time when
the beleaguered cause of monasticism was encountering strong opposition
from both pagans and Christians. By tracing the history of monasticism to
the very beginning of the Christian tradition, proponents of the monastic
life could parry what was perhaps their critics' most powerful thrust: that
monasticism was a recent aberration concocted by extreme and irrational
zealots.3 Finally, the story helped to classify and assess monastic practices and
imposed order on the variety of rules and communities that had arisen. By
limiting the origins of monasticism to Egypt and by describing Egyptian
practices as normative, monastic writers offered a clear pedigree of orthodox
monastic practices. By telling the story of past heroes, they could shape
monks' present way of life. In a sense, narrating the past allowed monastic
writers to control their present.
THE LIVES OF ANTONY AND PAUL
This is perhaps most evident in the western reception of the Life 6/ Antony. By
representing the stages of Antony's withdrawal as corresponding to the stages
of his spiritual development, the Life firmly established exterior solitude as a
metaphor for interior purity.4 When studying the practices of other ascetics,
Antony passed from being a novice to one capable of withstanding the assaults
45
of demons.5 After he withdrew from people to dwell in a tomb, Antony

mastered carnal desire, survived physical demonic attack and was proclaimed
by God as truly holy.6 The Life offers Antony's abandonment of the tomb
and entry into the desert as proof of his holiness.7 In the desert Antony
challenged the devil in his own abode and received an unsurpassed spiritual
wisdom in return. Antony's own Letters and a more complete knowledge of
Egyptian monastic life significantly challenge this description of monasticism
as a continuing quest for solitude. Nevertheless, western readers largely
unfamiliar with events in Egypt and wholly ignorant of Antony's Letters
came to regard the portrayal of Antony in the Life as normative. The Life's
association of solitude with interior purity captured readers' imaginations and
accounts of Antony's extreme self-deprivation contributed to a fascination
with extreme ascesis that would come to border on voyeurism.
Translated into two different Latin versions, the Life's popularity stemmed
at least partly from the forceful personality of its purported author.8
Athanasius had resided in Rome during one of his periodic exiles from
Alexandria.9 Accompanied by at least two monks, his entourage made a
lasting impression. The image of Christian perfection that Athanasius offered
in his narrative could not easily be challenged by those who wished to offer a
different view of monastic life.
Jerome is an example of this, for he found it necessary to co-opt and
modify the vision set forth in the Life 0/ Antony rather than supplant it. He
even attempted to forge a link between himself and Athanasius by means of
the Roman matron Marcella. Jerome wrote that Athanasius had inspired
Marcella to dedicate herself to holy widowhood.lO Four decades later, Jerome
ingratiated himself into the company of this same Marcella as well as a group
of widows and virgins who met with her regularly to pray and study the Bible.
Linking Marcella to Athanasius provided a pedigree for Marcella's ascetic
practices, which were regarded by many as scandalous, and established a
connection between Athanasius and Jerome himself. Jerome portrayed himself
as helping to shape the raw zeal for Christian perfection that Athanasius had
inspired.l1 It must be noted, however, that Jerome's account of Marcella's con
version to the monastic life cannot be reconciled with the known chronology
of events, for it is unlikely that Marcella had even been born when Athanasius
entered in Rome.12 The historical license that Jerome took in order to repre
sent himself as an heir to Athanasius simply highlights the enormous influence
of the Life 0/ Antony. In order to establish himself as an authority on the
monastic life, it was necessary for Jerome to place himself within an already
established literary tradition and monastic vision.
Since Jerome could not dislodge Antony from the popular imagination, he
offered a hero of his own, a hermit named Paul. The Life 0/ Paul is framed
around an encounter between Paul and Antony that was the fulfillment of
Antony's divine commission to seek one even more holy than himself. In this
Life, Jerome takes up many of the themes contained in the Life 0/ Antony, but
Western Perceptions 0/ Egyptian Monasticism 47
he modifies them to suit his own unique vision. At no time does Jerome
denigrate Antony. His only direct challenge to Antony is his refutation of the
claim that Antony was the first to enter the desert. In the course of the Life 0/
Paul, however, Jerome clearly establishes Paul's priority in virtue. Paul has
gained a more complete isolation; his abstinence is more rigorous; he is more
impoverished; he is acknowledged as superior in virtue by both Antony and
God.13 During their encounter, Antony begs that he may accompany Paul on
his journey to Heaven. 14
For the most part, these differences in virtue are matters of degree rather
than substance. What is more significant for discerning Jerome's particular
interests is how Paul's vocation deviates from the pattern established
by Antony's biographer. In opposition to Antony's famous illiteracy, for
example, Jerome represents Paul as being well-educated in both secular and
Christian literature. IS Jerome's depiction of Paul also betrays a fascination with
rigorous ascetic practices that transcends what is found in the Life 0/ Antony.
Like Antony, Paul's ascesis consists of minimal consumption of food, lack
of concern for the body, and nearly continuous prayer. 16 Unlike Antony,
however, Paul does not rely upon a small garden and instead receives his
meager diet of half a loaf a day through divine beneficence. 17 In order to make
this paltry fare seem plausible, Jerome offers two examples of even more
extreme fasts. One hermit subsists entirely on barley bread and muddy water,
while the another consumes only five dried figs a day.I' Jerome also dwells at
length on the story of a young man who bites off his tongue to prevent his
arousa1.19 Jerome's description of Paul's way of life is wanting. While he
mentions Paul's practice of continual prayer, he does little more than claim
that Paul's body retained the posture of prayer even after his soul had left it.20
While he contrasts Paul's education to Antony's supposed illiteracy, he does
not explain what role this education might have played in Paul's monastic life.
Ironically, in his desire to emphasize Paul's poverty and isolation, Jerome
renders it virtually impossible for Paul to have any access to books.
Unlike the Life 0/ Antony, the Life 0/ Paul does not contain a sophisticated
theology of the monastic life or debates with pagan philosophers. It instead
presents Paul's exemplary conduct and other Christian heroes almost entirely
in terms of their isolation, extreme fasts, mastery over carnal desire and
nearly continuous prayer. This ideal is almost entirely self-interested, being
concerned solely with individual salvation and showing little evidence of
having a place within the larger Christian community. Paul's isolation would
have prevented him from participating in the sacramental life of the Church
and the other hermits are described in a similar vein. Nor does Jerome make
any provision for cenobitism or other forms of communal activity. Paul's
complete isolation denies him even the role of intercessor which Athanasius'
Life had allowed for Antony. Following Christ demands the severance of all
communal and familial bonds. While Jerome's conception of the monastic life
will evolve and become richer over the years, the deficiencies of the Life a/ Paul
are indicative of much of his early monastic literature.
JEROME'S EARLY MONASTIC VISION
Mark Vessey has recently argued that Jerome used his first set of public letters
to create a model of Christian literary activity.21 In essence, Jerome portrayed
himself as a Latin Origen; a portrayal that would later come back to haunt
him. Basing his model on descriptions of classical poets and Eusebius' descrip
tion of Origen, Jerome created a Christian literary persona whose principal
attributes were a tireless commitment to reading and writing "in the service of
religion," a single-minded engagement with the Bible, and a high level of
literary productivity.22 Vessey's argument is sound and provides an insight into
both Jerome's literary activity and his understanding of the perfect Christian
life. However, it is necessary to add one more attribute to Jerome's cultivated
persona: a dedicated monastic life.
Jerome put great stock in his experience as a hermit in the Syrian desert,
writing that he would gladly have remained there if he had not been driven
out by false and unorthodox monks.23 It was in Syria that he made the acquain
tance of monks who claimed to have met the hermit Paul. Jerome's greatest
patron while in Syria was Evagrius of Antioch, who produced a polished and
widely read translation of the Life 0/ Antony.24 Finally, while ostensibly
pursuing the life of a solitary, Jerome in fact engaged in extensive literary
activity, composing many of his first public letters either from his cell or on
his way there. Thus, Jerome did not depend entirely upon forging a link with
Athanasius to establish himself as an authority on the monastic life. He
claimed that his experience, his travels and his acquaintances had allowed
him to tap into the major currents of the monastic tradition. This unique
familiarity with the monastic life gave Jerome the authority to shape its future.
In this early set of letters Jerome describes the monastic life in heroic
terms.25 Christian ascesis is little short of mortal (or immortal) combat, in
which the lone hero fights against both his own evil inclinations and the
demonic enemies of God. Purity comes through physical withdrawal and
struggle against the forces of evil. The solitary in the desert gains a commun
ion with God that is possible nowhere else. Jerome praises his friend Rufinus,
who went to live among the solitaries of Nitria, as dwelling with a heavenly
family on earth.26 He later describes Rufinus as having been washed clean by
his experience at Nitria and made as white as snow.27 Jerome's companion
Bonosus also abandoned the world and ensconced himself on a small, unin
habited island in the Adriatic. He demonstrated his absolute commitment to
God through his abandonment of his social position, his familial obligations
and even his dearest friend.28
Jerome wrote twice in praise of Bonosus' vocation. Describing the desola
tion of Bonosus' isle in vivid detail, Jerome sets it against the heavenly reward
which Bonosus will surely receive. He contrasts Bonosus' loneliness to his cit
izenship in the heavenly city; his isolation to the presence of Christ; his lack
of drinking water to the plentiful water of life. "You will be able to praise the
victory," Jerome writes, "when you realize the effort of the combatant."29 He
likens Bonosus to John the Evangelist on the island of Patmos, suggesting that
Bonosus "might see [a vision] in the manner of John."30 Alone on his island but
for the presence of Christ, Bonosus "saw the glory of God, which even the
apostles did not see except in the desert."3!
This description is uncompromising. Bonosus' renunciation and isolation
are complete; his life is dedicated entirely to a struggle against Satan and to
communion with God. His efforts are of heroic proportions and call to mind
the deeds of the apostles. Bonosus best fulfills the call to Christian perfection,
for it is in the desert that evil can best be fought and there that the glory of
God might be seen. Although Jerome writes that he was the first of the two to
desire a monastic life, Bonosus was the first to live it.32 What Jerome merely
willed, Bonosus carried to completion.33 Though somewhat overawed by the
prospect, Jerome hopes that he, too, might soon embark upon a similar
retreat. Jealous of his friend, he chafes at his prolonged stay at Antioch and
longs for the opportunity to join the anchorites in the desert of Chalcis. The
desert is more beautiful to him than any city and is made into an image of
paradise by the saints who dwell there.34 Only poor health prevents his imme
diate departure.35
Soon after writing these letters, Jerome fulfilled his desire and established
himself in a cell at Chalcis. Once there, he strongly urged his friend
Heliodorus to abide with him there. Heliodorus had earlier resigned from the
army and, upon being baptized, had taken a vow of chastity.36 Heliodorus,
however, did not equate chastity with dwelling in the desert and chose instead
to remain in his native city of Altinum. He hoped that by remaining in the
city, he could fulfill his responsibilities to his family and answer a call to the
episcopacy. Jerome angrily disagreed with this choice and strenuously argued
that Heliodorus' vow required his complete renunciation of the world.37 He
demanded that Heliodorus immediately abandon his family, his responsibili
ties as a citizen and the potential rewards of becoming a bishop. Jerome went
so far as to accuse Heliodorus of seeking the honor of the episcopacy rather
than the duties of pastoral care.38
Jerome argued that Christian perfection demands chastity and mortifica
tion, which in turn require complete abandonment of the world. It is not
possible to seek perfection and yet remain among people. The duties of a
cleric are incompatible with the monastic vocation. Pastoral concern should
not prevent Heliodorus from entering the desert. Only after an extended
diatribe against remaining in the world does Jerome attempt to mollify his
harshness and to entice, rather than to command, Heliodorus to join him. In
contrast to his invective on the evils and temptations of the world, Jerome
praises the sublime joy of life in the desert and describes the wilderness as
rejoicing in the presence of God.39
The uncompromising ideals and naIve expectations that Jerome took with
him into the desert were not borne out by his own experience. Ill-disposed to
solitude, he suffered greatly from what he perceived to be utter isolation. This
solitude was very much a matter of perception, for Jerome never truly
renounced the world. Visits from friends were frequent and he deeply
regretted their departure.4o He maintained an extensive correspondence that
was facilitated by a small group of copyists.41 In a petulant voice Jerome
demanded that those who could not visit should write and he reprimanded
several who had either not responded with sufficient speed or had not written
at sufficient length.42
Regardless of his own failure in the desert, Jerome did not consider that
there might be virtually insurmountable difficulties inherent within the
eremitic ideal itself. He continued to idealize the desert and wrote again in
praise of Bonosus. Repeating his earlier allusion to John the Evangelist, Jerome
described Bonosus as master over his desires.43 Unable to commend his own,
less than admirable experience, or the conduct of the Syrian monks whom he
had come to despise, Jerome looked instead to the heroic past for exemplars
of the Christian life. After leaving Chalcis, Jerome composed, or at least
disseminated, his Life of Paul.H It is significant that Paul's hermitage was not in
Syria but in Thebes. Egypt had now come to embody Jerome's ideal of
Christian perfection.
Jerome abandoned Syria and travelled in a roundabout way to Rome. Like
the monks of Chalcis, he felt that this community, too, lacked sufficient zeal.
Yet, within this community, small groups of women practiced a rigorous
ascesis and were dedicated to biblical study. No sooner did Jerome begin to
associate with these women than he began to dominate at least some of them.
His role was multifold. He directed various women, especially Paula and
her daughter Eustochium, in their studies. He advised them concerning
their ascetic discipline, encouraging them to pursue their rigorous fasts and
extended vigils with all the more determination. He also used his public
correspondence with them, which contained both encouragement and
reproach, as a means to articulate further his views on the monastic life.
While in Rome Jerome continued to praise the desert.45 Writing to
Eustochium, he even expressed regret that he had not remained in the Syrian
waste; a regret made somewhat hollow by his failure ever again to attempt
a similar vocation.46 In this same letter, however, Jerome also entertained
the possibility of a communal form of monasticism. When describing the
monastic life to Eustochium, he only briefly discussed the eremitic life,
mentioning its biblical antecedents and the more recent examples of Paul and
Antony. Postponing a more complete discussion to another time, Jerome
wrote only that the hermits go out from the monasteries, taking nothing
with them into the desert but bread and salt. 47 A discussion of the communal
monasticism practiced in Egypt, as well as sniping at Syrian monks, absorb the
remainder of Jerome's attention.
Jerome also eulogized two women while in Rome: Asella and Lea. Inspired
by a prophetic dream, Asella's father had consecrated her to virginity as a
girl of ten. At twelve, she dedicated herself as a virgin and thenceforth under
took a life of extreme self-denial.48 She went out rarely, and then only to visit
secretly the shrines of the martyrs.49 With a diet consisting of bread, salt, and
cold water, she fasted for days at a time. During Lent, she extended these fasts
to a week.50 Though she had not left Rome, Asella "sought delight in solitude
and found in the turbulent city the desert of the monks. "5! Lea, on the other
hand, was a Roman widow who had supervised a community of virgins until
her death in December of 384.52 She had paid little attention to her appearance,
eaten only coarse food, and maintained nightly vigils. Through her ascesis, Lea
had trampled Satan underfoot and won for herself a crown in Heaven. She had
rejected her position as a matron and converted her household into a monas·
terium.53 Her life was proof that one cannot serve two masters. One must
choose between Christ and the world. 54
In these two eulogies and in his Letter to Eustochium, Jerome set out the two
forms of monastic life he deemed legitimate. The eremitic was more noted
for its rigorous fasts and constant vigils. The communal life had its own
perfection, but he also described it as a training ground for future hermits.
This hierarchy was echoed in the West in monastic hagiography and other
descriptions of monastic life that praised the isolated hero and spoke of
his utter abandonment of the world for the sake of Heaven. In the second
decade of the fifth century, the Gaul Rusticus believed the surest path toward
intimacy with God was the desert and Cassian mentions the prevalence of a
similar view even later.55 Eucherius, a younger contemporary of Cassian, called
the desert the principal dwelling place of God.56
JEROME'S INFLUENCE
It would be foolhardy to suggest that Jerome single-handedly inspired a

fascination for the eremitic life in the West, or that he alone formulated
the widely accepted dichotomy between the eremitic and the communal voca
tions. While Jerome promulgated this view with exceptional vigor, one cannot
discount the impact of the powerful image of Antony emerging from his fort
after years of isolation as an initiate into the sacred mysteries. 57 Augustine
recorded how profoundly the hermits of Trier and later the Life 0/ Antony had
influenced his own conversion. 58 Sulpicius Severus described the miracles of
Martin of Tours in terms that surpassed even the accounts of the Egyptian
hermits. 59 Hilary of Arles wrote of Honoratus who, though no thaumaturge
in the Martinian mold, still sought God in the solitude of the desert.60
Nevertheless, Jerome played a crucial role in establishing an image of
Egyptian monastic life that was quite popular in the West. He had the sup
port of a powerful network of friends in Rome who promulgated his early let
ters, and the Life 0/ Paul enjoyed a wide circulation.6! When his support in
Rome waned, Jerome sought to expand his readership, and therefore his poten
tial patronage, in Gaul. 62 He recommended the virtue of Proculus, the bishop
of Marseille, who would later aid Cassian when he established his monasteries
outside Marseille.bJ Sulpicius Severus acknowledged Jerome's influence and,
more than twenty years later, Cassian would do the same.64
There are also glimmers of Jerome's influence in Eucherius' De laude eremi.

This brief work was written in 429 as a defense of Hilary's return to Lerins
from Arles. Hilary had hoped, although in vain, that his flight from Arles
would enable him to avoid ordination to the episcopacy.65 Eucherius justified
Hilary's flight by praising the beauty and sacred character of the desert.66 He
described the desert as the special residence of God and evinced a long list of
biblical examples to prove that God communicates more directly with people
in the desert than anywhere else. Eucherius, like Jerome before him, empha
sized the importance of physical isolation.67 His understanding of solitude was
remarkably literal and he described the desert as almost magical. All who dwell
in it are somehow inspired to higher and better things.68 Even Christ's retreat
into the desert is understood entirely in physical terms.69 For Eucherius, the
desert cell is a "seat of faith, an ark of virtue, a tabernacle of charity, a treasury
of piety, a storehouse of justice."70 It is the miraculous residence of God.
While Eucherius' portrayal bears a striking similarity to Jerome's early
writings, such imagery was not uncommon in Gaul at that time and a direct
reliance is difficult to prove. However, Bartelink has demonstrated that there
is at least one direct parallel between Jerome and Eucherius. A theme running
throughout Eucherius' work is the contrast between the fertility of productive
fields and the apparent barrenness of the desert.71 Despite, or perhaps because
of, its desolation, the desert is the more productive in virtue. Eucherius even
claimed that God deliberately created barren wastes in order to provide a
future home for hermits.72 This contrast recalls the imagery that Jerome used
in his letter to Heliodorus, which praises the desert as floribus vernans.73
Bartelink has shown that Eucherius is the first writer after Jerome to have used
this phrase.74
Jerome's early works and Eucherius' De laude eremi indicate some impor
tant aspects of how the monastic life was understood in Gaul in the beginning
of the fifth century. Many believed that there were only two legitimate forms
of monastic life. While each of these had its own perfection, a life of solitude
was the more virtuous. There also existed a remarkable naIvete, or even igno
rance, about the nature and goals of monastic practices. While the solitary life
was often praised, writers offered little indication of how such a life was to be
pursued. Jerome, for instance, praised Paul's continual prayer, but seemed
unable to explain how such prayer might be achieved. Similarly, in his early
letters Jerome rarely addressed the need for instruction. He instead described
the eremitic life as though it required only tremendous determination and an
indefatigable spirit.7s Rather than an almost insurmountable hardship, the rig
ors of utter solitude came to be described as a rich source of personal blessings
and miraculous power.
Jerome's views were not received without criticism. Doubt was raised
about the historical veracity of the Life 0/ Paul.76 Jerome's excessive praise of
virginity and his denigration of sexual union within marriage prompted his
friends to suppress his Contra Iovinianum.77 In his letter to the adolescent
Eustochium, Jerome employed language from the Song of Songs to describe

longing for God in a way that disquieted some readers by blurring the
distinction between carnal and spiritual desire.78 Finally, as was shown in the
previous chapter, Jerome's division of the monastic life into two mutually
distinct and easily identifiable vocations was not an accurate portrayal of
events in Egypt.
Nevertheless, Jerome was one of the foremost Latin monastic writers of the
late fourth and early fifth centuries. Although several forms of monastic life
had arisen locally in the West, many Christians still looked to the East for
their inspiration and Jerome's accounts were warmly received.79 Those who
could claim knowledge of the East possessed a unique authority to teach and
Jerome's experience as a hermit, no matter how short-lived and unsuccessful,
elevated his reputation even further. Jerome helped to shape western percep
tions of eastern monasticism and, as a result, to shape western monastic life
itself. Jerome's authority also allowed him to muffle another source of knowl
edge of the East: Rufinus of Aquileia.
APA THEIA AND INPECCANTIA
The Ghost of Origen
Friends from boyhood, Jerome and Rufinus surrendered their worldly aspira
tions and chose to live in a loosely arranged Christian community at Aquileia.
When this community disintegrated a short time later, each went his separate
way.80 While in Antioch awaiting his own sojourn in the desert, Jerome
learned that Rufinus was dwelling among the monks of Nitria, whom Jerome
characterized as a heavenly family on earth.8! A short time later, he echoed
Psalm 5 1 when he described Rufinus as washed clean by his experience in
Egypt and made as white as snow.82 Jerome's admiration for Egyptian monas
tic life was only to rise in the next few years as he became disenchanted with
his own experience in Syria.
Later in their lives there seemed every possibility for Jerome and Rufinus
to revive their friendship. When Jerome arrived in Bethlehem to establish a
monastic community, he found Rufinus only a few miles away in Jerusalem.
However, controversy over Origen's theology was to drive the friends apart
forever. Jerome had incautiously relied on Origen in his earlier biblical com
mentaries and, in his later years, was desperate to demonstrate he was and
always had been free of the taint of heresy. He vociferously condemned not
only Origen but all who were sympathetic to the long dead theologian. This
blanket condemnation included his old friend Rufinus, who responded to
Jerome's attacks by defending Origen and by reminding all who would listen
that Jerome had once embraced Origen enthusiastically. Never one to back
away from a quarrel, Jerome unleashed a stream of invective against Rufinus
that would continue long after the latter had died.
The long and tortured history of this controversy, or series of controver

sies, has been traced before and its intricacies need not be recounted here.83
However, two aspects of this controversy are important for the interpretation
of Cassian. The first is that the struggle over Origen's more questionable
theological claims drew in many people and its impact can be detected in Latin
monastic literature. Sulpicius Severus, for example, described Martin of Tours,
in his Life 0/ Martin, as accepting the possibility that Satan may one day be
restored to heaven, a proposition attributed to Origen that would later be
condemned.84 Only a few years later, however, Sulpicius included in his
Dialogues a very clear denial that Martin could ever have supported such a
notion, a clear sign that even western Gaul was not immune to the struggle
over Origen's theology.85
The second and more important aspect of the Origenist controversy is that
it was unexpectedly revived late in the career of both Cassian and Jerome.
Each man had thought the debate behind them. Cassian had left Egypt when
disagreement and then violence erupted over Origen's understanding of
prayer. Jerome had outlived Rufinus, who even before his death had refused
to participate further in the conflict. The arrival of Pelagius in Palestine, how
ever, was to have significant consequences for both Cassian and Jerome. In the
course of his debate with Pelagius, Jerome would attack the monks of Nitria
and Kellia. No longer a heavenly family on earth whose practices could render
one as white as snow, the monks had fallen into heresy by teaching that
humans might become perfect. In the end, Jerome's limited theological under
standing would combine with his heavy-handed style of polemic to limit
severely Cassian's ability to communicate the foundation of Graeco-Coptic
monasticism to the West.
Pelagius and Origen
In the last decade of Jerome's life, Pelagius came to reside in Palestine. He

was tolerated, if not welcomed, by John, the patriarch of Jerusalem. This
angered Jerome, who held no love for John because of his earlier support of
Rufinus. Tension soon began to grow between the supporters of Pelagius and
of Jerome. Ctesiphon, presumably one of Pelagius' patrons, wrote to Jerome
in the hope of establishing a dialogue between the two sides. Jerome had no
desire to participate in such a dialogue and instead responded harshly to
Ctesiphon. Among the charges that Jerome leveled against Pelagius was that of
being an Origenist. 86
According to Jerome, it was Pelagius who first raised the specter of Origen
by reviving Rufinus' accusation that Jerome had relied heavily on Origen in
his early biblical commentaries, especially his Commentary on Ephesians.87
While Jerome argued vehemently that he had vindicated himself of the charge
of heresy long before and that his ferocious attacks on the supporters of
Origen were proof of his orthodoxy, he nonetheless felt vulnerable to this sort
of accusation. There is good reason to accept Jerome's claim that Pelagius was
the first to raise the ghost of Origen. As Robert Evans has shown, it would
not have been to Jerome's benefit to mention Origen. He had indeed relied
heavily on Origen in his early biblical commentaries and his subsequent
recantations and denials could not entirely hide this fact. Pelagius, on the
other hand, could have hoped to weaken Jerome's support in the West by
reminding Latin readers of his earlier errors and the bitter nature of his
earlier conflicts.88 Since Jerome enjoyed little popularity in Palestine, he was
heavily dependent upon support from the West to sustain the monasteries that
he and Paula had founded.89
Jerome's reversal of Pelagius' accusation may also have been more than an
attempt to turn the tables on his foe. He may have seen the affinity between
the supporters of Pelagius and the earlier supporters of Rufinus and Melania
the Elder. As his stance against Pelagius developed in the course of his writ
ings, Jerome became increasingly convinced that Pelagius had gained his
understanding of sin from Origen, or at least from Origen's intellectual
descendants. Basing his study on the efforts of A. J. Smith and Torgny Bohlin,
Evans has noted that Pelagius was very much indebted to Rufinus' translation
of Origen's commentaries on PauPo Evans and later Clark have argued that
Jerome perceived the root of Pelagius' doctrine to be an understanding of the
origin and nature of the soul more at home with Origen's thought than with
Augustine's.91 If Jerome could prove the existence of a link between Origen
and Pelagius, then his battle would be over before it had begun.
The First Salvo
In his reply to Ctesiphon, Jerome follows a well-rehearsed pattern. Rather

than limiting himself to the theological issues at hand, he begins by expressing
scorn for Pelagius' associates, both intellectual and personal, real and imag
ined. In what may seem a bizarre twist, this scorn encompasses Pelagius'
apparent dependence upon wealthy female patrons.92 Jerome then challenges
two supposed propositions of Pelagius that he believes are antithetical to the
Christian faith: that humans can be without sin and that their sinlessness
makes them like God. Jerome once again personalizes his attack by
challenging what he perceives to be the intellectual tradition of the doctrine of
sinlessness.
Jerome's assault on those whom he believed to be Pelagius' intellectual
forebears is of tremendous significance to the understanding of apatheia by
Western Christians. According to Jerome, the concept originated with
Pythagoras and Zeno, who compressed all heresy into a few words by claim
ing that humans might become equal to God. These ancient philosophers
taught that the passions (pathe) can be purged from the mind through medita
tion on and the diligent practice of virtue. When one has complete freedom
from the passions, then one has achieved equality with God:] Jerome calls
upon Greek philosophy itself to refute this doctrine. Through the mouths of
both the Peripatetics and the Academicians, he argues that such a purgation of
the passions is impossible, for humans are constituted of a body as well as a

soul. This view, moreover, is confirmed by the apostle PauU4 Jerome's brief
synopsis of how Aristotle and Plato described human emotions leaves much
to be desired. His description of apatheia is little more than a caricature, and
his supposed reliance on the ancient philosophers shows that Jerome had little
understanding of their views.9S This casual treatment of Greek philosophy will
lead Jerome to contradict himself in his later anti-Pelagian writings, and even
to undermine his own position vis-a-vis apatheia.96
Having demonstrated, at least to his own satisfaction, that such an eradica
tion of emotions is philosophically unsound, Jerome continues his attempt to
trace the genealogy of inpeccantia (sinlessness) by listing others whom he
thinks held a similar view. The first three, Mani, Priscillian and Basilides,
receive only brief mention. According to Jerome, they have in common that
each taught the possibility of human perfection by one means or another.97
The next two in the list, however, deserve careful attention, for they are older
contemporaries of Pelagius and intellectually related to one another.
The first of these is Evagrius Ponticus. Again, Jerome's first method of
attack is to imply guilt through association. Evagrius corresponded regularly
with Melania the Elder, "whose name attests to the darkness of her perfidy.""
This correspondence alone is enough to show his guilt as a heretic. More
importantly, Evagrius wrote tracts on apatheia. By implication, he therefore
shared with Pythagoras and Zeno the heretical notion of human divinization.
Evagrius used the same terms as the ancient philosophers and spoke of the pos
sibility of impassibility:' Such a condition, Jerome scoffs, would mean that
one is either a rock, thereby denying one's humanity, or a god, thereby equat
ing one with God.IOO
The next "heretic" on the list is Rufinus of Aquileia, whom Jerome signifi
cantly introduces as a disciple of Evagrius.lol It was Rufinus' translation of
Evagrius into Latin that allowed this dangerous doctrine to permeate the West,
and Rufinus provided evidence of his own heretical leanings by praising
Origenist monks in his history of the monks.lo2 Moreover, Rufinus was linked
with the "Pythagoreans" through his translation of the Sententiae of Sextus.IOJ
Only rashness or insanity led Rufinus to suggest that Sextus had been pope
Sixtus I. On no apparent evidence of his own, Jerome instead claims that the
author was an otherwise unknown Pythagorean philosopher. Of particular
concern to Jerome is that the Sententiae contain the Pythagorean doctrine that
humans can be of the same substance as God, thus referring back to the
"vel deus" condemnation of Evagrius and the Stoics. Finally, Jerome resurrects
the old Origenist debate by castigating Rufinus for commending Origen to
the West through his translations of the De principiis and the first book of the
Apologia of Eusebius Pamphilus.lo4 Jerome's reply to Ctesiphon therefore
forges three very important links. It establishes apatheia as part of a long
tradition of heretical thought, it links Evagrius to the doctrine of apatheia, and
it describes Rufinus as a disciple of Evagrius.
Apatheia and Inpeccantia

Jerome continued his attack against Pelagius in his Commentary on
Jeremiah.10S He had postponed books four and five of this commentary in order
to respond to Ctesiphon. In his prologue to book four, Jerome slightly alters
the genealogy of apatheia he presented in his letter. He retains Pythagoras and
Zeno as its originators, but now adds Origen as one of the continuators of the
doctrine. Rufinus (childishly called the grunter) and Evagrius are now named
as Origen's disciples. Jerome thereby directly attributes the doctrine of
apatheia to Origen as well as to Evagrius and Rufinus.
Jerome had already alluded to a connection between anamartesia and
apatheia in his letter to Ctesiphon. l06 Now, however, he places Pelagius in a
direct line of thinkers whom he held to be heretics because of their belief in
the possibility of sinlessness. Jerome also associates inpeccantia with apatheia,
a doctrine which he had already proven to be invalid according to both Greek
philosophy and Christian orthodoxy. Finally he introduces a new line of
attack by linking inpeccantia with his old opponent Jovinian, who had
proposed that any who have undergone baptism in full faith cannot be over
thrown by the devil. 107
There are therefore three separate attacks being made in the passage. The
first is to attempt once again to discredit apatheia through the tradition out of
which it arose. The second is to associate apatheia as much as possible with
Origen and his disciples, so as to discredit both the term and its promulgators
indirectly. The third is to conflate the term with Jovinian's understanding of
post-baptismal grace and Pelagius' understanding of inpeccantia. Later in the
same commentary, Jerome will again attack apatheia, this time associating it
with Rufinus and his translation of Sextus. More importantly, in this attack
apatheia and inpeccantia are no longer merely linked. They are equated. lOS
Jerome again took up the attack in his Dialogus aduersus Pelagianos. In
the prologue he recommends his letter to Ctesiphon, where he has already
refuted the subtleties of the teachers of apatheia.109 He then modifies his
previous description of the term and claims that there are two schools of
thought concerning pathe or perturbationes. Some argue that these emotions
can be eradicated from the mind; others only that their power can be broken,
ruled or moderated.110 Jerome has also shifted ground with regard to his
earlier claim concerning Greek philosophy. He now asserts that the Stoics,
the Peripatetics and the Academicians all hold to one of these two positions.
He does not seem to be aware that this new position undermines his previous
argument that even the Peripatetics and Academicians find the concept of
apatheia philosophically implausible.
Jerome also revised the intellectual lineage of inpeccantia. While he remains
constant in his claim that Origen was responsible for introducing apatheia
into Christian thought, he affords Evagrius only a brief mention. While
Mani, Priscillian and Jovinian remained, Basilides is removed in favor of
the Messalians.lll Again, Jerome writes that these "heretics" shared a belief in
the possibility of human perfection. Moreover, Jerome reiterates that this

perfection means not simply a likeness to but an equality with God.112 The
perfect are not even capable of sins of thought or ignorance.
While Pelagius did not respond to these attacks directly, he did discuss the
movements of the soul and how to control them. To Demetriada he wrote
that one must keep constant watch over each thought and discern its origins
immediately, so that the good can be nourished and the evil washed away.
Moreover, Pelagius argued that there are three kinds of thoughts: those which
the will enhances affectionately, typoi which flit through the mind, and those
which prompt an unwilling mind. He urged Demetriada to meditate on
scripture constantly in order to prevent evil thoughts from arising.l13 This is
intriguing in two ways. First, Pelagius' understanding of the different kind of
thoughts resembles Evagrius' own. Second, Pelagius emphasized scriptural
study as a way to still the mind. Cassian would recommend a similar practice
nearly a decade later.
Students of apatheia on the one hand and of Pelagius on the other are
well-advised not to base their views solely on Jerome's writings. His grasp of
theological subtleties was limited and he provides little information about the
spread of Pelagianism in the West. His equation of apatheia with inpeccantia
was not accurate and he sheds little light either on Pelagius or on the concept
of apatheia. Nevertheless, Jerome was widely read by an audience largely
unfamiliar with Origen, Evagrius and apatheia. His opposition to "Origenism"
and his equation of apatheia with inpeccantia would have a significant impact.
Augustine himself consulted Jerome about Origen's teachings. Pope
Anastasius demonstrated the taint of the very name of Origen when he
condemned all of Origen's works without discrimination.
The debate between Jerome and Pelagius placed Evagrius within the
Origenist tradition on a level other than that of his cosmological speculation
in the Kephalia gnostica. Jerome attempted to identify Evagrius and Rufinus
not only through their support of Origen's writings, but also through
their doctrine of apatheia. Evagrius' teachings would therefore have encoun
tered two potential sources of hostility: those who supported the earlier
anti-Origenist campaign and those who opposed Pelagius' supporters. These
two sources of opposition were not mutually exclusive. Finally, if Griffe's
thesis is to be accepted and Cassian was in Palestine at the same time as
Pelagius, and perhaps even at the Council of Diospolis, Jerome's assaults
would have made a considerable impact. Cassian's reluctance to use the
term apatheia may have been linked more closely to the anti-Pelagian
campaign in the West than to the anti-Origenist fervor that had peaked almost
two decades earlier.
NOTES
1. Markus, End, 90-92.

2. Cassian himself took up this theme. Con. 1 8.5. 1-4. For an analysis of Cassian's
accounts of the origins of Christian monasticism, de Vogue, "Monachisme et eglise,"
213-240.
3. The wide variety of practices in the West and their apparent lack of immediate east
ern predecessors goes far toward eroding the general view of Egyptian origins for
western monasticism. Lorenz, "Anfiinge." Nevertheless, many Latin writers attempted
to make such a connection.
4. Goehring, "Encroaching," 282. I do not deny that Antony and others actually
withdrew from society into the desert. I merely follow Goehring's argument that
the literary portrayal of this withdrawal exaggerated the role of physical separation.
I will suggest below that some writers misundertood the metaphorical character of
this portrayal, and that this had a significant impact on how the West viewed the
ascetic life.
6. Athanasius, Vita s. Antonii 8-10.
8. The western reception of the Life ojAntony, rather than its authorship, is of impor
tance here. For a recent exchange in the rather protracted debate over the Life's
authorship, Barnes, "Angel of Light," 353-368 and Louth, "St. Athanasius,"
504-509.
9. Barnes, A thanasius, xi, 50, 67.
10. Jerome, Ep. 127.5.
1 1 . Jerome, Ep. 127.3.
12. Barnes, A thanasius, 254, n.24. Pace Lorenz, "Anfange," 4-5.
13. Fuhrmann, "M6nchsgeschichten," 69-82; de Vogue, Monachisme, 150-184.
14. Jerome, Vita s. Pauli 12.
15. Jerome, Vita s. Pauli 4. Leclerc, "Antoine," 764, discusses Jerome's depiction of
Paul as a literate Roman.
16. Jerome, Vita s. Pauli 6, 10, 17.
17. Athanasius, Vita s. Antonii 50. A raven delivered bread to him in the manner of
Elijah. Jerome, Vita s. Pauli 10.
21. Vessey, "Jerome's Origen," 135-145.
22. Vessey, "Jerome's Origen," 141-143.
23. Jerome, Ep. 7.2, 15, 17.
24. Evagrius' joint role as patron and translator has led de Vogue, Monachisme, 85-87,
to describe him as the central figure in the literary history of monasticism.
25. The following survey of Jerome's early views draws heavily from my
"Development."
26. Jerome, Ep. 3.1.

29. "tunc poteris laudare uictoriam, cum laborem proeliantis agnoueris." Jerome, Ep.
3.4. For the literary antecedents of these contrasts, de Vogiie, Monachisme, 91-106.
30. "fortasse ad exemplum Iohannis aliquid uidet." Jerome, Ep. 3.4.
31. "uidet gloriam dei, quam etiam apostoli nisi in deserto non uiderant." Jerome, Ep. 3.4.
34. Jerome, Ep. 2.
35. Jerome Epp. 2; 3.2; 4.2; 7.3. Rousseau, Ascetics, 101, does not accept Jerome's excuse
of ill health, instead attributing his hesitation to "a surprising degree of indeci
sion." What is important here is that while the task may have been daunting,
Jerome's idealization of it cannot be questioned.
36. Jerome, Ep. 14.6.
37. Jerome, Ep. 14.3-4,9; de Vogue, Monachisme, 1 18 .
38. Jerome, Ep. 14.3-4,9; de Vogue, Monachisme, 1 18 .
3 9 . Jerome, Ep. 14.10.
40. Jerome, Ep. 7. 1 .
42. Jerome, Epp. 8, 9.
44. Following Ferdinand Cavallera, J. N. D. Kelly, Jerome, 60, argues that the Lzfe was
composed soon after Jerome had returned to Antioch. Kozik, "Introduction," 10,
claims on the basis of a variant reading that it was written in Chalcis. De Vogiie,
Monachisme, 153, argues for the beginning of Jerome's sojourn at Chalcis.
Rousseau, Ascetics, 106, suggests that it was either written or revised while in
Antioch. What is significant is that Jerome allowed the dissemination of the work
after he had abandoned the desert.
45. Jerome, Ep. ad Praesidium 4; de Vogue, Monachisme, 216-220.
46. Jerome, Ep. 22.7.
47. Jerome, Ep. 22.36. Although brief, this description is noteworthy, for it is one of
the earliest historical claims of an evolution from the cenobitic to the eremitic life.
48. Jerome, Ep. 24.2-3.
49. Jerome, Ep. 24.4.
50. "ieiunium pro ludo habuit, inediam refectionem." Jerome, Ep. 24.3.
51. "solitudinem putaret esse delicias et in urbe turbida inueniret heremum monacho
rum." Jerome, Ep. 24.4.
52. Jerome, Ep. 23.3. Her death coincided with that of Vettius Agorius Praetextatus.
PLRE 1:722-24.
53. Jerome, Ep. 23.2.
54. Jerome, Ep. 23.4.
55. Jerome, Ep. 125. Cassian, Con. 1-10, praef 3.
56. Eucherius, De laude 3-4.
58. Augustine, Confessiones 8.6; also his description of Christian monks, De moribus 3 1 .
59. Sulpicius, Dialogorum 1.24-25.

60. Hilarius, Vita s. Honorati 10.3, 20.2. This Life is noteworthy for the absence of
miracles. Harper, "John Cassian," 37 1-380, argues that this can be attributed to
Cassian's influence.
61. For an analysis of this network, Clark, Origenist, 1 1-42.
62. Rousseau, Ascetics, 1 1 8-122.
63. Jerome, Ep. 125.20. Rousseau, Ascetics, 122. For Proculus and Cassian, Griffe,
"Cassien," 240-244.
64. Sulpicius, Dialogorum 1.8-9; Cassian, Inst. prail 5-7.
65. For the date, o. Chadwick, "Euladius," 205.
66. Desert is understood somewhat loosely, for by this time U�rins had been occupied
for more than two decades.
67. Markus, End, 161.
68. Eucherius, De laude 35.
69. Eucherius, De laude 25-26.
70. "Hoc igitur heremi habitaculum dicam non inmerito quandam fidei sedem, uirtutis
arcam, caritatis sacrarium, pietatis thesaurum, iustitiae promptuarium." Eucherius,
De laude 28.
73. Jerome, Ep. 14. 10.
74. Eucherius, De laude 40; Bartelink, "Oxymores," 13-15.
75. Later in his life Jerome would be much more cautious and stress both the need for
guidance and the dangers of prolonged isolation. E.g., Ep. 125.9, 15-16; 130. 1 1 , 17.
Also, Driver, "Development," 47-50.
76. Jerome, Vita s. Hilarionis 1.
77. J. N. D. Kelly, Jerome, 188, n. 49, Ep. 48.2 (re vera 49.2).
78. Jerome told Eustochium, a budding adolescent, to lie in bed at night and await the
coming of the bridegroom. Jerome's language leaves the reader uncertain whether
Eustochium's quickening desire can be understood in purely spiritual terms. See
Cox Miller, "Blazing Body," 21-45.
79. "What must be stressed is that both the need for models, and the literature in which
the models were displayed, were features of the ascetic life proper to the West."
Rousseau, Ascetics, 94.
80. Jerome, Ep. 3.3, mentions the sudden whirlwind which shattered this community.
In his translation of Eusebius' Chronicle, he describes the community as
"Aquileienses clerici quasi chorus beatorum habentur." Chronicon 329.
8 1 . Jerome, Ep. 3.1.
83. The most recent study is by Clark, Origenist, who argues that the former friends'
participation in the Origenist controversy had as much to do with a struggle for
authority as with theology.
84. Sulpicius, Vita s. Martini 22.
85. Sulpicius, Dialogorum 1.6-7. Van Andel, "Sulpicius," 278-287.
86. The following discussion relies on my "Palestinian Ignorance." In the same year,
Elm published "Genealogies," which examines genealogies of heresy (including
Jerome's) as rhetorical constructions.
87. Jerome, In Hieremiam, prol. 3; also 4.4 1. For Rufinus' earlier attack, Apologia
1.23-44.
88. Evans, Pelagius, 7-9.
89. Palladius, Historica Lausiaca 36,41 .
90. Evans, Pelagius, 1 8-20.
91. Evans, Pelagius, 7, argues that Jerome has been largely ignored by students of the
Pelagian debate because of his different approach to the problem. See also Clark,
Origenist, 221-222.
92. Jerome, Ep. 133. 1-3.
93. "quae enim potest alia maior esse temeritas quam dei sibi non dicam similitudinem
sed aequalitatem uindicare et breui sententia omnium hereticorum uenena
conplecti, quae de philosophorum et maxime Pythagorae et Zenonis, principis
Stoicorum, fonte manarunt? illi enim, quae Graeci appellant pathe, nos perturba
tiones possumus dicere, aegritudinem uidelicet et gaudium, spem et metum,
quorum duo praesentia, duo futura sunt, adserunt extirpari posse de mentibus et
nullam fibram radicemque uitiorum in homine omnino residere meditatione
et adsidua exercitatione uirtutum." Jerome, Ep. 133.1.
94. "aduersum quos et Peripatetici, qui de Aristotelis fonte descendunt, fortissime
disputant et Academici noui, quos Tullius sequitur, et eorum non dico res-quae
nullae sunt-sed umbras et uota subuertunt. hoc est enim hominem ex homine
tollere et in corpore constitutum esse sine corpore et optare potius quam docere
dicente apostolo: miser ego homo, quis me liberabit de corpore mortis huius?"
Jerome, Ep. 133.1.
95. Regarding Stoicism, for example, Colish, Stoic, vol. 2, 90, concludes that "there are,
then, a few areas in which Jerome reflects an integral grasp of Stoic ethics and
where he coordinates it appositely with Christian problems and concerns. On
balance, however, the Stoic gleanings from his works are few, his uses of them
are tendentious and superficial, and he is not interested in their implications or
interconnections."
96. For a detailed discussion of the use of apatheia in classical philosophy and early
Christian literature, Frohnhofen, Apathiea, and J oest, "Die Bedeutung," 7-53.
97. Jerome, Ep. 133.3.
98. "Euagrius Ponticus Hiborita, qui scribit ad uirgines, scribit ad monachos, scribit ad
earn, cuius nomen nigredinis testatur perfidiae tenebras, edidit librum et sententias
peri apatheias, quam nos 'inpassibilitatem' uel 'inperturbationem' possumus dicere,
quando numquam animus ulla cogitatione et uitio commouetur et-ut simpliciter
dicam-uel saxum uel deus est." Jerome, Ep. 133.3.
99. Jerome preferred perturbatio to passio. E.g., "quas nos perturbationes interpretati
sumus, graeci pathe appellant, quae si kakozelos in passiones uertamus, uerbum
magis quam sensum uerbi expresserimus." Jerome, In Ioelem 4, 11. 175-177.
100. That in his early years Jerome wrote more favorably of a mind undisturbed by
passions, Colish, Stoic, 2:77.
101. "huius [Evagrii] libros per orientem Graecos et interpretante discipulo eius Rufino
Latinos plerique in occidente lectitant." Jerome, Ep. 133.3.
102. Jerome, Ep. 133.3.
103. "illam autem temeritatem, immo insaniam eius, quis possit digno explicare ser
mone, quod librum Sexti Pythagorei, hominis absque Christo atque ethnici,
inmutato nomine Xysti, martyris et Romanae ecclesiae episcopi, praenotauit? in
quo iuxta dogma Pythagoricum, qui hominem exaequant deo et de eius dicunt
esse substantia, multa de perfectione dicuntur, ut, qui uolumen philosophi nesci
unt, sub martyris nomine bibant de aureo calice Babylonis." Jerome, Ep. 133.3.
104. Jerome, Ep. 133.3.
105. "multis et de toto huc orbe confluentium turbis et sanctorum fratrum monasteri
ique curis occupatus commentarios in Hieremiam per interualla dictabam, ut,
quod deerat otio, superesset industriae, cum subito heresis Pythagorae et Zenonis
apatheias et anamartesias, id est 'inpassibilitatis' et 'inpeccantiae,' quae olim in
Origene et dudum in discipulis eius Grunnio Euagrioque Pontico et Iouiniano
iugulata est, coepit reuiuescere et non solum in occidente, sed et in orientis part
ibus sibilare et in quibusdam insulis, praecipueque Siciliae et Rhodi, maculare
plerosque et crescere per dies singulos, dum secreta docent et publice negant."
Jerome, In Hieremiam 4.1.
106. Jerome, Ep. 133.3.
107. Jerome first described Jovinian's position in the following way: "nititur approbare
eos, qui plena fide in baptismate renati sunt, a diabolo non posse subverti."
Aduersus Iouinianum 1.3. Later in the same treatise, Jerome attempted to build a
straw man by changing the action from overthrow to tempt. "Secunda proposi
tio est, eos qui fuerint baptizati, a diabolo non posse tentari." Jerome, Aduersus
Iouinianum 2.1.
108. "miserabilis Grunnius, qui ad calumniandos sanctos uiros aperuit os suum
linguamque suam docuit mendacium, Sexti Pythagorei, hominis gentilissimi,
unum librum interpretatus est in Latinum diuisitque eum in duo uolumina et sub
nomine sancti martyris Xysti, Romanae urbis episcopi, ausus est edere, in quibus
nulla christi, nulla spiritus sancti, nulla dei patris, nulla patriarcharum et
prophet arum et apostolorum fit mentio, et hunc librum solita temeritate et insa
nia 'Anulum' nominauit, qui per multas prouincias legitur, et maxime ab his, qui
apatheian et inpeccantiam praedicant." Jerome, In Hieremiam 4.41.
109. Jerome, Dialogus aduersus Pelagianos, prol. 1.
1 10. "Nulli enim dubium, quin Stoicorum et Peripateticorum, hoc est ueteris
Academiae, ista contentio sit, quod alii eorum asserunt pathe, quas nos perturba
tiones possumus dicere, aegritudinem, gaudium, spem, timorem, eradicari et
exstirpari posse de mentibus hominum, alii frangi, regi atque moderari, et quasi
infrenes equos quibusdam lupatis coerceri." Jerome, Dialogus aduersus Pelagianos,
prol. 1 .
1 1 1. Jerome, Dialogus aduersus Pelagianos, prol. 1.
1 12. "quorum omnium [hereticorum] ista sententia est, posse ad perfectionem, et non
dicam similitudinem, sed aequalitatem Dei humanam uirtutem et scientiam peru
enire, ita ut se asserant ne in cogitatione quidem et ignorantia, cum ad
consummationis culmen ascenderint, posse peccare." Jerome, Dialogus aduersus

Pelagianas, prol. 1 .
1 13. Pe1agius, Epistula ad Demetriadem 26-27. Evans, Pelagius, 23-24, argues that these
discussions were inspired by Jerome's attacks. He claims that Pe1agius vindicated
himself from the charge of apatheia by arguing that, while sin does arise from
cogitatio, there is no sin attached to those thoughts which merely flit across the
mind or are conquered by the will. Only the improper thought to which the
mind gives consent is sinful. J. N. D. Kelly, Jerome, 215, n.35, follows Evans in
this. However, while inpeccantia and apatheia are not identical, they cannot be
differentiated so easily on these grounds. Evagrius, too, allows for the possibility
of random thoughts passing through the mind and speaks of them as sinful
only if the mind dwells upon them. Evagrius, Practicus, praef 8.
CHAPTER 4
Literary Structure and Monastic Praxis
APPROPRIATING THE SELF IN THE TEXT
And pouring forth tears we begged that same abba for a word of instruction,
because we knew most clearly this inflexibility of his mind, that he would
never consent to open the gate of perfection except to those desiring it faith
fully and seeking it with every contrition of heart, for fear that if he should
hold it forth randomly either to those not wishing it or to those thirsting for
it in a lukewarm manner, and opening to the unworthy and to those receiv
ing scornfully what ought to be learned only by those hoping for perfection,
he would appear to commit either the vice of bragging or the crime of treach
ery. At last, worn down by our prayers, he began.'
At the beginning of his Conferences Cassian described a scene that was typical
of the instruction he had received while in Egypt. A young monk would seek
out an abba in the hope of receiving logoi, or words of advice about how he
might attain the kingdom of God. After evaluating the sincerity of the
younger monk's desire and discerning his particular needs, the abba would
reply, often briefly but sometimes at great length.2 This ritual, recorded often
in the Apophthegmata and other monastic literature, lay at the heart of the
relationship between master and student.] Each monk engaged in the dialogue
with definite expectations about what was to occur, and each was mindful of
the role he was expected to play. The younger monk owed his abba complete
trust and obedience, believing his elder to be a better judge of the origin and
nature of his thoughts than himself.. If the disciple were to ignore his abba's
advice, then the teaching relationship would collapse and the abba's grace
of teaching itself would be jeopardized.5 The abba, on the other hand, was
expected to provide not only discernment and sage advice, but also a living
example of what he taught.6 If the abba should fail to discern properly the
needs of his student, then he would endanger his disciple by offering sacred
mysteries to one who was not yet ready to receive them. If the abba should fail
65
to exemplify the content of his teaching, then his words would possess no
authority. For this ritual of instruction to be effective, it was necessary for
each participant to fulfill his role.
Ironically, the very commission to record the institutes of the Egyptians
for a Gallic audience prevented Cassian from offering instruction in the
intimate setting he so eloquently described. A written text would mediate the
close relationship between master and disciple that was crucial to monastic
instruction. Reading would replace an experience founded upon supervision,
discernment, and the practical application of what has been taught. Cassian
could not discern the needs of his individual readers; nor could there be any
certainty that his logoi would fulfill a particular reader's needs. The reader
would be left to his own devices, seeking from a written text the remedy for a
self-diagnosed disease.
Despite these tremendous obstacles, Cassian did not entirely abandon the
model of instruction he had encountered as a youth. He instead attempted
to recreate the interaction between master and disciple as an act of reading. To
accomplish this, Cassian structured the bulk of his monastic teaching in the
form of dialogues between Germanus (Cassian's erstwhile companion) on
the one hand and the Egyptian abbas on the other. He hoped by means of these
dialogues "to place before [the reader] the men themselves embodied, in a fash
ion, in their own institutes, and what is more, speaking in Latin."7 Cassian
intended the Conferences to be more than living descriptions of the abbas and
his reader was to be more than a mute witness to the dialogues. Instead, the
Conferences establish the setting in which the interaction between reader and
text is to occur. Rather than merely apprehending their words, the reader is to
converse with the abbas, sometimes challenging them, other times asking for
more. Imagining the very abbas themselves before them, living the very
life they described, Cassian's readers are to "receiv[e] into their cells
the authors of the Conferences themselves along with the very volumes of the
Conferences and, in a fashion, [speak] with them through daily questions and
answers."8 By participating directly in the dialogues, the reader will interact
with the abbas in a manner reminiscent of the ritual Cassian described at the
very beginning of his first Conference.
In order to participate, or play a role, in these dialogues, the reader must
temporarily suspend his own self-awareness and to imagine himself as one of
the interlocutors of the text.9 In essence, the reader must adopt Germanus'
voice as his own. To encourage this, Cassian frequently uses the first person
plural to invoke the empathy of his reader. While the "we" of the text often
refers to Germanus and the young Cassian, it also incorporates the reader.
When using the metaphor of a money-changer to describe the discernment of
spirits, for example, Cassian laments the counterfeit spirits that may drive "us"
from the cloister.lo In a later Conference Cassian describes Germanus, like the
reader, as having renounced his possessions and ceased to be driven by carnal
desires, but he cautions that "we" mustn't become complacent after having
made the first step.l1 Both Germanus and the reader regret "our" carelessness
Literary Structure and Monastic Praxis 67
in the monastic life when compared to the discipline of the early anchorites.12
Even at the threshold to pure and ceaseless prayer, Cassian regrets that "we"
are still plagued by carnal desire and suggests that "we" ought to aim first for
more basic prayers.13 The use of the first person plural allows Germanus and
the reader to share the same perspective and suffer the same hopes, fears and
difficulties. Germanus' observations and experiences gradually become those
of the reader. As Germanus grows, so too does the reader.
Cassian hoped that the Conferences would not only teach, but also provide
a mechanism for the progressive self-revelation of the reader. His intended
audience, however, had been shaped by a markedly different formation than
he and Germanus had received. Largely ignorant of Egyptian monastic instruc
tion, Cassian's reader likely did not possess the literary competence necessary
to embrace the dialectical structure of the text. Formed more by the prevail
ing caricature of Egyptian monasticism than by the teaching of the abbas, it
would have been difficult for Cassian's Gallic reader to empathize with
Germanus' circumstances and frame of mind. This gulf between the circum
stances of reader and the role he was to play posed a grave problem. If the sit
uation of Germanus were so far removed from that of the reader that the
monastic teaching ceased to be relevant, then there would be little to encour
age the reader to participate in the dialogue. The interaction that Cassian
hoped to facilitate between the reader and the abba, between the reader and the
text itself, would therefore not occur. Such a failure to establish an affinity
between the reader and Germanus would vitiate both the structured act of
reading and the teaching that depended so heavily upon it.
It was therefore necessary for Cassian to establish some connection, some
sort of link between the ideas of the reader and those of the interlocutor he is
to become. A common point of reference was necessary to allow the reader to
make the leap from his own situation to the situation of the companions
described in the text.14 Cassian facilitated this leap by arranging the Conferences
in a narrative that begins when the companions' life in the desert begins and
ends just before their departure from Egypt. When Germanus and Cassian sit
at the feet of abba Moses at the beginning of the first Conference, they confi
dently proclaim that they are willing to endure any hardship for the sake of
the kingdom of God. Victims of a poor monastic formation in Bethlehem and
the erroneous portrayal of ana chores is popular at the time, they mistakenly
regard themselves as mature monks who have embraced the monastic life and
fully understand its practices and goals. This confidence is soon dispelled,
however, and they quickly learn that they know almost nothing of either the
end or the immediate goal of monasticism. The companions' conversation
with abba Moses leads to both dismay and hope. While they are dismayed by
the depth of their own ignorance, they find hope in the fact that they have
finally been put on the true path to the kingdom of God.
Cassian continues throughout the first set of Conferences to paint Germanus
and his younger self as barely trained novices who know little of monastic
practices or the reasons for them. Their knowledge is fragmentary at best, and
what little knowledge they possess makes them impatient and difficult to form
rather than wise. While they desire to cling to God in prayer, they know
little of the purity of heart that is necessary for such prayer. 15 Although they
regard themselves sufficiently mature to set out on their own, they soon learn
that they must seek an elder to lead them.16 Of the three renunciations that
all monks must make, the companions have succeeded in only the first
(the renunciation of worldly goods) . They have not attained the second
(renunciation of sin) and have barely heard of the third (withdrawal from
present and visible things to what is invisible) . 17 While able to recognize that
scripture might contain spiritual meaning beyond the literal word, they
frequently misconstrue even its most basic meaning. While they might
occasionally be swept up in rapturous prayer, at other times they can barely
pray at al1.1s In the fourth Conference abba Daniel praises Germanus because he
has finally recognized the depth of his ignorance.19
The companions have not even grasped what Cassian taught in his
Institutes. The fifth Conference provides a summary of spiritual warfare
discussed in Institutes 5-12. In the sixth Germanus asks why God would send
forth evil into the world, a question that should not be asked by someone who
has fully grasped the discussion of divine wrath in Institute 8 .20 In the seventh
Conference Germanus laments that time and solitude have taught him only
what he is unable to be.21 In the ninth he complains that he is still afflicted by
carnal desire (the topic of Institutes 5 and 6) and that he has not achieved the
prayer of the anchorite.22 It is not until the last Conference of the set that
Germanus is praised for his wisdom. Though he has not gained the purity or
perfection of the inner man and he is still ignorant of how to pray without
ceasing, Germanus has at last learned to ask the proper questions. This marks
a turning point in his spiritual journey and abba Serapion finally regards him
as worthy to learn the deepest mysteries of the monastic life.23
The Journey of the Reader
The first ten Conferences encompass the monastic life from the companions'
ignorance even of the immediate goal of such a life to their possession of the
purity necessary for ceaseless prayer. These Conferences occur at key stages
of the companions' growth, and are therefore capable of engaging the reader
at the various stages of his own spiritual development. The questions and
immature expectations of the young Germanus reflect those of a younger
reader. As the reader progresses in his vocation, he can continue to appropri
ate the maturing Germanus' words as his own.24 This only addresses one
problem, however. While situating the dialogues at particular stages of the
reader's spiritual journey might encourage the empathy of individual readers
at different times, it risks leaving some of the dialogues unfulfilled. The
content of a later work might exceed a younger reader's capacity for
understanding, or a more mature reader might not condescend to imagine
himself as the youthful and uncomprehending Germanus. Cassian was still

faced with the task of encouraging his reader to participate in all of the
dialogues, not simply those that might engage him whenever he picked up
the text to read.
To address this, Cassian asks his reader to abandon any progress he has
made in the monastic life and to undertake a new novitiate, beginning with the
Institutes and culminating in the Conferences. The reader thereby approaches
the Institutes and first few Conferences with the same ignorance and unrealistic
expectations that Germanus and Cassian themselves possessed when they
undertook their journey through the Egyptian desert. By embodying the con
tent of the text, the reader will receive a new formation, this time according to
the institutes of the Egyptian elders. Moving systematically through the
Conferences, the reader accompanies Cassian and Germanus on their spiritual
journey from ignorance to true knowledge. As Germanus matured, so too
does the reader. Adopting the discipline that Germanus himself adopted, and
begging logoi from the abbas just as Germanus had begged, the reader increas
ingly identifies with the despair and triumph, the confusion and enlighten
ment of Germanus himself. The self of the reader gradually becomes the self
of the text, and as the text progresses toward the key to pure and ceaseless
prayer, so too does the reader.
Such a scheme for reading means that the Conferences are not to be read ran
domly. Nor are they to be read all at once. The reader is to apply what he has
read, just as Germanus applied what he had heard from the abbas. The
Conferences trace Germanus' spiritual journey along a spiralling path to pure
and ceaseless prayer and Cassian addresses his reader as though he, too, is
following that path. To become a participant in the dialogues, the reader must
correct his habits, calm the disturbances that stand in the way of prayer, and
cultivate purity of heart and mind. Both Germanus and the reader shed their
outward concerns and become increasingly oriented toward their interior
lives. While initially able to achieve pure prayer only occasionally and as if by
chance, they gradually ascend to the goal of ceaseless prayer. Initially limited
to the contemplation of the lives of saints, they arrive ultimately at the
contemplation of the transfigured Christ.25 Pricked by carnal desire through
out the Conferences, they eventually show evidence of having very nearly
attained the purity of apostolic charity.26
Cassian's demand for a reciprocal relationship between reading and the
embodiment of the life described in the text permeates the Conferences. Abba
Moses reveals the immediate aim of the monastic life only after observing
the zeal of Germanus to practice such a life. It must be assumed that the same
obligation lay upon the reader, for otherwise Cassian would himself risk the
same fate that Moses had feared.27 The growing purity of Germanus and
Cassian convinces abba Isaac that he puts neither himself nor his disciples at
risk by revealing the key to pure prayer.28 It is the purity of the reader that
assures Cassian that he, too, bears no risk.
Reading the Conferences in this way means that it might take many months,
years, or even a lifetime, to complete them. The first Institutes pertain to the
novitiate, which Cassian described as requiring at least a year. Conference 10
culminates in the pure prayer achieved only by a few of the elders. Such an
understanding of reading might seem unlikely at first, but one need only
consider the story of Pambo to place it in its proper context. Pambo asked an
abba to provide a Psalm for meditation. No sooner did the abba begin to recite
the Psalm, however, than Pambo interrupted him and asked him to stop.
Pambo regarded the first verse itself as sufficient for meditation and did not
want to hear more until he mastered what he had already heard. Six months
were to pass before Pambo returned for more of the Psalm.29 Reading the
Conferences was to encompass the monastic life they described.
The Transformation of the Reader
Although he asks his reader to adopt Germanus' initial naivete as his own,
Cassian does not depend solely upon shared ignorance to establish an empathy
between the two. Lack of knowledge does not necessarily mean a tabula rasa.
Even if the reader could abandon, at least conceptually, what he had already
been taught, he could not entirely set aside the hopes and expectations that had
led him to take up the monastic life.30 Rather than ask his reader to abandon
his hopes and dreams, Cassian anticipated that his Gallic reader would bring
to the text assumptions and expectations drawn from his own experience
and the Latin monastic literature available at the time. This literature described
Egyptian practices in terms of a rigid distinction between anchorites and
cenobites, excessive veneration of the desert as the special residence of God,
and asceticism of heroic proportions. Cassian does not immediately attack
these views as unrealistic. He instead uses them to cultivate further an empa
thy between the reader and Germanus, between the self of the reader and
the self of the text. Cassian describes Germanus as not merely ignorant of
monastic practices, but also as possessing the same erroneous and unrealistic
expectations that the reader would possess. Thus Cassian's Gallic reader
initially found his own thoughts echoed by Germanus, and he could more
easily appropriate Germanus' voice as his own.
This does not mean that Cassian merely confirms the images the reader
brought to the text. He instead transforms them. Over the course of the
Conferences Cassian actively undermines some of his reader's most cherished
presuppositions. By doing this, however, he also undermines the original basis
for the empathy of the reader for the text. A new set of images must therefore
be provided; a set, moreover, that can resolve the tension of the reader who
has been cast adrift from the norms he has brought to the text. To borrow a
term from Wolfgang Iser, Cassian accomplishes this by describing Germanus'
journey and conversations in a way that "prestructures" the experience of his
reader.31 Germanus is portrayed as maturing and being transformed by a new
way of life, and the continued appropriation of Germanus' voice requires the
reader to apply what Germanus has learned. The reader is asked to mature as
Germanus himself had matured. Through the act of reading, the reader sheds
the misconceptions he has brought to the text and adopts the institutes of the
Egyptians.
Cassian challenges the images of the reader and questions the validity of his
knowledge in the same way that his own had been challenged by the desert
fathers. He creates a new set of images that encourage the reader to identify
with the self of the text. He then encourages structured activities in the reader
to reorient his perspective and create a new disposition. This is not to say that
the reader's own disposition ever disappears entirely. Again borrowing Iser's
terms, Cassian creates a tension between the role assumed by the reader and
the reader's habitual orientation.
The resultant tension calls for a resolution. The resolution, however, cannot
come about simply by restoring habitual orientation to the self which had
been temporarily relegated to the background. Playing the role involves
incorporating the new experience. Consequently, the reader is affected by the
very role he has been given to play, and his being affected does not reinvoke
the habitual orientation but mobilizes the spontaneity of the self.32
In Cassian's terms, if one hopes truly hopes to understand the Egyptian monks
and their practices, then "let him first hasten to take up their purpose with
similar zeal and with a similar way of life, and then he will at last discover that
those things which seemed beyond human capability are not only possible but
even most pleasant. "]]
In this way Cassian was able to recreate as an act of reading the interaction
between master and student that was the foundation of Egyptian monastic
instruction. Arriving at a crisis in his vocation, or needing to learn the answer
to a pressing question, the reader approaches an abba who stands as the embod
iment of virtue. The abba discerns the desire of the reader and offers appro
priate advice. The reader then goes away to apply the advice, not returning to
the text (or seeking further advice from the abba) until he has mastered what
he has been taught. By anticipating what a Gallic monk might bring to the
text, and by recommending the discipline his reader should adopt, Cassian is
able to foresee many of the problems and dilemmas his reader will face during
the course of reading the Conferences.
It must be admitted, however, that this recreation is partial at best. While
Cassian might have been able to set out the topography of a spiritual journey
that would hopefully become the reader's own, he still could not predict
precisely when or even if the reader might undertake each stage of the journey.
The reader, not the abba, must discern whether he has mastered what he has
been taught and can move on, or whether he should pause and not seek knowl
edge for which he is unprepared. In the end, Cassian is left with the need to
trust his student in a way similar to an Egyptian abba. It was necessary for
both teachers to be confident that their students approached in good faith. If
a student should fail to follow their advice, their instruction would be useless
and possibly even harmful. If a student were dishonest about his needs, then
both Cassian and the abba risked being unable to discern his true plight
and offering sacred mysteries to one who should not possess them. For the
dialogue between abba and student, or between reader and text, to succeed,
the one seeking advice must faithfully fulfill his role.
READING THE INSTITUTES

There remains a problem that has yet to be addressed. It was mentioned earli
er that Cassian calls upon his reader to begin at the beginning, to abandon
what he has learned and undergo a new novitiate. The Conferences, however,
do not address the novitiate. For this one must turn to the Institutes, which
Cassian insists must be read and mastered before turning to the more advanced
teaching of the Conferences. It is therefore the Institutes that provide the
foundation for monastic life. More important, it is the Institutes that must
establish the crucial relationship between instruction and praxis, and between
the act of reading and lived experience of the reader. If one were to accept that
Cassian encouraged a particular kind of interaction between the reader and
the text in his Conferences, then one should hope to find evidence of a similar
interaction in the Institutes. The Institutes, however, are neither dialogues nor
narratives; they are instead a set of discursive treatises and they cannot engage
the reader in a manner identical to that of the Conferences. The Institutes must
therefore be examined to determine if they assume a reciprocal relationship
between reading and praxis; if they provide a mechanism for discerning
whether or not the reader has successfully applied what he has been taught;
and most important, if there exists a voice in the text that may in some way
be appropriated by the reader.
The Novitiate
In his preface to the Institutes Cassian contends that he has been away from
Egypt too long to remember much of what he learned,
especially since the reason for these things can in no way be taught or under
stood or kept in the memory by idle meditation and verbal teaching. For it
consists entirely in experience and practice alone and, as these things cannot
be taught save by one who is experienced in them, so they cannot be per
ceived or understood except by one who has tried with equal exertion and
toil to grasp them; however, if they are not frequently discussed and worn
smooth by constant conversation with spiritual men, they will quickly fade
again through carelessness of mind.34
Cassian thus declares from the beginning his fundamental belief that monastic
instruction is inseparable from praxis. Reading the Institutes is not to be a pas
sive exercise. If the reader hopes to master fully the institutes of the Egyptians,
then strenuous effort and frequent conversation must accompany the reading
of the text. The principles espoused in the text are to be frequently examined
and assiduously applied. The Institutes can be understood only if progress in

reading be accompanied by a corresponding progress in one's spiritual life.
This is not an easy command to follow, for Cassian initially cast his work
"as though [writing] to an inexperienced monastery and to those who are in
truth athirst."35 The practices described in the first four Institutes are for
infants, unfamiliar with even the first letters or symbols of the spiritual life.36
If the reader were to practice in his own life the instruction contained in these
early Institutes, he would need to adopt as his own the spiritual infancy
described in the text. This would require the reader to abandon any progress
he has made in his spiritual life and once again become a novice. Rehearsing
his vocation from its very inception, Cassian's reader would receive a new
formation. This new formation, carried out according to the institutes of the
Egyptians, will provide the basis for a long, unwavering monastic life and
the attainment of the heights of perfection.37
Cassian's preface to his Institutes thereby serves as a preface to a new model
of Latin monastic literature. He calls for a reciprocal relationship between
reading and praxis that goes far beyond the demand, common at the time, to
practice the principles espoused in the text. Instead, the Institutes begin where
the monastic life itself begins. The text condescends to the reader as though
speaking to one who has just renounced the world, and the reader is expected
to assume this role.
In his first Institute Cassian develops further the role his intended reader
was to play. The monastic habit, Cassian explains, is a garment rooted in a tra
dition that spans from the Old Testament prophets to contemporary monks.38
The several layers of the garment possess layers of meaning ranging from the
regulation of character to a constant reminder of the wearer's vocation.
Moreover, each of the habit's constituent parts, such as the cowl or girdle,
points the way toward spiritual knowledge by inspiring the memorization and
repetition of biblical passages.39
Cassian begins and ends the Institute with the two-fold girdle. In the first
chapter, we see its biblical precedents; in the last, its deeper meaning within a
biblical context.40 The reader is thereby led from the adoption of a custom
because of tradition to the spiritual meaning of that tradition. This helps to
establish the general principle that customs based on biblical precedent and
more recent tradition have deeper, spiritual meanings that will be revealed
only according to the zeal with which one practices them in daily life.4!
The next two Institutes assume that this lesson has been grasped.42 Their
ostensible purpose is to lay out the routine of prayer a novice would under
take after he has been received into the monastery. In a manner similar to
his first Institute, Cassian uses this single theme to introduce much of the
discipline of the monastic community. Discussing the number of nocturnal
psalms, for example, he introduces the qualities of a good abbot.43 Describing
the manner in which the Psalms should be sung, he sets out the proper
behavior of the monk during the office.44 Depicting individual prayer in the
cell, he recommends manual labor as a practice integrally related to private
nocturnal prayer.45 In brief asides, he describes how younger monks are to

conduct themselves and how their private prayer life is to be organized.46
In these Institutes Cassian weaves several themes around a single thread.
This is not merely a literary device by which a variety of topics can be organ
ized. Prayer and psalmody provide unity and coherence to the life of the monk
and are the cornerstone of the community itself. The interweaving of prayer
with the rudiments of monastic discipline reflects the training of the novice.
Supervised by an elder, he would begin the routine of offices immediately and
his life would be arranged according to them. Other precepts of the monastic
life would be introduced more slowly according to his ability to comprehend
them. The structure of Cassian's text therefore parallels the life being attempt
ed by the reader. A reciprocal relationship is established between the experi
ence of the reader and the reading of the text, and the reader develops both
personally and communally as the fabric of the text is discussed and practiced
in his own life.
Having laid out a daily routine, Cassian next takes up the training of the
novice. Kept as far from others as possible, the novice owes his elder complete
obedience.47 Cassian describes this obedience as the highest of all virtues and
claims that in Egypt the novices obey their elders' orders as though issued
from God in Heaven.48 The Egyptians
prefer it [obedience] not only to manual work and reading and the silence and
quiet of the cells, but also to all virtues, so that they consider everything to
be placed after it and are content to undergo all suffering so that they are not
seen to have violated this good in any way."49
The novice consults his elder about even his most basic needs and at no time
is he to act on his own wishes (uoluntates).5o This obedience pertains to
the novice's interior as well as exterior life. Allowed neither discretion nor
freedom of action, the novice must reveal all his thoughts, even the most
basic or trivial, to his elder so that their origins might be interpreted and
explained.51 While Cassian encourages the novice to control his thoughts, he
describes them as "dangerous schemes" and "vicious designs" (conspirationi
noxiae and consilii praui) rather than as vices.52 Such thoughts must be
confessed to the elder in an exchange that resembles therapy more than a
petition for forgiveness and redemption. The probing questions of a discern
ing elder help the offending novice to understand the origins of his thoughts
and to avoid similar circumstances in the future. Like idle talk and other
activities, such thoughts can be regulated by the habituation of monastic
practices. The novice must repeat psalms and work continuously in order to
cultivate habits that will lead to a new disposition. Although largely external
acts, these practices encourage internal discipline.
The disciplines Cassian describes in the first four Institutes are to be
practiced by the reader with the same spirit of obedience that the novice owes
his elder. Both the authority of the elder and the institutes of the Egyptians
are of divine origin.53 Egyptian practices are even to take precedence over those
demanded by the local abbot.54 All readers, even the leaders of monasteries,
must adopt the discipline of the novitiate. Like those he hopes to govern,
the abbot must acquire the virtues of humility and obedience and master the
Institutes. Only after he has proven himself to all will he be able to teach or to
govern others. Echoing his preface, Cassian declares that one must learn before
he can teach.55
Cassian concludes the first four Institutes, and therefore the novitiate itself,
with a speech by Pinufius. An abbot of a community at Panephysis, Pinufius
desperately sought the peace of a more humble station. He twice fled his
responsibilities at Panephysis, each time to be found by his monks and
brought home. His second flight took him to Palestine, where he came to
reside temporarily with Cassian and Germanus.56 The two would later seek out
Pinufius during their travels through the Delta and witness Pinufius' speech at
the induction of a novice into his monastery.
Pinufius' speech encapsulates the material discussed in the first four
Institutes. In them, Cassian lays a foundation for monastic life in which renun
ciation, obedience and humility are the highest virtues. They are the founda
tion of abbatial authority, of the disposition of the individual monk, and of
the community itself. Mental and spiritual discipline are little more than the
restriction of one's wishes and the confession of all things to an elder. The
novice possesses no discernment or judgment of his own and little introspec
tion is required of him. While the first elements of self-evaluation are encour
aged, this is limited to the analysis of external behavior. The elder, rather than
the renunciant, is concerned with the movements of the sou1.57
Pinufius' speech also marks a significant transition both in the text and in
the life of the reader. Cassian begins his Institutes by addressing his reader as
an untrained infant who hopes to achieve the heights of Christian perfection.
More important, Cassian describes himself as sharing in this same spiritual
infantia. Using "we" to include himself among his readers, Cassian does not
represent himself as a veteran of the Egyptian desert or as the founder of two
monasteries. He instead claims to be plagued by thoughts he would hesitate to
reveal to an elder.58 Like his reader, Cassian is unable to offer proper obedience
to an abbot.59 Cassian is prone to drowsiness during nocturnal prayers.60 He
shares with his contemporaries in Gaul an improper desire for possessions, and
even identifies himself as a Gaul looking from a distance upon the customs of
the Egyptians.61 Cassian is not an abba writing for the instruction of others.
He is himself a novice who possesses the same goals and suffers the same
difficulties as his reader.
This identification of author and reader, or the self in the text and the self
of the reader, is evident in the record of Pinufius' speech. Cassian again uses
the first person plural, but the emphasis has been subtly changed. Earlier
Cassian's "we" had encompassed himself and the reader who shares with him
the struggles of the novitiate. Now, however, the "we" invites the reader to
become Cassian's companion in the desert. Cassian first describes Pinufius'
flight from abbatial responsibility and then their encounter at Bethlehem.
Through Cassian, the reader lives vicariously with Pinufius in Palestine and
later stands in the monastery at Panephysis, a privileged witness to the conse
cration of a brother. During Pinufius' speech, Cassian withdraws himself from
the reader's attention and becomes a spectator, allowing Pinufius to speak
directly. Pinufius is rendered almost physically present. Silent, the reader sits
next to Cassian at Pinufius' feet. With Cassian, he listens to the old man's
words and is inspired to examine the depth of his own commitment.
The setting of Pinufius' speech is similar to that of the Conferences. Cassian
describes the physical environment; he relates the elder's virtues; he allows the
elder to assess the needs of the one seeking advice; and the elder speaks in his
own voice. As a novice, however, the reader is not yet able to participate in
these conferences. The consecration ceremony provides a workable compro
mise. The setting is established, the needs of the initiate made known and the
speech recorded. Cassian and his reader, however, are witnesses rather than
participants.
Pinufius' speech brings to a close the early formation of the reader. It recalls
the stages of the spiritual life through which the reader has progressed as he has
progressed through the text itself. Like Cassian before him, the reader has
passed through his novitiate and been trained in the institutes of the Egyptian
coenobia. In order to determine if the reader has successfully applied what he
has read and has adopted the humility and obedience proper to a novice,
Cassian (through Pinufius) describes the virtue's external manifestations.
These signs of humility, which will be quoted often in Latin monastic litera
ture, offer the reader a standard by which he can gauge his progress.62 Just as
in the Conferences to come, Cassian provides an opportunity for the reader to
discern his condition and to judge whether he can profitably move on.
The Beginnings of Spiritual Warfare
The last eight Institutes no longer describe the institutes of the Egyptians,
just as they no longer address a reader who is serving his novitiate. Instead they
speak to one who has gained some maturity in his spiritual life and can now
participate in the initial skirmishes of the war against the vices. This shift in
content also encourages a shift in the role of the reader. Early in the fifth
Institute Cassian records a speech attributed to Antony.63 In this speech
Antony addresses a monk who has "learned by an examination of discretion,
[and] is now able to stand on his own judgment, and to arrive at the summit
of anachoresis, [and who] ought in no way to seek all kinds of virtues from one
man however great."64 Cassian is no longer writing to a novice under the tute
lage of a single elder and possessing no judgment of his own. He instead
addresses a reader who has proven himself as a novice and can now exercise his
own judgment. Recalling Paul's athletic imagery, Cassian likens his reader to
a youth who has proven himself to the president of the games and is now per
mitted to wander among the athletes.65 No longer subject to a single elder, the
reader must discern the particular abilities of individual monks and learn from
each the virtue he best exemplifies. Moreover, the reader should possess at least
some ability to discern his own condition and the motives for his actions.
Gluttony, the first of the vices and the principal topic of the Institute, cannot
be defeated merely by obeying a universal rule. Differences in age, health, dis
position and environment require flexibility in fasting. True fasting will arise
only from the judgment of the reader's conscience (iudicium conscientiae).66
By addressing his reader as though he has moved beyond his novitiate and
now lives within the monastic community, Cassian maintains the reciprocal
relationship between progress in the monastic life and progress in the text. The
reader has acquired the first elements of discretion and no longer owes
absolute obedience to a single mentor. Similarly, absolute obedience to a uni
versal and over-arching authority in the text is no longer profitable. Cassian
now portrays monks who excel in and teach about particular virtues, just as
individual monks would excel at different virtues within the community.
Antony's speech performs a necessary function at the beginning of a new
phase of the spiritual life by removing restrictions that had been placed on the
reader as a novice and opening a new path for a young monk.
The large collection of anecdotes at the end of the Institute provides a prac
tical exercise in the use of this discretion and offers a key to understanding the
structure of Cassian's text as a whole. At first glance, this collection seems dis
organized and somewhat out of place, not least because few of these anecdotes
pertain directly to gluttony.67 Upon further reflection, however, they can be
grouped into related themes and they fall into discernible patterns.68 The first
few stories are taken from Cassian's own experiences in Egypt and relate how
the rules of fasting were abandoned in favor of hospitality.69 When recounting
these events, Cassian again uses the first person plural. In a manner similar to
how he included the reader among Pinufius' audience, Cassian this time invites
the reader into his Egyptian cell. The reader encounters the abbas much as
Cassian encountered them. Both Cassian and the reader benefit from the
hospitality of an abba and later the reader as well as Cassian will be chastened
for preferring sleep to vigils.
The first of the elders to be considered is John, an abba of great age and
virtue. When John heard abba Paesius claim that the sun had not seen him eat
for forty years, he was able to reply that for an equal length of time the sun
had not seen him angry.70 Cassian then explains how John had reached such
heights of virtue. When asked on his deathbed to give his monks a word, he
replied with what amounts to a succinct summary of the first four Institutes:
"Never, he said, did I do my own will nor did I teach anything that I had
not first done myself."71 The foundation laid by John's unquestioning obedience
and the application of what he had been taught withstood the test of time. He had
maintained a humble spirit and also excelled in other virtues. That John and Paesius
each excelled in a different virtue is entirely in accord with Antony's speech.
Cassian next considers Machetes, who was blessed with the gift of being
able to fall asleep during idle chatter and to remain awake during spiritual
conferences.72 The two stories that follow reveal different aspects of this virtue.
The first explains that on the three occasions that Machetes spoke against
another monk, it was revealed to him that he was or would be entangled in
this same sin.7l The second again relates Machetes' miraculous ability to listen
to spiritual conferences and reminds the reader to pay careful attention to the
words of the elders.74 Cassian then tells of a monk who received letters
from his family and burnt them unread.75 This recalls the need for complete
renunciation and links physical exile to the internal quiet of the soul.
This is followed with yet another cluster of tales that focus on the gifted
exegete Theodore, whose skill was gained from prayer and fasting rather than
from any formal education.76 Theodore explains that purity of heart rather
than learning is necessary for scriptural exegesis. There are many differences
and errors among the commentators because most of them care nothing for
the purification of the mind and "rushing to interpret [the Scriptures], and
forming ideas that, in proportion to the grossness and worldliness of their
heart, are different from and contrary to the faith or to each other, they
cannot comprehend the light of truth."77 Theodore then reprimands Cassian
for sleeping after Vespers rather than maintaining a vigil. As with the account
of Machetes, the first story of the set establishes the elder's virtue and
subsequent stories elaborate upon it. The account of some anchorites living on
an island in the Delta follows a similar pattern.78
These stories are directed toward one who is just beginning spiritual
combat. From John, the reader is reminded of the fruits of obedience and
humility he has so recently acquired himself. Machetes tells him to pay close
attention to conferences and to refrain from feeling superior to others.
Theodore reminds him that prayer and purity of heart are the true source of
biblical knowledge. Even though educated, Cassian will not gain further
understanding if he should continue to sleep.
The last story of the collection is poignant evidence of Cassian's intended
audience. It tells of two novices who were ordered by John to deliver
especially fine figs to an old and enfeebled monk. On their way the two
became lost and starved to death, choosing to lose their life on earth rather
than violate their abba's command.79 At first, this story would seem bizarre in
light of Cassian's repeated calls for moderation. However, the abba who gave
the command was John, whose own humility and judgment was beyond
question. The key to the story would seem to be that the monks were young.
It serves as a caution to the reader, also a young monk, that obedience is
still necessary. Freedom of judgment cannot be invoked without it having
been earned.
The arrangement of Cassian's anecdotes confirms Antony's view of discre
tion. The reader first learns of an elder's special charism as though discerning
it himself. The elder then provides instruction, either by word or by example,
that is relevant to his particular virtue. Thus, both Antony's discourse and the
collection of stories fit neatly into Cassian's larger scheme. They also confirm
Cassian's belief that example is a necessary part of teaching and that the
authority of a monk's words is diminished if no account of his character is

provided.so There is a parallel relationship between what the reader performs
as an act of reading and what he is to perform within his own community.
The addition of these examples makes this by far the longest of the
Institutes. This is appropriate, for it is one of the most important. The Institute
is not simply concerned with gluttony; it serves as a transition from the
regulation of individual and communal activity to the regulation of the dis
turbances of the soul. The stories look back, both to remind the reader of the
first four Institutes and to reinforce more recent lessons about gluttony. They
also look forward, for in them Cassian alludes both to greater spiritual com
bat and to topics to be considered in the Conferences. In this Institute Cassian
develops an intricate introduction both to gluttony and to spiritual warfare.
He releases the monk from the restrictions of his earlier status as a novice and
shows him the first steps to discretion. He explores gluttony, but within the
context of a more well-rounded exploration of carnal desire. Finally, he hints
at the perseverance and further growth that will be necessary before gluttony
and the other vices can be rooted out. It would seem odd, then, if the stories
that conclude the discussion were limited to the single theme of gluttony.'!
Praxis and Exegesis
Cassian's discussion of anger in Institute 8 is similar to his discussion of

gluttony, for both introduce new stages of spiritual warfare. To this point,
Cassian has discussed gluttony, fornication and covetousness, all of which
belong to or afflict the concupiscible part of the soul. Anger, on the other
hand, pertains to the irascible part of the soul and the struggle against it
requires at least some mastery of the lower vices. Cassian's discussion of anger
also inaugurates a new maturity in his reader, for in this and the following
Institutes the reader will be entrusted with greater independence and discretion
as well as the key to a more profound reading of scripture.
The terms used to describe anger's deleterious effects are more vivid than
those Cassian used when describing earlier vices, and they are oriented more
toward the interior life. If anger remains in our heart and blinds the eye of our
minds, Cassian writes, then
we can neither acquire the judgment of right discretion nor possess the
insight of honest contemplation or ripeness of council, nor can we be par
takers of life or steadfast in justice, nor indeed can we be repositories of spir
itual and true light.82
In the end, if anger should be allowed to darken our soul, then we will lose the
purity of our mind and never think to pray.83 This language describes a stage
of the spiritual life not previously addressed; one in which the vices disturb the
mind and inhibit the infusion of "true light." The reader is no longer thought
to be prodded by fear of God and compunction over carnal passions. Now
inspired by love of virtue, he has made considerable progress toward the
purity of mind that is necessary for an acceptable sacrifice of true prayer.

Instead of looking to purity as a distant goal inspired by fear, Cassian now
describes purity as something that has been at least partly achieved and that
might be lost by harboring anger.
That Cassian is now addressing a more mature reader is also reflected in his
admonition to remain in the coenobium. Cassian's earlier discussion of the
need for monastic community had been in the context of a desire to return to
the world. Monks who make poor beginnings are unable or unwilling to curb
the carnal vices that afflict them. They might even distort the true meaning of
scripture, such as Paul's praise of those who contribute from their wealth to
the Christians in Jerusalem in order to justify their return to the world to earn
an income.'4 Now, however, Cassian warns of a new danger: the immoderate
desire to become an anchorite before one has acquired a proper foundation.
Cassian no longer fears that his reader will stumble in the first steps of renun
ciation and return defeated to the world. He instead worries that his reader's
initial success against the carnal vices might lead him to undertake a more
rigorous life before he is ready.85
In his discussion of anger, Cassian also introduces a new approach to scrip
ture. In a long digression, he vigorously argues against the claim that God can
suffer anger and then expands this discussion to include anthropomorphic
descriptions of God more generally. God, who is immutable, cannot be moved
by the disturbance or pathos of anger.86 "When we read of the wrath and
fury of God, we ought to understand [it] not anthropomorphos, that is, accord
ing to the meanness of human disturbance, but in a way worthy of God, who
is free from all disturbance."87 Scripture ascribes anger and other emotions to
God because we cannot comprehend the true nature of God. Just as when we
read of God's physical form, we must understand these attributions of human
emotion metaphorically (figuraliter).88 It is noteworthy that while Cassian
describes anger as a pathos, he avoids describing God's immovability
as apatheia.
Continuing his more sophisticated explication of scripture, Cassian then
turns to Paul's warning not to allow the sun to set on one's anger (Eph. 4:6) .
Recognizing that this passage might be misinterpreted t o allow someone t o be
angry at least for a little while, Cassian clarifies any potential ambiguity by
interpreting the sun as Jesus, who is the sun of righteousness. The sun setting
on one's anger therefore signifies Jesus abandoning, or allowing to grow
dark, the mind disturbed by anger." The identification of Christ as the sun of
righteousness then helps to unlock an enigmatic text in Malachi.9o Cassian
next interprets the sun as the mind (nous), calling this its tropological sense
(secundum tropicum sensum).9! In this interpretation the action is reversed, for
anger darkens the mind. In other words, judgment is eclipsed by wrath.
In the subsequent Institute, Cassian describes dejection in the terms of
Proverbs 25:20, which likens the dejected heart to a garment destroyed by
moths or wood eaten by worms.92 The garment is interpreted first as a
metaphor for the heart and then as signifying the priestly office. Just as
Aaron's clothing received the oil of his anointing, so the heart must be fit to
receive the Holy Spirit. If a moth-eaten garment cannot be worn by a
priest, then a dejected heart cannot receive the Spirit. The metaphor of the
destroyed wood is also given a heightened meaning. As wormwood cannot
be used to adorn an earthly temple, so the dejected heart is unfit for building
a spiritual temple.
Institute 10 takes this new, specifically monastic exegesis a step further by
offering an extended analysis of Paul's call for Christians to work steadily
and not become busy-bodies. Cassian interprets Paul as though he wrote
concerning the monastic vice of acedia, a kind of spiritual torpor that can be
remedied by continuous work. Paul's command for Christians to be quiet
becomes an injunction to remain in one's cell. The command to work with
one's hands becomes a command to labor continuously.93
Finally, Cassian also suggests a sophisticated understanding of Acts 20:35,
which states that it is more blessed to give than to receive. In his discourse on
covetousness he had interpreted this passage within the historical context of
the Jerusalem community. He here adds the deeper meaning of the shared
poverty of the true donor and the recipient.94 In Institute 12 he will write that
those who cannot understand the true meaning of this passage have failed
in their spiritual life.95 In this same Institute Cassian will extend allegorical
interpretation to historical events. While the defeat of Joash by the Syrians
provides a concrete example of the dangers of pride, the story can also be read
to signify the battle between the soul Goash) and the vices (the Syrians) .96
Before introducing the struggle against anger, biblical exegesis had been
largely of a literal kind. Having progressed in his spiritual life, the reader must
now turn his attention more fully toward prayer and biblical study. Shedding
any misconceptions about the nature of God, the reader must penetrate the
mysteries of scripture in order to gain true knowledge of God. Cassian had
earlier described Theodore, an abba whose knowledge of scripture was gained
through prayer and discipline rather than academic expertise.97 Now, Cassian
has shown in a concrete way the reciprocal relationship between purity of
heart and spiritual knowledge.
Looking Ahead to the Conferences

It is noteworthy that while the final two Institutes address an even
more advanced stage of spiritual combat, they do not inaugurate a correspon
ding development in the progress of the reader. Vainglory and pride affect the
intelligible part of the soul and pose the greatest threat to those who have
come close to achieving perfection:' Given the pattern that Cassian established
in his earlier Institutes, one would expect that his discussion of these last two
vices would correspond to a similar development in the reader. Instead,
Cassian clearly states that vainglory and pride have little to do with the
reader, for he has not achieved the level of perfection that is most vulnerable
to these vices.
This does not mean that Cassian has abandoned the structured activity
between the reader and the text. While these last vices address a stage of monas
tic life that transcends anything the reader can be expected to have achieved,
they also afflict those who have just begun to make spiritual progress.99 While
not himself subject to their more advanced attacks, the reader has gained suf
ficient understanding to perceive how the vices might afflict one who is more
advanced. After discussing the more advanced attacks of pride, Cassian returns
to the level of the reader when he speaks of its more lowly manifestations.
On the other hand, he [Satan] does not deem worthy to tempt us in this way,
but overthrows us, who are still entangled in earthly passions, by a grosser
and, I should say, a carnal pride. And so according to my promise I think
it is also necessary to say something concerning that by which we or men of
our measure, and especially the minds of youths and beginners, are usually
imperiled. 100
Cassian then recounts how this lower form of pride takes possession of the
lukewarm monk and corrupts him. The description serves as a synopsis
of the Institutes. The monk first makes a poor beginning and is unable to
abandon his worldly haughtiness and possessions.101 He does not recognize
that he must die in the body and conquer the carnal vices. Failure to make
a complete renunciation leads to avarice.102 Gradually, the monk becomes
wrathful and can no longer be taught anything of the spiritual life.
This tale looks both forward and back. It recalls the lessons of the Institutes,
for the monk's descent into depravity follows the course of Cassian's analysis
of the vices. The decline is described in vivid detail and special attention
is given to the monk's growing impatience with conversation and spiritual
guidance. The prideful monk resents instruction and deliberately twists its
meaning, using it as a weapon against others. The conferences soon become
harmful and it would have been better for the one possessed by pride never to
have begun them.
The tale looks forward by warning the reader to reflect upon his condition
before proceeding to the Conferences. The Conferences may not simply be
impenetrable; they may actually cause significant harm. To aid the reader in
discerning his condition, Cassian briefly lists the ways in which pride can lead
to a feeling of triumph early in the spiritual journey. "For, as we said before,
the state of the inner man will be known from his outward behavior (motus).
Therefore, that carnal pride which we mentioned earlier is shown by these
signs."103 The beginner who falls prey to pride will be loud in speech, bitter in
silence, quick to laugh, morose when serious, etc. The list is then extended to
describe conduct with others. Even the most spiritually dense reader might
easily learn that he has not eradicated pride from his heart.
The final chapter of the section is again a call to humility.I04 In effect,
Cassian has come full circle, for the principal virtue of the first Institutes is also
humility. This virtue has been raised to a new level, however, and given a
more profound significance. Cassian has moved beyond the humiliation of
the renunciant and the need for absolute obedience to true humility, which
is the purity of heart necessary to stand before God.
READING AS MONASTIC PRAXIS

Although composing a set of discursive treatises, Cassian adapted an under
standing of monastic reading drawn from the Origenist monks of Egypt and,
more specifically, from Evagrius' sententiae. While he is careful to avoid terms
that had become tainted with "Origenism" as well as any reference to his men
tor, Cassian leads his readers through praxis and introspection to the purity of
heart necessary for pure prayer. At first, this might not seem plausible. There
is a great dissimilarity between the two authors, and their respective corpora
do not readily invite comparison. Against Evagrius' brief, independent studies
of the monastic life, the Institutes consist of a series of discursive treatises.
Evagrius often employs aphorisms and even meter, whereas Cassian seldom
employs the former and the latter not at all. Evagrius' aphorisms lend them
selves to meditation and memorization in a way that Cassian's treatises do not.
Finally, Evagrius wrote within a developed tradition of which most Latin
readers were ignorant.
Cassian addresses each of these obstacles. While the Institutes do not lend
themselves to memorization in the same manner as Evagrius' sententiae,
Cassian encourages rumination through a careful use of mnemonic devices.
Among these is a juxtaposition of the central themes of the discussion. The
discussion of gluttony, for example, ends with a speech by Macarius that
expresses the horns of the dilemma. A monk ought to practice moderation,
preserving his health as though he might live for a hundred years. On the
other hand, he ought to curb his passions as though he might die tomorrow. !Os
Cassian concludes his discussion of fornication with a similar juxtaposition of
daily vigilance and nightly vigils.lOb Even sections within the Institutes are set
off in a similar manner.107 This framing of the central tenets of the discussion
is not simply a matter of style. The memorization and repetition of these for
mulae call to mind other, more detailed aspects of the discussion. Cassian's
repeated use of exempla serves a similar purpose, for they also call to mind the
import of what has just been said.108 For example, while Cassian's considera
tion of exegesis is quite involved, the stories concerning Theodore express its
most salient features in a simple, easily comprehended manner.
Both Evagrius and Cassian reveal their material only gradually and in a
spiralling path. Each warns of the danger of reading beyond one's ability.
Only after a monk has read, understood and applied the text is he to move on.
He is to struggle against new obstacles only after having overcome the last. In
Egypt, the task of evaluating a younger monk's progress would have fallen on
an elder. Though at times the elder was blessed with the charism of discern
ment, more often he was left with the task of observing his junior's behavior
and evaluating his needs according to external signs.109 Even the demons are
restricted to this sort of observation, for God alone can penetrate the sou1.110
In the absence of an elder, Cassian provides for a kind of self-analysis. His

description of the external manifestations of the virtues, such as Pinufius' signs
of humility or the outward expressions of pride, provides the reader with tools
similar to those of an elder. By examining his own conduct, the reader can
evaluate his progress and determine if he can proceed safely and profitably.
By calling upon his reader to appropriate the self of the text as his own,
Cassian encourages the interiorization of the text itself. To facilitate this,
the content of the text is accommodated to the reader, or at least to Cassian's
intended historical reader. As the textual Cassian grows and matures, so too
does the reader. This gradual growth and transformation leads the reader to
a deeper understanding of self and of vocation, and this deeper understanding
in turn facilitates the development of new modes of conduct. As the reader's
understanding of himself and his vocation is transformed through the act
of reading, it combines with newly formed or altered habits to create a dispo
sition different from that which had existed before. In recognition of the
growing sophistication of the reader, the content of the text itself also grows
in sophistication. The reader thereby views the monastic life from a new
standpoint.
The demand for a reciprocal relationship between reading and praxis allows
Cassian to penetrate into every aspect of his reader's life.111 Cassian calls for a
change in the orientation, indeed in the very life, of his reader. Adopting the
voice of the text promotes both self-sacrifice and self-knowledge. The reader
sacrifices his habitual orientation toward exterior and ephemeral things to
focus on what is real. He also sacrifices his self-will for the sake of obedience
to the text, just as he would offer his complete obedience to an abba. This
self-sacrifice contributes to self-knowledge, for by freeing himself from the
sting of carnal desire and taming the movements of the soul, the reader attains
a knowledge available only to those who have achieved purity of soul. This
shift in the reader's orientation from external to internal things frees the soul
from the bondage of the flesh and leads to spiritual, as opposed to carnal,
knowledge. Once freed from the burden of the flesh and able to focus his mind
without distraction, the reader can cling to God in prayer. In the introduction
to his Conferences, Cassian writes that one who has read the Institutes merits
the name of the spiritual Jacob and can now pass on to the dignity of Israel.l12
In other words, Cassian assumes that reading the Institutes entails the embodi
ment of the monastic praxis they describe.
Psalmody and Praxis

Cassian borrowed his understanding of reading from a practice of psalmody
common among Egyptian monks and from Origen's approach to biblical
exegesis. While Cassian's borrowings from Origen will be taken up later, it
will be helpful here to explore briefly the influence of psalmody. Given its
foundational role in monastic life, one cannot easily suggest a direct source for
Cassian's understanding of psalmody. However, in his letter to an otherwise
unknown monk named Marcellinus, Athanasius offers perhaps the most

complete description of the practice.
According to Athanasius, all scripture is unified by the one Spirit who
inspired it and the whole of the Spirit is present in each book.ll3 Moreover, the
Psalms cannot be distinguished merely on the basis of genre, for while
the Psalms contain within themselves all the other biblical genres, these other
genres often contain poetry. The psalms contain legislation, for example, and
Moses composed songs.114 The Psalms prophesy about the life of Christ while
the letters of Paul contain Christological hymns.lls The Psalms are unique,
however, because of how they are to be read. While the narrative about Moses
offers examples of conduct worthy of emulation, proper humility should
prevent one from adopting Moses' words as one's own. The Psalms, on the
other hand, at least those that aren't specifically Christological, can and ought
to be read as though they are the reader's own words.ll6
The Psalms encourage the appropriation of the voice of the Psalmist as
one's own because they provide a vocabulary for expressing the full range of
human emotion and experience.117 This vocabulary is important and much
of the Letter to Marcellinus is taken up with practical advice about which Psalm
to sing in a given situation. Psalm 19, for example, offers words of condolence
to those who suffer. When beset by enemies, one should sing Psalm 26.118
God listens to those who pray with the words of the Psalms.119 Demons quake
when a Psalm is sung but can resist attempts at exorcism when other words
are used. 120
This is not to say that the Psalms merely serve as a thesaurus to express
one's grief or joy. Nor are the words of the Psalms incantations to ensure that
a prayer is heard or a demon properly expelled. Instead, the Psalms express
the entire scope of human existence. They address the full range of human
emotion and know every disposition of the soul. 121 They offer a vocabulary to
express the depths of the human condition and to explore what that condition
might be. They help to interpret and even give meaning to one's experiences,
be they exterior circumstances or interior movements of the soul. When recit
ing the Psalms, the Spirit who inspires them both speaks to the reader and
composes the words in the reader's heart.122 The soul understands itself, com
municates and acts according to the words of the Psalms.123 Through the words
of the Psalms the monk both interprets and constructs his self and his world.
The manner in which the Psalms are to be sung also touches upon the
soul, for the harmony of the Psalms ought to reflect the harmony of the soul.
Regaining its sense of peace by singing the Psalms, the soul leaves behind
the passions that disturb it and becomes still. 124 A symbiotic relationship is
established whereby the harmony of the Psalms cultivates a stillness that
allows for greater exploration of one's interior life. This exploration leads to
an interior harmony that is reflected in (and facilitated by) the singing of the
Psalms.12s In short, the Psalms serve as therapy for the soul. One finds in them
not only a vehicle to give meaning to one's interior life, but also the means
to restore harmony to a soul disturbed by passions.126 Psalmody both gives

meaning to and provides a pattern for the monastic life.
It will be argued below that Cassian draws on this understanding of
psalmody when discussing the key to pure and ceaseless prayer. He also relies
upon it when structuring the Institutes and Conferences, for they are to be read
in much the same way. Cassian's monastic corpus provides a vehicle for explor
ing the depths of one's soul. Progress through the text offers therapy for a
poor beginning in the monastic life and the opportunity both to correct one's
habits and to calm the vices that disturb the soul. In the course of reading and
embodying the text, the reader is to acquire a new disposition and restore the
harmony of his soul. Free from disturbance and no longer attracted to mate
rial and ephemeral things, the monk's heart becomes a dwelling place of the
Spirit who both inspires the monk and composes his prayers on his behalf.
By drawing on the practice of psalmody, Cassian reveals more about
monastic life at Nitria and Kellia than any mere historical description could
hope to achieve. His choice of an autobiographical structure to represent
Egyptian monastic teaching allows the reader to perceive both the manner in
which the individual monk was formed and the content of monastic instruc
tion. Rather than reading about monastic instruction, the reader is given the
opportunity virtually to participate in it. Cassian's text does more than simply
describe the monastic life. The act of reading the Institutes and Conferences is a
pattern of this life.
NOTES
1. "pariterque ab eodem abbate aedificationis sermonem fusis lacrymis posceremus

(quippe cuius hunc animi rigorem manifestissime noueramus, ut nisi fideliter
desiderantibus, et cum omni cordis contritione quaerentibus, nequaquam acqui
esceret januam perfectionis aperire, ne scilicet, si passim uel nolentibus earn, uel tepi
de sitientibus exhiberet, res necessarias, et quae solis perfectionem cupientibus
debent esse compertae, indignis et fastidiose suscipientibus pandens, aut iactantiae
uitium, aut proditionis crimen uideretur incurrere), tandem fatigatus precibus nos
tris, ita exorsus est." Can. 1.1.
2. Guy, "Educational Innovation," 49, and Gould, Desert Fathers, 25-29.
3. While the ritual shows considerable variety early on, it had become almost formu
laic by the time of the Historia Lausiaca. E.g., Palladius, Hist. Laus. 32.
4. The elder was to use "his gift of spiritual discernment to adapt each of his prescrip
tions to the needs and capacities of his disciple." Guy, "Educational," 47.
5. Burton-Christie, Word, 157-160. That God inspires the abbas with words according
to the zeal of the disciples, Can. 1.21.
6. Gould, Desert Fathers, 58-63.
7. "ipsos quodammodo suis institutis incorporatos et quod maius est Latino disputantes
eloquio uobis exhibere." Can! 1-10, praef 6.
8. "ipsosque in cellulas suas auctores conlationum cum ipsis conlationum uoluminibus

recipientes et cotidianis quodammodo cum eis interrogationibus ac responsionibus
conloquentes." Can. 1 8-24, praef 3.
9. "Reading is an invitation to live temporarily within the thoughts of someone else."
Poulet, "Phenomenology," 55.
10. Can. 1.20.4-5.
1 1 . Can. 4.19.2.
12. Can. 7.23.2.
13. Can. 9.16.
14. Iser, Act, 155.
15. Can. 1.4.3.
16. Can. 2.10-11.
17. Can. 3.22.4.
18. Can. 4.2.
19. Can. 4.9 . 1 .
20. Can. 6.5.
21. Can. 7.3 . 1 .
22. Can. 9.33.
23. Can. 10.8-9.
24. Rather than continuing on, the subsequent fourteen Conferences return to a period
sometime before the companions learn the key to ceaseless prayer in Conference 10.
25. Can. 1.9; 10.6.2-3.
26. Can. 10.6.4.
27. Can. 1.1. See also Can. 2.1.
28. Can. 10.9.2-3.
29. Apophthegmata Pambo 9. For a more lengthy consideration of how the abbas
regarded time, Fagerberg, "Time," 202.
30. On the inability of a reader to abandon entirely his own sense of self-awareness,
Iser, Prospecting, 63-64.
3 1 . Iser, Act, 34.
32. Iser, Prospecting, 64.
33. "festinet prius eorum propositum simili studio et conversatione suscipere, et tunc
demum ea, quae supra facultatem hominis uidebantur, non solum possibilia,
uerum etiam suauissima deprehendet. " Can. 1-10, praef 7.
34. "praesertim cum harum rerum ratio nequaquam possit otiosa meditatione
doctrinaque uerborum uel tradi uel intellegi uel memoria contineri. totum
namque in sola experientia usuque consistit, et quemadmodum tradi nisi ab
experto non queunt, ita ne percipi quidem uel intellegi nisi ab eo, qui ea pari
studio ac sudore adprehendere elaborauerit, possunt: quae tamen si conlatione
iugi spiritalium uirorum frequenter discussa non fuerint et polita, cito rursum
mentis incuria dilabuntur." Inst. , praef 4-5.
35. "uelut rudi monasterio et in ueritate sitientibus." Inst. , praef 7. See also Inst. 2.2.
36. Inst. 4.9.
37. Inst. 4.2. Cassian and Germanus had similarly abandoned their earlier formation,
for they had been told to forget what they had learned in Palestine in order to
embrace more fully the Egyptian ideal. Con. 18.3.1.
38. Inst. 1 . 1 .2-5.
39. Inst. 1.3-9.
40. Cf. o. Chadwick, John Cassian, 2nd. ed., 47-48, who argued that this last chapter
has no place here.
41. Inst. 1 . 1 1 . 1-3.
42. Inst. 2 . 1 .
4 3 . Inst. 2.3.3-5. Cf. o . Chadwick, who argued that this digression i s inappropriate
here. John Cassian, 2nd. ed., 48.
44. Inst. 2.10.1.
45. Inst. 2. 12.2.
46. Inst. 2. 15-16; 3 passim.
47. Inst. 4.6.
48. Inst. 4.10.
49. "quam non solum operi manuum seu lectioni uel silentio et quieti cellae, uerum
etiam cunctis uirtutibus ita praeferunt, ut huic iudicent omnia postponenda et uni
uersa dispendia subire contenti sint, dummodo hoc bonum in nullo uiolasse
uideantur." Inst. 4.12.
50. Inst. 4.8, 10.
51. Inst. 4.9.
52. Inst. 2.15.1.
53. Inst. 2.5. 1-5; 4.10.
54. Cassian castigates abbots who introduce novelty or shy from the difficult regimen
of the Egyptians. Inst. 2.3.3-5.
55. Inst., praef 4-5.
56. Inst. 4.30-3 1; also Con. 20. 1.2-5.
57. Pinufius reiterated Cassian's earlier call for a single mentor. The system Pinufius
described was not as structured, however, and the novice seems to have had some
choice in his superior. Inst. 4.40-41.
58. Inst. 4.9.
59. Inst. 4.2.
60. Inst. 2.7.3; also Inst. 5.35.
61. Inst. 4.15-16.
62. Inst. 4.39.2-3. This list later travelled on its own and even appeared in a Greek ver
sion under Evagrius's name. De Vogue, "Interpolation," 2 17-221, and "Morceau,"
7-12.
63. o. Chadwick, John Cassian, 2nd ed., 43, argues that this passage has no place in the
Institute and that it would be more appropriate near the beginning of Conference
14. The argument is based on two premises: that the story has nothing to do with
gluttony and that it is more appropriate for anchorites, and therefore belongs in
the Conferences.
64. "adprehenso discretionis examine proprio iam potens est stare iudicio atque ad
arcem anachoreseos peruenire, minime debere ab uno quamuis summo uniuersa
genera uirtutum expetere." Inst. 5.4. 1.
65. Inst. 5.13.
66. Inst. 5.9.
67. Chadwick described the anecdotes as "a collection of apophthegmata, or stories,
not heaped together under any system whatever. There is no common theme." (0.
Chadwick, John Cassian, 2nd ed., 43-44.) According to Chadwick, either the anec
dotes were added later by copyists who wished to augment Cassian's list of elders
or the original exemplar had become disorganized and been badly reconstructed.
68. E.g., Guy, Institutions, 1 89, groups the stories thematically and interprets them as
examples of spiritual, rather than bodily fasting. For an analysis of the intricate
structure of Institute 5 as a whole, Pristas, "Theological Anthropology," 34-44.
69. Inst. 5.24-26.
70. Inst. 5.27.
71. "numquam, ait, meam feci uoluntatem nec quemquam docui quod prius ipse non
feci." Inst. 5.28.
72. Inst. 5.29.
73. Inst. 5.30. 1-3.
74. Inst. 5.31.
75. Inst. 5.32. 1-3.
76. Inst. 5.33-35.
77. "prosilientes ad interpretandum eas, pro pinguetudine uel inmunditia sui cordis
diuersa atque contraria uel fidei uel sibimet sentientes ueritatis lumen conprehen
dere nequiuerunt." Inst. 5.34.
78. Inst. 5.36-38.
79. Inst. 5.40. 1-2.
80. E.g., the account of Pinufius in Con. 20. 1.
8 1 . Cassian's discussion of fornication immediately follows that of gluttony. It furthers
the transition to independent judgment inaugurated by Antony's speech, for here
Cassian speaks of the need to confess all things to God rather than to an elder. Inst. 6.21.
82. "nec iudicium rectae discretionis adquirere nec honestae contemplationis intuitum
nec maturitatem consilii possidere nec uitae participes nec iustitiae tenaces, sed ne
spiritalis quidem ac ueri luminis capaces poterimus exsistere." Inst. 8 . 1 . 1 .
8 3 . Inst. 8.22.
84. Inst. 7.7-10.
85. This is also evident in the subsequent Institutes.
86. Inst. 8.4.1.
87. "de ira dei uel furore cum legimus, non anthropomorphos, id est secundum humili
tatem humanae perturbationis, sed digne deo, qui omni perturbatione alienus est,
sentire debemus." Inst. 8.4.3.
88. Inst. 8.4.1.
89. Inst. 8.9.
90. Inst. 8. 10.
91. Inst. 8. 10.
92. Inst. 9.2-3.

93. Inst. 10.7. 1-9. The use of Paul to link the struggle against the vices and the apos
tolic life was noted earlier. Now, the regulations of the apostolic Church are being
interpreted as describing a monastic community.
94. Inst. l0.19.
95. Inst. 12.25.
96. Inst. 12.21-22.
97. Inst. 5.33.
98. See Con. 5. 10.3-4.
99. Inst. 1 1 .2; 12.2.
100. "ceterum nos, qui adhuc terrenis sumus passionibus inuoluti, nequaquam hoc
modo temptare dignatur, sed crassiore et ut ita dixerim carnali elatione subplan
tat. et idcirco de hac quoque, qua maxime nos seu nostrae mensurae homines ac
praecipue iuniorum uel incipientium mentes periclitari solent, necessarium reor
secundum promissionem nostram pauca depromere." Inst. 12.24.
101. Inst. 12.25.
102. Inst. 12.26.
103. "de exterioris namque sicut praediximus hominis motu status interioris agnosci
tur. his igitur indiciis carnalis ista quam praefati sumus superbia declaratur." Inst.
12.29.2.
104. Inst. 12.33.1.
105. Inst. 5.41.
106. Inst. 6.23.
107. E.g., Inst. 2.14.
108. E.g., Inst. 6.18-19; 10.20; 1 1 . 10. 1-3.
109. Gould, Desert, 42-52.
1 10. Con. 7.15. 1-2.
1 1 1 . "Reading . . . isolates the reader from the public domain of the spoken word,
alienates the familiar and promotes a perception of solitude which breeds
interpretation and self-reflection." Worthen, "Self, " 15.
1 12. Con. 1-10, praef, 5.
1 13. Athanasius, Ep. ad Marc. 9.
120. Athanasius, Ep. ad Marc. 33.
124. Athanasius, Ep. ad Marc. 27-28.
CHAPTER S
Imp lications for Praxis

A Reconsideration of the Solitary Life
FRAMING THE QUESTION
Amid all the different views of the nature of monastic life current in southern
Gaul in the early fifth century, there was at least one resounding theme: the
polarity of solitary and communal life, or of anachoresis and the vita coeno
bialis_ There was little doubt that each was a separate vocation and that each
possessed its own perfection. Nevertheless, in the hierarchy of merits so
vigorously championed by many Latin writers, life as a hermit was typically
regarded as superior to life in a community. One might, or perhaps even
should, begin monastic life in the company of others, but the perfection of
such a life lay in complete withdrawal from human interaction. Only in isola
tion could one worship God without distraction and pray without ceasing.
At first glance, Cassian's monastic literature would seem to reinforce this
polarity. In a manner that accorded much more with his Gallic readers than
with the reality of Egyptian monasticism, Cassian frequently divides the
monastic vocation between the practical and the contemplative, or between
the communal and the solitary lives. He also writes that anachoresis ought to
succeed communal life as part of a natural progression. In the voice of Antony,
for example, Cassian describes anachoresis as leading to a more sublime perfec
tion than is available to those living within a community.! He introduces
Paphnutius as one who mastered cenobitic discipline at a young age and who
in his later years sought greater purity by penetrating far into the desert.2
Cassian even portrays his own monastic journey as an evolution from the
cloister to the desert.
A closer reading of Cassian's monastic corpus, however, reveals that the
dichotomy he proposes between the cenobitic and anchoretic lives is not as
straightforward as it first appears. Cassian does not offer an unqualified praise
of the solitary life. Nor does he recommend evolution from one vocation to
the other without reservation. In fact, anachoresis very often presents more
dangers than rewards and there are more impure than pure motives for
91
withdrawing from the community. Rather than leading to the kingdom

of God on earth, Cassian describes his decision to leave the monastic commu
nity at Diolcos in order to become a hermit as a mistake that placed his very
soul in jeopardy.3
One must therefore ask why Cassian offers such divergent views of ana·
choresis and whether it is possible to discern his own voice among the different
opinions being expressed. In his watershed essay, Julien Leroy has attempted
to answer this question by paying careful attention to the identity of the speak
ers and the context of each Conference. Like the other anchorites who speak in
the Conferences, Antony and Paphnutius reserve the highest praise for their
own vocation. Conversely, the cenobites who speak in the Conferences do not
regard communal life as a training ground for more stringent renunciations to
come. It is a lifelong commitment in its own right.4 Given the different per
spectives of Cassian's interlocutors, Leroy concludes that they cannot be said
to represent Cassian's own view on the matter. This, according to Leroy, is
found in the voice of Germanus. By closely examining the ideas expressed by
Germanus throughout the Conferences and arguing that these represent
Cassian's own position, Leroy concludes that Cassian believed anachoresis to
be the superior mode of life.5 In other words, Cassian sides with Antony,
Paphnutius and his readers in Gaul.
Leroy's analysis is astute and his perception of different voices within
Cassian's text marks a turning point in the study of Cassian's theology. His
argument, however, does not take into account the fact that Germanus is not
a static figure in Cassian's text. Germanus evolves in the course of the
Conferences from a novice almost wholly ignorant of the monastic vocation to
a mature monk capable of pure and unceasing prayer. If one should argue that
Germanus is representative of Cassian's views, then one must ask which
Germanus: the novice at Diolcos or the mature monk at Isaac's feet?
Moreover, it was argued above that Cassian encouraged his reader to adopt
Germanus' voice as his own by representing to the reader some of his own pre
suppositions. This might go far toward explaining why Cassian's description
of two rigid and distinct monastic vocations has more to do with Gallic expec
tations than with Egyptian reality. It complicates Leroy's thesis, however, for
Germanus' words might sometimes be better analyzed as a source for Cassian's
intended audience or as an attempt to structure the response of his reader than
as a source for Cassian's own views.
Leroy's argument also falls short in his acceptance without question that
anachoresis is to be equated with physical withdrawal from the community.
This prohibits him from adequately addressing the foundation of Cassian's
theology. The dichotomy that Cassian proposes between cenobitic life and
anachoresis is not rooted in a rigid distinction between the communal and the
solitary. Instead, Cassian proposes a fundamental distinction between the
outer and inner person. The first acts of renunciation, the inculcation of
monastic discipline, and the first stages of spiritual combat concern the outer
person. The attainment of purity of heart, the undertaking of a more advanced
Implications for Praxis 93
contemplation, and pure and unceasing prayer pertain to the inner person.
While Cassian describes these stages as concerning cenobitism and anachoresis
respectively, the distinction between the two cannot simply be identified
with the distinction between life in a community and life as a hermit. To
understand better Cassian's distinction between cenobitic and anchoretic, or
between our exterior and interior lives, we must ask three questions: how does
Cassian describe anachoresis in the Institutes; how does he compare cenobitism
and anachoresis when he again takes up the topic in Conferences 18 and 19; and
what does he mean by solitude?
ANACHORESIS IN THE INSTITUTES

Cassian begins his discussion of spiritual warfare in the fifth Institute by
describing Germanus as an immature monk who regarded anachoresis as the
most profound expression of love for God. In his immaturity the youthful
Germanus differed little from the reader of the Institutes. Each was convinced
of the superiority of anachoresis by the reputation of the Egyptian monks, the
common opinion of the brethren, and his own ardent desire. Neither
Germanus nor the reader were familiar with Egyptian monastic life or the
harsh demands of the life alone in the desert. They were unfamiliar with even
the names of all the vices, let alone prepared to combat them. Like the reader,
and most unlike those whom he hoped to imitate, Germanus was still an
"unformed anchorite" (rudis anachoreta), impelled more by youthful eagerness
than by spiritual knowledge.6
Germanus' immaturity stands in stark contrast to the hermits whose man
ner of life had lured him from the coenobium at Diolcos. The regime of these
hermits was harsh. The soil of the island was infertile, drinking water extreme
ly scarce, and the labors of the monks astonishing in their severity.? Life on the
island offered all the isolation and physical discomfort of the greatest of the
Egyptian hermitages. The sanctity of hermits who had endured such hardship
could not be in doubt. While Germanus had resided at Diolcos only a short
time, and Cassian's reader had only recently concluded the novitiate of the
first four Institutes, the hermits had lived for a very long time (diutissime) in
the monastery before withdrawing to the desert.8 Germanus had embarked on
the anchoretic life while still ignorant of all but the most elementary afflictions
of the soul, and the reader is only beginning to learn of the vices and how to
combat them. The hermits, on the other hand, had undertaken the solitary life
only after they had diligently learned the rule of discretion (regula discretionis)
and been purified of all vices.9 The praiseworthy lives of the hermits highlight
Germanus' inability to practice even the most fundamental monastic
discipline.lO The contrast provides ample evidence that one should leave the
community only when all the vices have been conquered, not when one has
only learned of the first.
Cassian continues to play upon his reader's zeal for withdrawal and solitude
throughout the Institutes. By casting the vices in terms that would suggest
withdrawal from the coenobium as a viable cure, Cassian agrees with the bulk
of Latin monastic literature and the popular view of solitude that it had helped
to form. In the end, however, Cassian manages to leave his reader's expecta
tions unfulfilled. Against the eagerness for the anchoretic life that prevailed, he
consistently argues that disturbances of the soul can best be quelled in the
company of others.!! Isolation only exacerbates vices. Rather than being a cure,
anachoresis almost inevitably worsens a monk's affliction.
Cassian eloquently describes the need for the protection of the coenobium
in his discussion of covetousness. Resulting from an inadequate foundation
and a lukewarm love of God, the affliction will eventually drive the monk
from the company of his brethren. If unchecked, it will harden his heart and
chase away all virtue, to the point that even in Hell he will remain unrepen
tant.!2 If true poverty is the goal,
we [Cassian and his reader] should seek out both the discipline and the insti
tution of a monastery, so that we may in truth renounce this world, saving
for ourselves nothing of those things we despised because of being held back
by infidelity, but we should seek our daily food not from hoarded money,
but from our own work. 13
Obsession with money and fear of poverty will drive the monk from the secu
rity of the monastery in search of a very elusive wealth in the world. However,
the failed monk will never be able to acquire wealth sufficient to dispel his fear
or sate his thirst for more.!4
Cassian also takes up the need for community in his discussion of anger. He
admits that human interaction can cause irritation and strife among the
brethren, and that this may in turn lead to anger. This does not mean, how
ever, that we can blame external circumstances for our anger.
And while we turn the causes of our error onto others, we will never be able
to arrive at the goal of patience and perfection. Therefore the greatest part of
our correction and peace must not be laid on the will of another, which is
never in our power, but rather it lies in our own authority.!5
Anger arises from within. Like a dangerous beast in its lair, it cannot be called
harmless merely because it has no opportunity to strike. Alone in the desert a
monk will still experience wrath, either at visitors, at memories of past
wrongs, or even at inanimate objects.!6 Such anger will inhibit pure prayer and
obviate the true vocation of the anchorite.!?
A monk should undertake the anchoretic life for the sake of divine con
templation and with a desire for more profound insight, not as a cowardly
flight.!' An ill-considered retreat into the desert will cause more harm than
good. Whatever vices a monk carries uncured into the desert will remain hid
den within him. The desert will not cleanse him of sin.!9 On the other hand,
interaction with others can indicate a propensity to anger and their correction
can help us to root out the vices. If we are pure of heart, our companions can
do nothing to incite our wrath.
In his discussion of covetousness Cassian warns against flight from the

monastery to return to the world. When treating of anger, however, he cau
tions against flight from the monastery into the desert. The reason for this
change of emphasis lies in the progress of the reader. Cassian groups cov
etousness with gluttony and fornication to make up the first set of vices.
Straddling fornication and anger, it is a Janus, looking both forward and back.
Though of external rather than of carnal origin, it affects the lowest part of the
soul. Anger, on the other hand, together with dejection and acedia, affect the
irascible part of the soul. They therefore concern a new level of spiritual war
fare and Cassian's discussion of them addresses the reader at a new stage of his
spiritual life.20 Having quelled the vices that disturb the lowest part of the soul,
the reader is no longer likely to return to the world. Instead, the danger has
become an impatience with his fellow monks that might induce him to leave
the monastery for the desert.
When speaking of dejection, Cassian uses even stronger terms to warn
against any untimely flight into the desert.
And so God, the creator of all things, recognizing before all else the care for
his work, and because the roots and causes of our offenses lie not in others
but in ourselves, commanded that we should not abandon intercourse with
our brethren, nor avoid those whom we think we have injured or by whom
we have been offended, but he [God] orders that they be mollified, knowing
that the perfection of the heart is to be sought not so much by separation
from men as by the virtue of patience.2!
This is no longer the advice of Cassian or even the doctrine of the Egyptian
abbas. It is a divine command rooted in the fundamental order of creation. The
argument is simple. If we are not perfect, we will never be at peace, either
among people or separated from them. On the other hand, if we are free from
vices, we will be at peace not only with other people, but even with wild and
brutal animals iferis ac beluis).22 Either the monk is not ready to leave the
monastery or there is no longer any reason to leave.
Cassian strengthens this argument in the following Institute, where he
describes acedia as being especially dangerous to hermits. Like anger and dejec
tion, acedia produces a contempt for communal life and urges the monk to
regard his companions as the source of his spiritual stupor.21 As the soul is
gradually worn out, the monk will seek what appear to be remedies, but which
in fact cause further harm. Eventually, he will leave the community to begin
life as a solitary. Far from being a cure, this will invite a redoubled attack.
Acedia will not permit the monk to remain in his cell, and will lead him to
become entangled in secular affairs, "so that finally, as though bound by the
coils of a serpent, he will never be able to free himself to return to the perfec
tion of his first profession."24 A monk should neither fall prey to the slumber
of acedia nor leave the walls of the monastery.25 He should instead remain in
his cell, work with his hands, and pray without ceasing.26
The further the reader progresses in virtue and comes to regard anachoresis
as an attainable goal, the more strenuously Cassian undermines its foundation.
Vainglory is like a phoenix that arises from its ashes when conquered, for it
can occur only when some degree of virtue has been acquired. It also requires
an audience, for one cannot become vain without the approval and acclama
tion of others. While this might suggest flight from others as a viable cure,
Cassian repeats his claim that no vice can be purged that penetrates the desert
along with the one fleeing.27 "In solitude also it [vainglory] does not cease from
pursuing the fugitive from intercourse with all mortals for the sake of glory,
and the more fully he has shunned the entire world, so the more vehemently
it pursues him."28 Monastic hagiography gives ample witness to the fact that
withdrawal does not always entail disappearance from the popular imagina
tion. Alone in his cell the saint might wield more influence than if he had
remained among people.29 Such influence could be real, as Cassian's account of
John of Lycopolis suggests.30 It could also be illusory, as Cassian notes in his
story of a hermit who preached to imaginary multitudes in his cell.3!
Like vainglory, pride also induces a monk to seek solitude precipitously.
Once pride has taken hold of the monk and he has fallen from virtue,
he shudders at the discipline of the coenobium and, as if he were held back

from perfection by intercourse with the brethren and were called from the
good of patience and humility by the vice and impediment of others, he
desires life in a solitary cell.32
The desire for the desert is again prompted by a disturbance of the soul rather
than purity of heart. The immature monk who seeks to be isolated from all
others will deprive himself of the instruction necessary for the monastic life.
He will also lose the opportunity to cultivate the supreme virtues of humility
and simplicity of heart, "without which neither piety before God, nor the
purgation of the vices, nor the correction of habits, nor the consummation of
virtue can be attained."33 Humility cannot be found in the desert; instead, it lies
in conversation with the brethren.
Cassian also warns that pride can lead a monk to think that he can earn his
own salvation through extreme ascesis. While it is impossible to encapsulate in
a brief summary Cassian's overall view on the relationship between grace and
works, he states here that no human deed can of itself merit salvation.34 The
kingdom of God cannot be earned through suffering in the desert. Purity of
heart and perfect charity are gifts from God and no human effort will suffice
to attain them. Therefore, the monk should behave as though he were the least
of his group. To resist pride he should be eager for "fasts, vigils, prayers and
contrition of heart."35 He should obey his superior's commands as though they
were from God Himself. As the least in his community, he should endure
every insult, for no pain can compare to the passion of the Lord. Finally, he
should remember that he can do nothing, not even practice a monastic
regimen, without the succor and grace of God.36
As the reader progresses through the text and matures in his vocation,
Cassian argues more and more firmly against withdrawal from the communi
ty. Entering the desert before all of the vices have been conquered can only
result in disaster.37 One could argue, however, that this still does not preclude
the possibility that Cassian may have favored the solitary life. At no point in
the Institutes does he deny that the solitary life is a valid vocation. He merely
argues that it invites special dangers and that there are many more impure than
pure motives for seeking it. If the Institutes are addressed only to the cenobite,
it would not be surprising to find in them that Cassian discourages the solitary
life. This would agree with the survey of the Institutes made in Chapter 4. If
Cassian had intended a reciprocal relationship between the ascent of the read
er and progress through the text, then it would be reasonable for him to dis
courage retreat to the desert until all of the vices had been explained and con
quered. It would also conform to Leroy's thesis, which suggests that the first
four Institutes are intended for cenobites and that the last eight are at best
ambiguous about their intended audience. In short, the arguments made above
would not be contradicted, Leroy's thesis would be satisfied, and the
Conferences would still be addressed to the solitary.
Such a view, however, would fail to take into account some important clues
that Cassian provides to the reader to measure his progress. One of these lies
in his treatment of vainglory and pride, which he divides into two kinds. The
more advanced manifestations of these vices do not pertain directly to the
reader. Instead, he is subject to the attack of their more base and carnal forms.38
Consequently, the relationship between the development of the reader and
progress through the text at least partly breaks down in these last two
Institutes. The reader has progressed only to where he might understand, but
not experience, the vices' more sophisticated attacks, and therefore has not
gained the purity of heart necessary for solitude. Another clue lies in the ascent
of the reader through the first ten Conferences. At the beginning of the
Conferences Germanus aspires to the kingdom of God, but has no idea how
this might be achieved. Ignorant of the immediate aim of purity of heart, he
has no hope of standing in the presence of God without the continued advice
and supervision of elders within the community. Yet one more clue appears in
Conference 10, which marks the end of the ascent of the reader to the heights
of pure prayer. Germanus complains that Isaac, the interlocutor of Conferences
9 and 10, has not fairly answered Germanus' earlier question about how to
pray ceaselessly. Isaac responds that the subtlety of Germanus' questions reveal
that he is finally approaching the discernment of an abba and is therefore
worthy to learn this most holy mystery.39
The ascent of the reader through the text therefore does not cease with
the conclusion of Institute 12. It continues until he has gained the zenith of the
monastic life, which is pure and unceasing prayer. Only in Conference 10,
the culmination of Cassian's monastic instruction, is the reader assumed to
have attained the purity of heart that is necessary for taking up the life of
the anchorite. The reader of the first nine Conferences, like the reader of the
Institutes, does not possess the purity of heart that anachoresis requires.
PIAMUN AND JOHN ON THE SOLITARY LIFE
The Institutes and the first ten Conferences describe the monastic life from
the donning of the monastic habit to the attainment of pure and ceaseless
prayer. In as much as ceaseless prayer is the goal of the monastic life, these
works comprise a complete and coherent corpus.40 Cassian goes on, however,
to compose fourteen more Conferences. In these latter works he clarifies issues
raised in his original corpus and sometimes offers a different perspective entire
ly. Just as these later Conferences return to earlier issues, they also return to a
time prior to Germanus' conversations with Isaac (Conferences 9 and 10).
Conferences 11-24 do not continue Germanus' journey through Egypt. They
instead return to a period very early in his travels. The last set of Conferences,
which take place near Diolcos, return the reader to the very beginning of
Cassian's journey.4!
This is significant, for while the latter Conferences may not accurately rep
resent Cassian's Egyptian itinerary, they provide strong indications as to how
they were to be read.42 The Germanus of the latter Conferences is not the monk
who sat at Isaac's feet. He is younger, and he resembles more the rudis ana·
choreta mentioned in Institute 5 than the discerning monk of Conferences 9 and
10.43 Cassian did not believe that his readers had fully grasped his monastic
teaching.44 He was nevertheless unwilling to abandon his method of instruc
tion, and chose instead to revisit an earlier stage of his reader's formation.45
The final fourteen Conferences must therefore be read with care. While they
are not part of his original description of the prayerful ascent of the soul, they
nevertheless shed light on what Cassian meant by this ascent.
Cassian used these hermits to take up once again the relationship between
anachoresis and cenobitism. The tenor of Cassian's works suggests that there
was a pressing need. Conference 18 describes the goals and virtues of the dif
ferent kinds of monastic life. In a manner similar to that of Jerome, Cassian
divides the monastic life between two valid vocations: cenobitism and ana·
choresis.46 The cenobites, Cassian claims, arose from the apostolic community
in Jerusalem.47 As the first Christians began to accommodate gentile converts
by relaxing the requirements of the Law, the community as a whole became
lukewarm in its commitment. Those who were still dedicated to sharing every
thing in common and to living according to the precepts of their elders soon
separated from these tepid Christians and lived apart. Renunciation of world
ly goods and obedience to tradition have been the foundation of the cenobitic
life ever since.48 The anchorites are the flowers and fruit of the cenobites who
later left the community not from the "disease of impatience" but from the
"desire for a loftier progress and divine contemplation."49
Cassian also describes two other kinds of monastic life which he holds to be
abominations. The first of these he terms Sarabaites. Descended from Ananias
and Sapphira, these monks have no respect for the authority of the fathers.
They possess no discipline, are not subject to an elder, and remain their own
masters. While they call themselves cenobites, the Sarabaites stand as a hollow
mockery of the true tradition of the fathers. They do not surrender their
worldly goods, possess no stability and live an unsupervised life.50
The second kind of false monk stands as a mockery of true anchorites.
These monks rejected the coenobium in favor of living alone, but their desire
for solitude is borne from an impatience with the brethren rather than from a
genuine desire for union with God. Their fervor is consequently short-lived
and they are easily trapped by the snares that endanger even the most seasoned
hermits. Like the Sarabaites, these monks begin badly and quickly become
worse. At no time do they come close to the purity necessary for the solitary
life. Untrained and undisciplined, their ardor fades quickly into the luke
warmness that is most hated by God.51
Cassian's description of monastic life resembles Jerome's in that he
describes cenobitism and anachoresis as the only valid vocations. It also resem
bles Jerome's in that the corrupt forms of monastic life have more to do with
circumstances in Gaul than with what Cassian saw in Egypt.52 As mentioned
above, there were not two separate and easily identifiable vocations in Egypt.
There was rather a wide variety of monastic practices which included both
urban monks and worldly cenobites. These monks cannot be dismissed as
Sarabaites any more than as Remnuoth.53 Instead, Cassian was much more con
cerned with berating his readers in Gau1.54
Cassian's principal complaint about the Sarabaites is their failure to follow
the traditions of the fathers. He frequently makes the same complaint about
Gallic monks. Early in the Institutes Cassian bemoans abbots who, either from
ignorance or pride, have introduced traditions contrary to those of the
fathers. 55 Just as it was necessary for Germanus to forget what he had learned
in Syria and adopt the institutes of the Egyptians, so also the reader needs to
abandon the corrupt practices he had learned in Gau1.56 Cassian's condemna
tion of the Sarabaites reinforces his oft-repeated call for a cenobitic discipline
founded on humility and on obedience to the tradition of the Egyptian abbas.
The false anchorites also look back to a familiar theme. The Institutes
frequently warn against leaving the community because of anger, impatience
or pride. Cassian again warns that a monk cannot be free from temptation so
long as he hopes for protection from the desert and the doors of his cell. He
moreover condemns the impatient monk by likening him to a wild beast who
is not at peace unless removed to a cave or an isolated cell. This warning is
brought home in Conference 19, where Cassian again examines what he
describes as the two legitimate forms of monastic life. Using the first person
plural to include his Gallic audience, Cassian writes that "we cannot stand the
discipline of the coenobium, I will not say until old age, but for scarcely two
years are content to endure the yoke of submission."57
In contrast to this fickleness, Cassian offers the reader an abba who has
gained vast experience both as a cenobite and as a hermit. John lived in a coeno·
bium for thirty years before setting out on his own. After twenty years as a
hermit he returned to his erstwhile community. John was successful at both
vocations. As a cenobite he excelled all the saints in humility and as a hermit

he transcended his bodily condition to achieve the heights of pure prayer.58 His
"mind was so filled with divine meditations and spiritual contemplations" that
at times he lost all awareness of his body and its needs.59 As a hermit, howev
er, John was unable to escape carnal concerns.60 In a manner similar to the
decline of the apostolic community in Jerusalem, the desire of the first
anchorites to welcome others had led to their decline. Despite the heights of
prayer that he reached as a hermit, John's concern to provide both for his own
and for his guest's needs caused the fire of his contemplation to grow cold.61
He therefore rejected his hermitage and its many concerns and returned to the
coenobium. There he found both freedom from distraction and safety from the
assaults of vainglory and pride.62
John's decision is completely at odds with the expectations of Cassian's
audience, for it overturns the popular equation of solitude with freedom from
worldly care. Instead, Cassian's reader is confronted with a venerable abba
who argues that such freedom can be found only within the confines of the
coenobium. Paradoxically, it is among the brethren that one finds the condi
tions necessary for solitude. Robert Markus has recently noted this juxtaposi
tion and argued that "in the course of these two Conferences (XVIII and XIX)
Cassian has come to abandon, subtly but decisively, the equation of the com
munal with the practical and the solitary with the contemplative life."63 This
is a valid assessment of Cassian's argument, for in these Conferences Cassian
emphasizes how the world impinges upon the hermitage and how the coeno
bium provides freedom from distraction. This emphasis, however, is not new
to Cassian's last set of Conferences. It is instead a theme that recurs throughout
his monastic literature.
Cassian's demand that the discipline of the coenobium be mastered before
aspiring to the desert leaves such an aspiration practically out of reach.64 It also
introduces a circular argument that virtually ensures that the desert is an unat
tainable goal. John firmly states that if it were not for a very few exceptions
he would deny the very possibility of perfection in both vocations.65 At anoth
er point he argues that a vocation should not be pursued if its goals cannot be
perfectly achieved.66 These two statements, taken together, effectively disallow
a solitary life. Cenobitic perfection is nearly impossible. If one achieves this
and aspires to the solitary life, he is virtually assured of failing in the latter.
One should therefore remain in the coenobium. This is not the first time that
Cassian raises such an argument. In the previous Conference, he argued that
with true patience and tranquility, "there will be no need either of the support
of the cell or of the refuge of solitude."67 In Institute 9 he claimed that impa
tience is not a valid reason to leave the monastery and that perfect patience
eliminates any need to leave.68
ANACHORESIS AS INTERIORITY
This paradox forces us to reconsider the traditional equation of cenobitism
with praxis and anachoresis with theoria. If we should accept that Cassian ques
tions the very possibility of the solitary life, then we must deny that he equates
solitary and contemplative. Otherwise, we would be forced to conclude that
Cassian put contemplation out of the reach of the monk. We must therefore
take up John's challenge to Germanus to decide whether he had been induced
to return to the coenobium "by an aversion to or by a desire for that purity of
the solitary [life]. "69 Cassian's praise of John would argue against the former. If
we accept the latter, however, then we must discover how anachoresis might in
fact be located in the heart of the coenobium.
According to John, "the goal of the cenobite is to mortify and crucify all
his desires and, according to the salutary command of evangelical perfection,
to think nothing of tomorrow."70 On the other hand, "the perfection of the
hermit is to have a mind freed from all earthly things and in this way to unite
it, as far as human weakness is able, with Christ."7! These descriptions reflect
a view common in Gaul at the time: the former vocation emphasizes disci
pline, while the latter speaks more of contemplation. Communal life provides
the discipline that makes anachoresis possible. To pray truly, however, one
must cast aside the community and seek the solitude of the desert.
The argument that discipline must precede prayer is valid, in as much as one
cannot pray truly unless one is free from sin and distracting thoughts. This
does not mean, however, that Cassian regards discipline and prayer as succes
sive dimensions of the spiritual life. Instead, discipline and prayer support one
another in a spiraling relationship that ascends toward union with God.
Cassian articulates this relationship when he introduces pure prayer m
Conference 9.72
The aim of every monk and the perfection of his heart tends toward contin
ual and unbroken perseverance in prayer and, as far as is allowed to human
frailty, strives toward an immovable tranquility and perpetual purity of the
mind, for the sake of which we seek unweariedly and practice constantly
every labor of the body as well as contrition of the spirit. And there is
between one and the other a kind of reciprocal and inseparable union."
This reciprocal union between praxis and theoria belies the notion that one
must first master discipline within a community and then leave the coenobium
for a life dedicated to prayer. Instead, clearer sight in prayer is directly associ
ated with greater purity.74 They are two aspects of a unified ascent to God.
Progress in contemplation does not await the purification of the soul. Nor
does it await the abandonment of the coenobium.
John provides the reason for this in his description of the solitary life, for
he offers an important caveat: we may be united with Christ in contemplation
only as far as human weakness permits. Our carnal state prohibits union
with God. Cassian also takes up this theme in other Conferences. We may
contemplate the image of Christ's glory.75 We may cling (inhaerere) to God.76

We may even tend (tendere) toward unbroken and ceaseless prayer.77 We will
not attain perfection, however, so long as we are clothed in carnal bodies. We
cannot return to the pure contemplation of God that we possessed before our
fall.78 The proper goal of the monk is therefore to obtain the kingdom of
Heaven as far as our human frailty will allow.79 In this way we will gain a
foretaste of our salvation and we will obey the natural yearning of our soul to
be restored to its original condition.80
In the voice of John, Cassian boldly states what would have been shocking
to his Gallic reader: that anachoresis requires the coenobium. Contemplation is
a continuous effort toward union with God that cannot be fully attained.8! The
mind must be disciplined in order to preserve its purity, but this purity will
inevitably be diminished by the need to attend to earthly concerns.
Contemplation therefore requires continuous praxis in which the mind is freed
from disturbance. It is in the coenobium that one finds the conditions neces
sary for such contemplation. The mutual support of other monks provides
freedom from care. Their presence assists in the detection and purgation of
vices. Cenobitic discipline, rooted in humility and obedience, leads to purity
of heart. Contemplation is not possible without the purity gained in the coeno·
bium and, at least in the case of John, cannot be sustained outside it.
It might nevertheless be argued that the coenobium fails to provide the one
ingredient absolutely necessary for sustained contemplation: solitude. Cassian
claims, however, that solitude is an integral part of communal life. In his
Institutes he recommends the quiet of the cell even for novices.82 The daily rou
tine set out for the novice in Institutes 1-4 allows for human interaction only
during meals and the hours of prayer.83 Praying alone in one's cell is frequent
ly recommended. Cassian also describes supposedly "anchoretic" disciplines,
such as fasts and vigils, as part of communal life. Ceaseless prayer, which is the
goal of the anchorite, is part of the practical discipline of the coenobium. In his
first set of Institutes, Cassian juxtaposes continuous work and unceasing medi
tation in the cel1.84 When describing dejection, he recommends both remaining
within the community and praying without ceasing.85
The cenobitic life does not ignore prayer; nor does it address only the lower
levels of prayer and the routine of the divine office. The highest levels of
prayer may be experienced by all monks. While those more advanced in the
ascetic life are more likely to enjoy this experience, it is available even to
novices.86 Conversely the Conferences, which Leroy argued are directed toward
hermits, often speak of the need for community.87 Conference 2, for example,
reminds the reader of the need for continued supervision. Conference 5
explains how interaction with brethren can aid the purification of the sou1.
The solitude of the cell is to be sought by all, and it is to be sought within the
coenobium.88 It is this fact that leads Cassian to admonish even his most
advanced reader to pray silently, so that he might not disturb those who are
nearby with mutterings or shouts (susurris uel clamoribus).89
For Cassian, anachoresis is not a retreat into the desert but rather a with
drawal into one's true and inner selpo The locus of solitude is not a hermit's
cell. It is instead the inner life of a soul undisturbed by outward concerns. The
cenobitic and anchoretic lives serve as metaphors for the relationship between
the outer and the inner life. In order to use these metaphors with any success,
however, it was necessary for Cassian first to undermine what the metaphors
had become: a belief that there were two separate monastic vocations, each
having its own perfection but unequal in merit. To accomplish this, Cassian
repeatedly questioned the motives of those who dreamed of physical with
drawal. When this proved insufficient, he argued that, except for a few nearly
miraculous exceptions, the eremitical life is an unattainable goal.
NOTES
1. Inst. 5.4. 1 . Also Inst. 2.9. 1-3.; Can. 1, praef 4.

2. Can. 3.1.3.
3. Esp. Can. 19. 1 1 .
4. Leroy, "Le cenobitisme," 121-158.
5. Leroy, "Le cenobitisme," 149-156.
6. Inst. 5.36. 1.
7. Inst. 5.36.2.
8. Cassian's description of Diolcos occurs in Institute 5, which marks a transition from
the novitiate described in Institutes 1-4 and the beginning of life within the com
munity.
9. Inst. 5.36. 1.
10. For example, Germanus was unable to stay awake during vigils. Inst. 5.35.
11. Fornication is an exception to this. Inst. 6.3. The problem is that human interac
tion prompts the intrusion of unwanted images that disturb the mind during
prayer. This interaction could be limited within the community, however, and
solitude did not necessitate the abandonment of the coenobium itself. Cassian had
earlier recommended the quiet of the cell even for novices and recommended a reg
imen that limited human contact. Inst. 2.15. 1-2.
12. Inst. 7.7- 1 1 .
1 3 . "monasterii disciplinam institutionemque pariter expetamus, ut i n ueritate renun
tiemus huic mundo, nihil ex his quae contempsimus infidelitate nos retrahente
seruantes, cotidianum uictum non recondita pecunia, sed opere proprio conquira
mus." Inst. 7. 18.
14. Inst. 7. 1 1 .
15. "dumque in alios erroris nostri uergimus causas, numquam ad patientiae ac perfec
tionis calcem ualebimus peruenire. Summa igitur emendationis ac tranquillitatis
nostrae non est in alterius arbitrio conlocanda, quod nequaquam nostrae subiacet
potestati, sed in nostra potius dicione consistat." Inst. 8. 16-17.
16. Inst. 8. 19. 1-3.
17. Inst. 8.13.
18. Inst. 8.18.

19. Inst. 8.18.
20. For Institute 8 introducing a new frame of reference, Chapter 4.
21. "ideoque creator omnium deus, opificii sui curationem prae omnibus noscens, et
quia non in aliis, sed in nobismet ipsis offensionum radices causaeque consisterent,
non deserenda praecepit fratrum consortia, nec uitari eos, quos laesos a nobis uel
a quibus nos arbitramur offensos, sed deliniri iubet, sciens perfectionem cordis non
tam separatione hominum quam patientiae uirtute conquiri." Inst. 9.7.
22. Inst. 9.8.
23. Inst. 10.2. 1-4.
24. "ut tamquam serpentinis spiris obstrictus numquam deinceps ad perfectionem pro-
fessionis antiquae se ualeat enodare." Inst. 10.6.
25. Inst. 10.5.
26. Inst. 10.7. 1-6.
27. Inst. 1 1 .8.
28. "In solitudine quoque cunctorum mortalium consortia gloriae causa fugientem
persequi non desistit, quantoque amplius uniuersum quis uitauerit mundum, tanto
eum acrius insectatur." Inst. 1 1 .6.
29. Note, for example, the spread of Antony's fame despite (or perhaps because o� his
retreat into the desert. Athanasius, Vita s. Antonii, 93.
30. That Theodosius I consulted John before engaging the usurper Eugenius in battle,
Inst. 4.23.
31. Inst. 1 1 . 16.
32. "ipsam disciplinam coenobii perhorrescit, ac ueluti qui fratrum consortio de per
fectione retrahatur ac de bono patientiae atque humilitatis aliorum uitio et inped
imento reuocetur, habitationem solitariae cellae desiderat." Inst. 12.30.
33. "sine qua nec pietas in deum nec uitiorum purgatio nec emendatio morum nec
uirtutum consummatio poterit adprehendi." Inst. 12. 19. See also Inst. 12.23.
34. Inst. 12. 16. For a list of studies on Cassian's views on grace, Stewart, Cassian, 186,
n.128.
35. Inst. 12.16. Note that these were all possible within the community.
36. Inst. 12.33.2.
37. Cassian later revealed that he had left the community too early. This caused him
to fear that he would never be free from sin. Can. 19. 1 1ff
38. Inst. 12.24-26.
39. Can. 10.9.
40. For the divisions of Cassian's corpus, Leroy, "Les Prefaces," 157-180, and Stewart,
"Scripture and Contemplation," 457-461.
41. The interlocutors of these Conferences are the celebrated hermits mentiond in Inst.
5.36.
42. For example, Can. 1-10, praef6; 18-24, praef 3.
43. Later, Cassian and Germanus are described as still being ignorant of the nature of
the ascetic life. Can. 2004.
44. That his method of reading was not grapsed is evident from the speed with which
his work was excerpted and epitomized, thereby rendering the dialogues useless.
For example, de Vogue, "Une interpolation ," 217-221, and "Un morceau," 7-12.
45. That Cassian still encouraged his reader to participate actively in the Conferences,
see Can. 1 8-24, praef 3.
46. Can. 18.4.2. Jerome, Ep. 22.34.
47. Can. 18.5. This is Cassian's second history of monasticism. In the first he traced
the tradition to Mark's converts in Alexandria. Inst. 2.5. For the implications of
these histories, de Vogiie, "Monachisme," 213-240.
48. Can. 18.5. 1-4.
49. "inpatientiae morbo" and "desiderio sublimioris profectus contemplationisque
diuinae." Can. 18.6.1.
50. Can. 18.7.2-3.
51. Can. 18.8. 1-2.
52. Jerome criticized the Remnuoth for their fascination with external display. Only
a few paragraphs before he had ridiculed "false monks" living in Rome for the
same thing. Ep. 22.28,34.
53. Goehring, "Encroaching," 281-296.
54. Cassian's two legitimate forms of monastic life also have more to do with Gaul
than with Egypt. While he here seems to confirm his reader's expectations, in the
following Conference Cassian will overturn them.
55. Inst. 2.3.3-5.
56. Can. 18.3 . 1 .
57. "non dicam usque a d senectam i n coenobii permanere non possumus disciplina, sed
uix biennio subiectionis iugum sustinere contenti." Can. 19.2.1.
58. For his humility, Can. 19.2.1.
59. "ita diuinis meditationibus ac spiritalibus theoriis animus replebatur." Can. 19.4.1.
60. Can. 19.3.2.
61. Can. 19.5.2.
62. Can. 19.6. 1 .
63. Markus, End, 1 8 1-182.
64. Cassian also pursued this line of thought by describing Gallic monks as inferior to
the Egyptians. E.g., Inst. 4. 10.
65. Can. 19.9. 1-2.
66. Can. 19.5.2.
67. "nec beneficio cellae nec perfugio solitudinis indigebit. Can. 1 8 . 13.
68. Inst. 9.7-8.
69. "fastidio an desiderio solitariae illius puritatis." Can. 19.6. 1 .
7 0 "finis quidem cenobiotae est omnes suas mortificare e t crucifigere uoluntates ac
secundum euangelicae perfectionis salutare mandatum nihil de crastino cogitare."
Can. 19.8.3.
71. "heremitae uero perfectio est exutam mentem a cunctis habere terrenis eamque,
quantum humana inbecillitas ualet, sic unire cum Christo." Can. 19.8.4.
72. The following dicsussion relies on my analysis in "Palestinian," 309-3 1 1 .
73. "omnis monachi finis cordisque perfectio ad iugem atque indisruptam orationis
perseuerantiam tendit, et quantum humanae fragilitati conceditur, ad inmobilem
tranquillitatem mentis ac perpetuam nititur puritatem, ob quam omnem tam
laborem corporis quam contritionem spiritus indefesse quaerimus et iugiter
exercemus. et est inter alterutrum reciproca quaedam inseparabilisque coniunctio."
Can. 9.2.1.
74. Rousseau, "Cassian," 1 14, has noted that Cassian's discussion of pure prayer also
inaugurates a return to the discussion of monastic praxis.
75. Can. 10.6.2-3.
76. Can. 1.8.1.
77. Can. 9.2 . 1 .
78. Can. 23.13. 1-2.
79. Can. 9.2 . 1 .
8 0 . Cassian described the soul a s a feather which will naturally ascend i f i t i s not imped-
ed by the weight of earthly concerns. Can. 9.4. 1 .
8 1 . Rousseau, "Cassian," 1 14. For the impossibility o f this union, see Can. 1 . 1 3 . 1 .
8 2 . Inst. 4. 10.
83. Inst. 2.15. 1-2; 4. 10.
84. Inst. 2.14.
85. Inst. 9.7,13.
86. Can. 9.15, 26.
87. Leroy, "Les Prefaces," 167-170.
88. For example, Can. 24.3-4.
89. Can. 9.35.
90. For the desert as a metaphor for purity in monastic literature, Guillaumont,
"Conception, " 3-21; Goehring, "Encroaching, " 281-296.
CHAPTER 6
Imp lications for Theoria

Reading, Interiority and the Transfiguration of the Self
WITHDRAWAL AND INTERIORITY
Withdrawal from the Visible and Ephemeral
Cassian's use of anachoresis as a metaphor for interiority is rich with implica

tions. On one level, interiority requires that we withdraw /rom what is visible
and ephemeral. We must therefore withdraw from the turbulence, desire and
distraction that human company presents. We must also avoid gratifying the
desires of a body that is merely a temporary repository for the soul. Finally,
we must withdraw from the distraction of the corporeal world itself, so that
we might focus more fully on the spiritual kingdom of God. As was shown in
the last chapter, however, such a withdrawal cannot be complete in our fallen
and embodied condition. We cannot withdraw completely from human socie
ty, for the divine command to love one another must be expressed through
outward gestures of hospitality.! Nor can we ignore the fact of our embodi
ment. We must eat, for excessive fasting can inhibit prayer and cause madness.2
We must sleep at regular intervals or be overcome by drowsiness.3 Finally, we
cannot focus continually on the kingdom of God, for such uninterrupted
attention to the spiritual realm awaits death and the transcendence of our
earthly bodies. 4
Since we are unable to escape the limitations imposed on us by our fallen
condition, we must explore the dynamic relationship between our exterior
circumstances and our interior condition. In the Institutes, Cassian addresses
this by exploring the relationship between patterns of behavior and the move
ments of the soul. Wearing the habit, for example, is an outward demonstra
tion of renunciation and obedience, but each article of the habit also affects the
monk's interior disposition by inspiring discipline, aiding the memorization
of Scripture, and helping to inculcate virtue.5 The routine of canonical hours,
which is a custom of the outer person, helps to cultivate the ceaseless prayer
107
of the inner person.6 The external fast, which is the regulation of diet, must be
joined with an internal fast, which is the quelling of the disturbances of the
souP One should not seek chastity of the body alone. Inner chastity, an
almost angelic separation of the soul from the body, is the true goa1.s The list
could go on.
Cassian also takes up this theme in the Conferences. As Rousseau has noted,
while the declared topic of Conferences 9 and 10 is pure and ceaseless prayer,
they also revive a discussion of the activities and thoughts that disturb us when
we pray.9 Cassian argues that what we do before we pray will return to us as
we pray.lO We must therefore rid ourselves of any actions, attitudes or
thoughts that can distract us from prayer, "so that [our mind] may begin to be
raised little by little (paulatim) to the contemplation of God and to
spiritual insights."!! Paulatim is a key term in this passage. Our ascent to God
in prayer will occur little by little, and this ascent will be in proportion to the
degree of our purity. Praxis and prayer mutually support each other in a recip
rocal and ever-deepening relationship. The correction of habits (emendatio
morum) leads to the peace and equanimity of the soul that is necessary for pure
and ceaseless prayer.
Withdrawal to the Invisible and Real
On another level, anchorites withdraw not so much from the visible and
ephemeral as to the invisible and the rea1. Following Paul's second letter to the
Corinthians, Cassian maintains that only what is invisible is rea1.!2 What is vis
ible is merely temporary.13 Thus, like Origen before him, Cassian argues that
in order to gain true knowledge of something, we must penetrate beyond what
is external and visible to the true nature of its being.!4 This pertains not only
to the world around us, but to ourselves as well. Only our spiritual nature, our
animate and intellective capacities, determine who we are as human beings.
Our bodies, which are dumb and insensate except that they participate in our
souls, merely envelop us.!S Dwelling in such dense and limiting bodies is a
visible sign of our separation from God, and to the degree that we are at home
in our bodies, we are apart from God.!6 True self-knowledge therefore requires
that we cease to be driven by or even cognizant of our external condition.
Only by departing from our bodies can we be present to Christ.!?
This does not mean that Cassian regards the body as evi1. Nor does he
describe it merely as a prison that must be transcended or escaped. As a
creation of God, the body is good. It can even be used to lead us back to God.
The material world and our own corporeality provide opportunities to
practice virtue and offer evidence of a benevolent creator. We can regain
knowledge of God lost in the fall through the cultivation of virtue. We can
ascend to the contemplation of spiritual mysteries by contemplating the divine
order of creation.!' Ironically, even the very grossness of our bodies that pulls
us away from the spiritual realm can be of assistance in our ascent to God, for
the denseness of our bodies causes a momentary delay between our desire and
Implications for Theoria 109
our ability to act upon that desire. This delay provides an opportunity to
reflect on the origins of the desire and to consider the consequences of our
actions. Our embodiment therefore places us in a better situation than that of
the demons. Possessing much more ethereal bodies than our own, demons are
not similarly constrained by a delay between desire and action, so that all of
their evil desires immediately become evil acts.19
Our bodies become less helpful as we grow closer to God, however, and
they ultimately prove to be more a hindrance than a help.20 Attending to
bodily needs forces us to descend from the heights of contemplation and
prevents us from dwelling permanently in the kingdom of God. Our reliance
on sense perception and mental images to derive and convey meaning clouds
rather than reveals spiritual mysteries. We must therefore withdraw as far as
possible from the limitations our bodies impose upon us. As was argued above,
complete withdrawal awaits our resurrection, where with new, almost imma
terial bodies we will be granted a new knowledge and dwell permanently in
the kingdom of God. Significant progress is still possible in this life, however,
for divine grace and the practice of Christian ascesis enable us to put aside the
distractions of the visible and temporary in order to comprehend what is
permanent and real within ourselves.
Again like Origen, and also like Antony, Cassian describes this ascesis pri
marily in positive terms. We are not to punish our bodies for past sins. Instead,
we are to look beyond our bodies' needs and desires so that we might dwell in
the kingdom of God. We must give attention only to what is permanent and
real. We must cultivate a growing detachment from our bodily condition and
develop an enhanced awareness of our inner selves.21 Once we have rejected the
vices that plague us, we will be able to recognize that the universe itself is
something to be despised. Though a creation of God and a wonder to behold,
it will eventually pass away. This applies even to the practices and virtues that
lead us to the invisible and the real. Following 1 Corinthians 13, Cassian writes
that there will be no need for Christian ascesis when the kingdom of God is at
hand.22 Even faith and hope will pass away, for only love will remain when
God is revealed in the fullness of his glory.23
READING AND MYSTICAL KNOWLEDGE
Reading is an essential part of the ascesis that leads from the visible to the invis
ible, or from the sign to what is signified. Outwardly, reading (or listening) to
a text is the foundation of the horarium. Reading while alone in one's cell is
also frequently recommended. However, Cassian does not limit reading to the
immediate engagement of a physical text.24 He instead combines the appre
hension of the words of the text with memorization, rumination and ceaseless
meditation upon those words. These practices help to give stability and peace
to a mind that can never truly be at rest. Like a millstone, the mind is always
spinning and seeking some image or thought to grind. If holy images are
not available to it, then the mind will cull the memory for other, potentially
harmful images.25 Constant meditation upon a text provides grist for a

constantly turning mind.
Over time, the continual repetition of a text will enable its words and
images to fill our mind day and night so that it increasingly resembles the text
it contains. The words and images of the text will permeate even our uncon
scious mind and we will be afforded new meanings and interpretations as
we sleep.26 In the end, unceasing rumination and meditation upon scripture
and other holy texts will transform our mind into something akin to the ark
of the covenant, which possesses what is holy to the exclusion of all that is
not.27 As we are formed by the text and grow in knowledge of God, we will
become immune to the assaults of evil spirits as though protected by the same
cherubim who protected the ark.28
Reading is not simply part of monastic discipline; it also presupposes it. We
can only derive meaning from a sacred text if we are sufficiently pure to
receive that meaning. Otherwise, the text will remain mere words, a beautiful
ornament that is unable to convey true knowledge or transform the reader.
Thus, the first step toward reading is not the mastery of grammar, but rather
the mastery of humility.29 Secular learning does not help one derive meaning
from a text and can even hinder the act of reading. Germanus complains to
abba Nesteros that images from tales he read as a child continue to disturb him
even as he attempts to focus his mind on holy things. 30 Nesteros replies that
the only remedy is continual reading and meditation upon sacred texts, so that
the images Germanus acquired in his youth can eventually be driven out and
replaced with holy thoughts.3! Abba Theodore is further proof of the futility
of secular learning. When confronted with a difficult text, he did not rely upon
his education, for he had none. He instead turned toward the quiet of his cell.32
Reading requires that we free ourselves from all distractions, "for it is
impossible for a soul which is even slightly occupied with the distractions of
the world to deserve the gift of knowledge or to become one who begets spir
itual understanding or who remembers the sacred readings."33 As we grow in
virtue, the text will be transformed. It will acquire new and deeper meaning in
proportion to the degree we are oriented toward and transformed by the
presence of God. "With the renewal of our mind increasing through this
study, the face of Scripture also begins to be renewed and the beauty of
more holy understanding will advance according to the measure of [our]
advancing."34 There is a strong and reciprocal relationship between reading
and the ascent to God. The act of reading is transformed as we ourselves are
transformed by our engagement with the text.
This is seen most clearly in Cassian's discussion of spiritual knowledge in
Conference 14, where he describes such knowledge as the contemplation of
the "secrets of invisible mysteries."35 Cassian divides this knowledge into two
kinds. First, there is practical knowledge, "which is perfected by the correction
of habits and the purgation of the vices."36 Then there is theoretical knowledge
(theoria), "which consists in the contemplation of divine things and the knowl-
edge of the most sacred thoughts."37 This second form of knowledge is closely
associated with the act of reading and can itself be divided into two kinds. The
first kind of knowledge is the historical sense of a particular text, which
Cassian calls "knowledge of past and visible things."38 The second kind of
knowledge is the spiritual sense of a text, and this can be further sub-divided
into the tropological (or moral) , allegorical and anagogical senses.39
The historical sense of the text pertains to the activity of God in history and
his express desires and commands for his people. It tells the story of
Abraham's sons, for example, or reveals God's express command not to for
nicate.4o In this Conference, Cassian suggests that deriving the historical sense
of the text does not require an interpretive act, for it contains no meaning
other than the bare sounds of the words.41 The meaning of the text can there
fore be grasped by anyone who possesses the ability to read or listen to the
text. This claim is not entirely consistent with his earlier argument concerning
anthropomorphic descriptions of God, however, for in Institute 8 Cassian
argues that even the historical sense requires some interpretive ability. When
we read of the body or the passions of God, we cannot interpret the text
according to its bare letters and sounds.42 Even the primitive knowledge of
God revealed by the historical sense compels us to recognize these words as
anthropomorphic descriptions of a spiritual and impassible God. If we are to
embrace the knowledge offered by the historical sense of the text, then we
must embrace the God who is revealed by and in the text.
The spiritual senses lay bare the meaning concealed within the historical
sense. The allegorical sense reveals when the words of the text prefigure Christ
in some way. The rock rejected by the builders, for example, prefigures Christ
as the cornerstone of the Church. The food and drink that the Israelites had in
common during the Exodus prefigure the body and blood of Christ on the
altar.43 The tropological sense deepens the bare moral instruction of the
historical sense. More than moral exhortation or a list of prohibitions, this
interpretation enables us to apply knowledge gained from the spiritual sense
to the practical side of our lives. An allegorical reading of Genesis, for
example, reveals to the reader that Isaac and Ishmael prefigure the two
covenants. A tropological reading of these two covenants offers the reader a
deeper understanding of praxis and theoria, the two poles of the monastic life.H
Such a reading extends even to the express moral commands of the historical
sense. God's command not to fornicate can be understood tropologically as
a general prohibition against all impurity, all forms of pagan worship and
idolatry, the superstitions of the law, and even heretical teaching.45 Purification
from vice and the cultivation of virtue do not cease with the mastery of
literal commandments and exemplars. They continue as we enter more deeply
into the text and into our relationship with God.
Of particular interest to Cassian's understanding of reading is the anagogi
cal sense, which he describes as arising "from the spiritual mysteries [of the
allegorical sense] to the even more sublime and sacred mysteries of Heaven."46
A "holy and unceasing rumination of the divine law," anagogy reveals

the invisible}? It enables us "to enter into the veins and marrow of the
heavenly sayings and contemplate with the most pure eye of the heart the
profound and hidden mysteries. "48 It is the culmination of the experience of
reading as well as the pinnacle of our ascent to God. To read anagogically is
to withdraw from the outer to the inner, from the visible to the invisible. In
the end, the reader withdraws from the words of the text themselves to
contemplate the invisible and ineffable mysteries of God.
This withdrawal from the visible to the invisible is partly a product of the
act of reading itself. When we read, we abandon the concrete markers that
locate us in the world of sense perception and withdraw to a new reality that
is constituted by our engagement with the text.49 Iser describes being present
to this reality as "being lifted out of time-the past is without influence, and
the future is unimaginable."so He goes on to argue that "to be truly caught up
in such a present involves forgetting oneself."S! Iser modifies this notion of
being present, for he acknowledges that we cannot entirely abandon our sense
of self while reading. Indeed, the self of the reader remains in the background
and participates in the interpretative process while simultaneously being
transformed by it. In Worthen's terms, the self of the reader does not
disappear but rather is remade through "the dialectic of identity with and
distance from the text."52
Cassian, of course, uses his own terms to describe the act of reading, and
it must be remembered that he is concerned with more than a theory of
aesthetic response. In light of the argument made above about reading helping
to still our minds, Cassian would agree with contemporary critics that the act
of reading itself serves to isolate us from our external circumstances and
cultivate an interior disposition. His agreement would be limited, however, by
his belief that the transformative power of reading does not lie entirely, or
even primarily, in our engagement with the text alone. When reading scripture
or other sacred texts, we engage both the text and the Word who underlies
and is revealed by it. When we withdraw from the sensible and visible, we
withdraw to more than a textual universe constituted by our engagement with
the text. We withdraw instead to the Word of God who inspires the text.
Prayerful reading of a text gradually transforms the text into an object of con
templation. As we read, we move slowly beyond the literal signs and symbols
of the text to the God who both inspires and is signified by the text. In the
end, we transcend the historical artifacts of God's revelation to contemplate
the transfigured and ineffable Word himself. Moving beyond the visible, or the
mere signs, we ascend to an experience of God that is entirely non-discursive
and without signs. We continue to communicate with God, but in a way that
is completely devoid of words or other exterior points of reference. In its
purest form, reading scripture anagogically is a non-discursive act.
READING AND THE INTERIORIZATION OF THE TEXT
In many ways, the non-discursive character of anagogy recalls Cassian's

understanding of pure prayer. Cassian describes such prayer as transcending all
sensible and mental images. It is non-discursive, unintelligible, and offered to
God by means of inarticulate groans. Both the content and the experience of
the prayer are ineffable. "That is not a perfect prayer, says [Antony], wherein
a monk understands himself or that which he prays."53 The connection
between the anagogical sense of scripture and pure prayer becomes
complete when Cassian locates the origin of pure prayer in the act of reading
itself. However, before discussing this connection, it is first necessary to
review Cassian's discussion of prayer more generally.
This discussion begins in Conference 9, where Germanus complains of his
inability to maintain a pure and focused mind when praying. 54 Abba Isaac
avoids addressing Germanus' lament directly and instead uses it as a starting
point for discussing prayer more generally. Following 1 Timothy, Isaac divides
prayer into four categories: supplications (obsecrationes), prayers (orationes),
intercessions (postulationes), and thanksgivings (gratiarum actiones).55 The
different circumstances in which we find ourselves can inspire any one of these
prayers, either individually or in combination. Nevertheless, a hierarchy
seems to be implied. Supplications seem to pertain more to the beginner,
whereas thanksgivings pertain more to the those who have gained freedom
from care and can contemplate "the generosity and compassion of the Lord."56
Just as in his description of the senses of scripture, Cassian bases his hierar
chy of prayer on the purity and knowledge of the one praying. If we are to
ascend this hierarchy and master prayer in all its forms, he argues, then we
must interiorize the outward gesture of the horarium. We must subject our
will in the spirit of true humility. We must avoid carnal desire so that we can
lessen the weight of the flesh upon our soul and ascend more easily to God.57
We must learn to discern good from bad and to judge the best path by which
we can pursue greater knowledge of God. Finally, we must attain the impassi
bility in which carnal desire and wandering thoughts no longer disturb our
mind. Of course, ascent to God cannot be guaranteed either when reading or
when praying. Nor can such an ascent be attributed solely to our own effort.
To do so would be to restrict the freedom of God's grace and to deny that God
reveals himself to humanity, rather than humanity slowly and implacably
disclosing God. However, Cassian does argue that one can discern an ascend
ing or spiraling relationship between praxis and prayer, just as between praxis
and reading.
In the subsequent Conference Germanus becomes frustrated that Isaac has
so far avoided addressing his complaint. He therefore rephrases his question,
this time asking "by what meditation God might be held or comprehended in
thought. "58 The depth and maturity of Germanus' question so impresses Isaac
that he reveals the key to yet another form of prayer that transcends the cate
gories provided in 1 Timothy.59 This is an ineffable prayer of the purest force,
inspired by the Holy Spirit and beyond human comprehension.60 Most often
associated with the anchorite, it is a form of prayer that can occur at any
time in a monk's career. As with the other categories of prayer, the human
mind and the divine will do not permit a simple linear ascent. However,
Cassian continues to speak of a balance between purity and prayer.61 One must
purge the mind of carnal desire and direct it toward spiritual things. One
must withdraw from all that is exterior and ephemeral, even from the signs
and symbols that lead to God, to contemplate the spiritual mysteries with a
pure and undisturbed soul.
It is crucial to Cassian's understanding of reading that the key to such a
continuous and non-discursive prayer is constant meditation upon a single
verse from Psalms: "God come to my assistance; Lord, hasten to my aid."62
This verse "takes all the affections which can be attributed to human nature
and is sufficiently and suitably adapted to any state and to all assaults."63 To
prove this Cassian surveys the vices from gluttony to pride in order to show
how this one small verse addresses each of the vices that plague US.64 It leads us
to call out for aid when plagued by improper desire or incited to anger. It
reminds us of our frailty when puffed up by vainglory or pride. The verse
also reminds us of our continued need for God even after we have triumphed
over the vices. Constant meditation on this single verse will enable us to
cast off all other thoughts. We will then be truly poor in spirit, for we will
recognize in the deepest recesses of our soul that our very life and substance
depend on divine aid. Having been stripped of all worldly concern and
wandering thoughts, we will ascend slowly through the sacred mysteries to
the contemplation of God.65
Cassian extends his treatment of this one verse to the book of Psalms as a
whole. In doing this, he reflects the view of psalmody that Athanasius
expressed in his Letter to Marcellinus. The words of the Psalms serve as a
mirror to the soul. We find in the Psalms types of our own life, our own
experiences and emotions. The Psalms provide a vocabulary for exploring
our interior life and a salve to heal what has been broken.66 Reading and
meditating upon this verse is more than a form of praxis, however. While it
stills our constantly churning mind and provides a means to explore the depths
of our soul, it also pertains to theoria, or the knowledge of the spiritual
mysteries that is derived from reading scripture in an increasingly profound
way. Dwelling upon both the words and the situation of the Psalmist, we
will establish an identity with the Psalmist that bridges the distance of time
and place. Adopting the experience and disposition of the Psalmist as our own,
we will learn to anticipate the meaning of the words rather than merely
respond to them.67 We will sing them as if we, rather than the Psalmist, have
composed them.
In this, Cassian recalls Origen as well as Athanasius. Virtually writing
rather than reading the words of the Psalms implies an immediate encounter
with the Word of God who inspires them. Sharing in the production of the
Psalms requires sharing in the experience of their inspiration, which is an
experience of the Word himself. The pinnacle of reading, and of the Christian
life as a whole, is an unmediated encounter with the Word who inspires the
sacred text.68 Such an encounter requires the internalization of the Word,
something Crouzel describes as an "application to each Christian of what is
said of Christ, an interiorisation in each Christian of the facts, of the deeds and
virtues of Christ."69
READING AND THE TRANSFIGURATION OF THE SELF
For both Cassian and Origen, reading is part of the process of human redemp
tion. Scripture is a source of knowledge of the Word who is the Son of God
and the means by which humanity is restored to God. While the incarnation
of the Word in the person of Jesus Christ provided a unique and full revela
tion of God, this revelation did not begin with the incarnation; nor has it
ceased with Jesus' death. The Word is eternally begotten of the Father.
Through the Word all things were created. The Word inspired Moses and
the prophets. All Christians are called upon to embrace the Word through the
practice of virtue, the inculcation of love, and the pursuit of knowledge. As
the Christian is called to and embraces the Word, the Word takes life within
him or her.
Most important for Cassian's understanding of reading is that scripture
itself can be regarded as an incarnation of the Word. 70 It is the spiritual mys
tery of the Word embodied in language, a series of signs. When reading, we
encounter, understand and ultimately discard these signs until we come upon
the Word who is signified. This is possible because the Word simultaneously
accommodates itself to the needs of the reader and calls the reader to ascend
to God in purity, love and knowledge. As we become less concerned with
earthly and material things and grow in knowledge, we transcend the physical,
the revelation of God in history, the words of the text, to encounter the mys
tery of the Word himself. This ascent is revealed in Origen's nomenclature for
the three senses or levels of meaning: body, soul, and spirit.71 The sense of
scripture available to us corresponds to that aspect of the human personality
that dominates us. Only those who have grown in purity and transcended
their physical liabilities will ascend to the loftier senses of scripture and,
ultimately, to the Word himself.72
This ascent of the Christian both through and to the Word is evident in
Origen's commentary on the transfiguration, where he speaks of the Word
being manifest in different forms according to the capacity of the individual.
It is possible, Origen claims, that Jesus might appear to some as transfigured
and yet appear to others as carnaFJ What determines a reader's capacity for
comprehending the divinity of the Word is the grace of God and the reader's
own purity, love and knowledge. If we hope to view the transfigured Word,
we must abandon all earthly and visible things and celebrate a new sabbath,
one in which all creation has been put aside and all signs and symbols of God
have been abandoned. Only then can we behold the divinity of the Son of God.74
Origen regards it as important that more than just the body of Jesus is
transfigured. His clothes are also transformed; clothes which Origen describes
as the expressions and the letters of the gospels. The words of the apostles are
also part of Jesus' raiment, so that the entire New Testament is worn by Christ
and transformed when the reader apprehends the divinity of the Word.
Moreover, Moses and Elijah also appear transfigured and shine with the light
of the sun. When one has perceived the spiritual mysteries of the gospel, one
has also recognized the spiritual meaning of the law and the prophets.75
For Origen, the words of scripture are signs which lead ultimately to the
divinity of the Word who is the Son of God. Those who are pure in heart
and aided by grace are led to abandon earthly and visible things, including
the words of scripture themselves, to contemplate the divinity of the Word in
all its glory. Those who do not ascend this lofty mountain still know the Word
and this knowledge is redemptive, but their knowledge is confined to the
Word in its flesh, be it the bodily Jesus or the body (the literal sense) of
the text.
Cassian offers a strikingly similar understanding of reading scripture and,
moreover, uses the transfiguration of Christ to express his views. We contem
plate God more clearly, he argues, when we move beyond the historical
manifestation of the Word in the person of Jesus Christ to view the Word
revealed in all his glory.76 This movement can be characterized as withdrawal
into solitude, but not a solitude that results merely from abandoning human
company. Instead, the solitude of which Cassian speaks arises when we
shed all that is foreign to us, all that is merely exterior, and penetrate to the
interior constitution of our being.
But they alone look upon his divinity with the purest eyes who, ascending
from lowly and earthly deeds and thoughts, go apart with Uesus] into the
high mountain of solitude which, free from the tumult of all earthly thoughts
and disturbances, hidden from the confusion of all the vices, and exulted by
the purest faith and the prominence of the virtues, reveals the glory of Uesus']
face and the image of his splendor to those who deserve to see him with the
pure sight of the soul."
Scripture "will appear earthly to the carnal and divine to the spiritual."78 If we
climb the mountain of solitude, we will no longer be limited by the literal
sense of the text. Only by shedding the exterior or fleshly life of the text (the
literal sense and even the words themselves) will we discern its true meaning.
Reading will become a non-discursive act, just as true prayer is inarticulate and
ecstatic, lifted up to God "with indescribable groans and sighs."79 We will move
from the visible to the invisible, from signs to what is signified, from the outer
to the inner life of both scripture and of ourselves. At that point we will no
longer have any use for words, just as we will no longer have any use for our
bodies. We will be able to say with Paul that we see Christ, but no longer
according to the flesh.80
READING AND EGYPTIAN MONASTIC CULTURE
Both Cassian and Origen regard climbing the mountain of the transfiguration
as attaining purity of heart and shedding concern for earthly and material
things. Both speak of moving beyond the material to contemplate the Word
in its divinity. Both also speak of the ones left behind who, though redeemed
by the Word, are confined to the literal sense (the "flesh") of scripture and are
unable to apprehend the Word in all its glory. Finally, the two theologians
regard the culmination of reading as a state that transcends the written word,
the physical sign of the divinity, to contemplate the glory of the divinity who
transcends all words and all signs.
However, these similarities do not necessarily mean that Cassian borrowed
directly from Origen or from any other single source. It is far more likely that
they arise from the pervasiveness of Origen's understanding of reading within
Egyptian monastic culture as a whole. While Cassian's reliance on Evagrius
has long been noted, and he was the most prolific writer among the
"Origenist" monks of Nitria and Kellia, he was not typically described as a
leader among them. Antony's Letters and Athanasius' Letter to Marcellinus
demonstrate Origen's influence on Egyptian monastic thought and practice.
Burton-Christie has shown that the Apophthegmata demonstrate a culture that
in many ways is founded upon the act of reading. While the sayings sometimes
reveal an opposition to speculative theology, they also reveal a strong rela
tionship between reading and the practice of virtue, as well as a call to inter
nalize and embody scripture that would be at home among more ostensibly
"Origenist" monks. Origen's influence on Egyptian monastic culture extend
ed well beyond the traditional categories of allegorical exegesis, apokatastasis,
and the Anthropomorphite controversy to embrace a way of life founded to a
large extent by the act of reading itself. 81
Cassian was both a product and a proponent of this culture. Whether
formed in Egypt or among Egyptian monks living in exile, he embraced their
practice of psalmody and was transformed by it. By internalizing the text,
Cassian made it his own. Virtually becoming the author of the text itself, he
moved beyond the visible, the material, the symbolic, the very words them
selves, to the Word who inspired all these things. Penetrating to the veins and
marrow of the text, Cassian encountered the sacred mysteries which lie
beneath it and give it life. He moved beyond an encounter with the written
word to an encounter with the Word who both gives meaning to the text and
who constitutes the deepest level of our own interior selves.
As a proponent of this culture of reading, Cassian calls upon his readers to
attempt much the same thing. Reading serves to constitute the monastic life.
It provides a pattern for behavior and it promotes a solitude that encourages
interpretation and self-reflection. It inculcates the impassibility and interiority
that is the goal of Christian ascesis. Cassian's understanding of reading goes far
beyond a discussion of exegetical categories to address the way in which one

reads and lives. When commending reading, he is in fact commending a
particular form of contemplative life, an embrace and even an embodiment of
the Word who underlies the text and gives it meaning.
NOTES
1. Con. 23.5. 1 . Also the story of abba John, Con. 19.5.1.

2. Inst. 5.9.
3. Inst. 3.8.
4. Con. 3.6.3-4.
5. Inst. 1 . 1 , 1 1 .
6 . Inst. 2.9; Con. 1-10, praef 5.
7. Inst. 5.21.
8. Inst. 6.6; 12. 1 1 ; Con. 12. 13-14.
9. Rousseau, "Contemplation," 1 14.
10. Con. 9.3.3.
11. "ut ita paulatim ad contemplationem dei ac spiritales intuitus incipiat sublimari."
Con. 9.3.2.
12. 2 Cor. 4:18.
13. Con. 3. 10.4.
14. Con. 3.6.3-4; 3. 10.4. One could say of Cassian what Crouze!, Origen, 82, has writ
ten of Origen: "For Origen, the only true knowledge of things is the knowledge
of their inner rationality, their cause, their reason for being."
15. Con. 1.14.8-9.
16. Con. 1.14.9.
17. Con. 1. 10.2.
18. Con. 1.15. 1-2.
19. Con. 4. 13-14.
20. Con. 23.16. 1-2.
21. This is the substance of Cassian's first two renunciations, which are renunciation
of wealth and the behaviors, vices and affections of the soul and body. The third,
and last, is the renunciation of the present and visible for the sake of the future and
invisible. Con. 3.6. 1 .
22. Con. 1.10. 1-2.
23. Con. 1 . 1 1 . 1-2. 1 Cor. 13:8-13.
24. Most often this would be scripture, and especially the Psalms. Monastic reading was
not limited to scripture, however, and other texts could also be read.
25. Con. 1.18. 1-2.
26. Con. 14.10.4.
27. Con. 14.10.2.
28. Con. 14.10.3.
29. Con. 14. 10. 1 .
30. Con. 14. 16.6.
31. Can. 14.12-13.

32. Inst. 5.33.
33. "inpossibile namque est animam, quae mundanis uel tenuiter distentionibus occu
patur, donum scientiae promereri uel generatricem spiritalium sensuum aut
tenacem sacrarum fieri lectionum." Can. 14.9.3.
34. "crescente autem per hoc studium innouatione mentis nostrae etiam scripturarum
facies incipiet innouari, et sacratioris intellegentiae pulchritudo quodammodo cum
proficiente proficiet." Can. 14. 1 1 . 1 .
35. "inuisibilium sacramentorum . . . arcana." Can. 14. 1 .3.
36. "quae emendatione morum et uitiorum purgatione perficitur." Can. 14. 1 .3.
37. "quae in contemplatione diuinarum rerum et sacratissimorum sensuum cognitione
consistit." Can. 14. 1 .3.
38. "praeteritarum ac uisibilium agnitionem . . . rerum." Can. 14.8.2.
39. Can. 14.8. 1 .
40. Can. 14.8.2; 14. 1 1 .2.
41. "doctrina uero simplicem historicae expositionis ordinem pandit, in qua nullus
occultior intellectus nisi qui uerbis resonat continetur." Can. 14.8.7.
42. Inst. 8 .4.
43. Can. 14.8.5.
44. Can. 14.8.3.
45. Can. 14. 1 1 .2-5.
46. "de spiritalibus mysteriis ad sublimiora quaedam et sacratiora caelorum secreta."
Can. 14.8.3.
47. "diuinae legis sancta et incessabilis ruminatio." Can. 14.13.7. Contra Markus, End,
187, who argues that "contemplation, understood as some kind of experience or
vision in this life, is in fact absent from his discussion here."
48. "uenas ac medullas caelestium intrare dictorum ac profunda et abscondita sacra
menta purissimo cordis oculo contemplari." Can. 14.9.7.
49. "The reality of texts is not a real world that exists prior to and outside of the text,
but rather a reaction to the world consituted in a textual universe." Fish, Is There, 328.
50. Iser, Act, 156.
51. Iser, Act, 156.
52. Worthen, "Self," 157.
53. "non est, inquit, perfecta oratio, in qua se monachus uel hoc ipsum quod orat intel
legit. " Can. 9.3 1 .
54. Can. 7. 1-3. It will b e recalled that Conferences 9 and 10 originally served as the cul-
mination of Cassian's monastic corpus and of the monastic life itself.
55. Can. 9.8-14; 1 Tim. 2:1.
56. "munificentias domini ac miserationes." Can. 9.15. 1 .
57. Can. 9.3-4.
58. "qua meditatione teneatur uel cogitetur deus." Can. 10.8.4.
59. Can. 10.9. 1-3.
60. Can. 9.15.2.
61. Can. 10.6.1. For the relationship between Conferences 9 and 10, Stewart, "Cassian," 159-177.
62. "Deus in adiutorium meum intende: domine ad adiuuandum mihi festina." Can. 10.10.2;
Psalm 69.2.
63. "recipit enim omnes adfectus quicumque inferri humanae possunt naturae et ad
omnem statum atque uniuersos incursus proprie satis et conpetenter aptatur."
Can. 10.10.3.
64. Can. 10.10.3-13.
65. Can. 10. 1 1 . 1-2.
66. "Le 'je' peut et doit etre assume par Ie fidele, qui decouvre en lui comme en un
miroir l'image de sa vie intrieure." Rondeau, Les commentaires, 218.
67. Can. 10. 1 1 . 5-6.
68. Crouzel, Origen, 73, writes the following of Origen's understanding of spiritual
exegesis: "If the Bible is not to remain the 'closed book' of Isaiah or of the
Revelation, an intimate word of God must be heard by the soul when it is read.
The charism of the interpreter is the same as that of the inspired author. To under
stand Isaiah or Daniel one must have in oneself the same Holy Spirit and one can
only interpret the Gospel if one has within oneself the nous, the mind of Christ,
which the Spirit gives."
69. Thus Crouze1, Origen, 76, speaks of Origen's exegesis of the New Testament, but
this can easily be extended to the whole of scripture.
70. Origen, De prin. 4.2.3.
71. Origen, De prin. 4 . 1 . 1 1-14.
72. Origen finds "contained in Scripture . . . an order of doctrine which corresponds
to the progressive steps of the Christian's movement toward perfection."
Torjeson, Hermeneutical Procedure, 41.
73. Origen, Comm. in Matt. 12.37.
76. Can. 10.6. 1-2.
77. "sed illi soli purissimis oculis diuinitatem ipsius speculantur, qui de humilibus ac
terrenis operibus et cogitationibus ascendentes cum illo secedunt in excelso solitu
dinis monte, qui liber ab omnium terrenarum cogitationum ac perturbationum
tumultu et a cunctorum uitiorum permixtione secretus, fide purissima ac uirtutum
eminentia sublimatus, gloriam uultus eius et claritatis reue1at imaginem his qui
merentur eum mundis animae obtutibus intueri." Can. 10.6.2.
78. "uel terrena carnalibus uel diuina spiritalibus adparebit." Can. 14. 1 1 . 1 .
79. "gemitibus inenarrabilibus atque suspiriis." Can. 10. 1 1 .
8 0 . Can. 10.6.2.
8 1 . MacLeod, "Allegory," 371, argues that for Origen "allegory is the expression par
excellence of the spiritual life."
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Index
A Life, see Lzfe ofAntony

Alexander, bishop of Antioch' 14 ' 17 portrayal by Cassian, 76, 91, 92,
Alexandria, 21, 24, 25, 27, 29, 31, 46 109
anachoresis: self-knowledge, 32-34
civil context, 25 apatheia, 55-58, 80, 1 13, 1 1 7
equated with solitude, S, 13, 21, Apollo, abba, 29-30
45, 46, 48, 49, 52, 67, 70, 76, 9 1 Apophthegmata, 5, 30, 33-35, 37, 65, 117
i n the Conferences, 98-100 apotaktikoi(ai), 29
in the Institutes, 93-97 ascesis:
traditional view challenged by Antony's understanding of, 32,
Cassian, 9 1-103 109
understood as an act of reading, Cassian's understanding of, 109,
1 12-115 1 17
understood as interiority, 92-93, Origen's understanding of, 109
10 1-103, 107-109 see also praxis
Anastasius, bishop of Rome, S, 158 Asella, 50-51
anthropomorphite controversy, 13, 16, Athanasius, bishop of Alexandria:
37, 1 1 7 author of Life ofAntony, 46-48
Antoninus, 27 place in monastic history, 22-24
Antony of Egypt: understanding of Psalmody, 8,
anthropology, 3 1-33, 109 85-86, 1 14
ascesis, 32, 46 see also Letter to Marcellinus; Life of
biography, 24, 33, 46 Antony
Christology, 32 Augustine:
importance in the West, 23, 50, 5 1 and the Confessions, 7, 51
knowledge o f God, 3 1-33 Jerome's influence on, 58
Letters, see Letters of Antony Augustus, 25, 26
145
146 Index
B 50, 9 1
Bagnall, Ro, 25-26 understood as praxis, 9 1
Bartelink, Go, 52 Chadwick, 0 0 , 2 , 13-16
Bethlehem, 12 Christophe, P o , 3
Boak, Ao, 26 Chrysostom, John, 1 1 , 13, 14, 16, 17
Bohlin, T., 55 Clark, Eo, 3, 55
Bonosus, 48-50 Coptic, 26-28, 3 1
boulai, 25 Courcelle, P o , 7
Briccius, bishop of Tours, 18 Crouzel, Ho, 1 15, 120 no 68
Bunge, Go, 38 Ctesiphon, 54-57
Burton-Christie, Do, 1 1 7
Butler, c . , 2 D
De laude eremi, 52
C Demotic, 26, 27
Cassian, John: Didymus the Blind, 38
anthropology, 79, 8 1 , 101, 102, Diocletian, 26
108, 109, 1 1 3 Diolcos, 92, 93, 98, 103 no 8
biography, 6-7, 12-14 discernment, 75-79, 83, 93, 1 1 3
Christology, 101, 102, 1 10, 1 1 1, Driscoll, J . , 35-37
1 14, 1 15-1 1 8
commission, 4 E
influence of Evagrius, 1 1, 12, 15, Egypt:
16, 83, 1 17 language, 26-28
influence of Origen, 7, 1 1 , 12, 83, native church, 27-28
84, 108, 109, 1 14-1 1 8 religion, pre-Christian, 26-28
intended audience, 5, 1 1 , 67, 74, Roman administration, 25-28
78, 92, 94, 100 social divisions, 25-28
knowledge of God, 1 14-1 1 7 see also Coptic; Demotic; monasti
reading the Institutes, 72-84 cism, Egyptian
renunciation, 68, 75, 82, 92, 98, Eucherius of Lyons, 51, 52
107, 118 no 21 Eusebius of Caesarea, 48
self-knowledge, 33, 68-76, 79, Eustochium, 50, 51, 53
84-86, 1 12-1 1 7 Evagrius of Antioch, 48
supposed disorganization o f text, 3 Evagrius Ponticus:
task as author, 5, 12, 38, 66, 69, 82 biography, 35
use of autobiography, 6, 86 influence of Origen, 22, 35, 38,
use of dialogue, 65-67, 70, 77, 78 56-58
use of exempla, 82-84 influence on Cassian, 3-4, 1 1 , 15,
use of narrative, 67-70 16, 83
see also prayer; reading prayer, 36
Castor, bishop of Apt, 1, 13 reading, 35-39
cenobitism: Evans, Ro, 55
origins, 21
understood as a stepping stone, 13,
Index 147
F J
Fish, S., 1 19 n. 49 Jerome:
influence on West, 23, 5 1-53, 58
G on apatheia, 55-58
Gaul: on inpeccantia, 56-58
Cassian's readership, 5, 12 on Origen, 5, 1 1 , 15, 48, 54-58
hostility toward Origen, 5 on Pelagianism, 54-58
see also Cassian, John; Eucherius of sojourn in Rome, 50, 5 1
Lyons; Hilary of Arles; Jerome, sojourn in Syria, 49, 50
influence on West; Lazarus of Aix; vision of monastic life, 22, 46-5 1,
Martin of Tours; monasticism, 98, 99
Gallic; Prosper of Aquitaine John, abba, 99-102
Gennadius, 13, 15 John, bishop of Jerusalem, 38, 54
Germanus: John Chrysostom, see Chrysostom, John
evolution of, 62, 68-71, 92, 93 John of Lycopolis, 77, 78, 96
friendship with Cassian, 12, 15 John the Dwarf, 30
identity with reader, 66, 67, 69, 70 Jovinian, 22, 23, 52, 57
Gould, G., 34 Judge, E., 28
Griffe, E., 17-19
Guillaumont, A., 37 K
Guy, J-c., 2,6, 19 n. 8, 34, 35 Kellia, 4, 13, 16, 17, 34, 35, 86, 1 1 7
H L
Hadot, P., 32 Lazarus of Aix, 17, 18
Heliodorus, 49, 52 Lea, 50-51
Heros, bishop of Arles, 1 8 Leo, bishop of Rome, 17
Hilary, bishop o f ArIes, 52 Leroy, J, 92, 97, 102
Historia monachorum, 29, 38 Letter to Marcellinus, 8, 85, 86, 1 14, 1 17
humility, 75-77, 82, 96, 97, 103, 1 10, 1 14 Letters of Antony, 3 1-35, 46, 117
Life a/Antony, 23, 31, 33, 45-47, 5 1
I Life a/Paul, 47, 50, 5 1
Innocent, bishop of Rome, 14, 16-18 logoi, 4-5, 35, 3 8 , 69
inpeccantia, 56-58 Logos, see Word
interiority:
relationship to reading, 6-8, M
68-76, 79, 84-86, 1 12-1 1 8 Machetes, abba, 77, 78
relationship t o spiritual exercises, MacLeod, C., 120 n. 8 1
32 Markus, R., 3, 100
understood as anachoresis, 92-93, Marrou, H.-I., 14
10 1-103, 107-109 Marseille, 1 1 , 13, 17, 18, see also Proculus
Iser, W., 70, 1 12 Marsili, S., 2
Martin, bishop of Tours, 1 8-19, 23, 51,
54
148 Index
Melania the Elder, 35, 38, 56 reception by Egyptian monks, 16,

monasticism, Egyptian: 22, 32, 33, 38, 84, 1 15-117
common views of, 1, 13, 23, 50, reception by western monks, S,
52, 53, 74, 93, 94 54, 56-58
economic activity, 29, 30 self-knowledge, 108
method of instruction, S, 34, 35,
38, 65, 74, 86 p
oral nature of, 38 Pachomius, 21, 29
origins, 28-29 Palestine:
Pachomian communities, 21, 29 Cassian's stay in, 12-16
supposed anti-hellenism, 24-28 inferiority of monastic practices,
see also anachoresis; anthropomor 4, 12, 13
phite controversy; Antony; Palladius, 13, 15, 17, 30, 35
Apophthegmata; Athanasius; Pambo, abba, 70
Evagrius Ponticus; Kellia; Nitria; Paphnutius, abba, 91, 92
Life 0/Antony; Letters of Antony; Paula, 15
Letter to Marcellinus; Origen; Paul of Thebes, 47, 50, 51
Pachomius; Psalms, exegesis of; Pelagius, 11, 18, 54-58
Scetis Pinufius, abba, 12, 13, 75-77, 84
monasticism, Gallic: Poemen, abba, 30
growth of, 19, 23 Poulet, Go, 87 no 9
hostility toward Origen, 23, 56-58 praxis:
novitiate, 72-77 nature of, 73-75, 94
view of Egypt, 22, 23 relationship to prayer, 93, 101,
inferiority, 99 102, 108, 109, 1 13
see also Gaul relationship to reading, 70-86
Moses, abba, 67, 69 prayer:
Mount of Olives, 35, 38 highest form of, 80, 99, 102, 108,
Munz, Po, 3 1 12-117
need for purity, 68, 97, 1 12-117
N relationship to praxis, 93, 101, 102,
Nesteros, abba, 1 1 0 108, 109, 1 1 3
Nitria, 4 , 1 1 , 1 3 , 16, 17, 30, 34, 35, 38, relationship t o reading, 74, 8 1 , 84,
48, 53, 86, 1 17 1 1 1- 1 17
routine of, 72-77, 102, 109, 1 1 3
o see also theoria
O'Laughlin, Mo, 37 Pristas, L., 4
Olphe-Galliard, Mo, 2 Proculus, bishop of Marseille, 1, 17, 18,
Origen: 51
Christology, 1 14-117 Prosper of Aquitaine, 8 no 6, 18
influence on Cassian, 4, 6, 7, 1 1 , prosopopoeia, 8
18, 1 1 7 Psalms, exegesis of:
knowledge o f God, 108 according to Athanasius, 8, 84-86,
reading, 1 14-117 1 14, 1 15
Index 149
according to Cassian, 73, 74, self-knowledge:

84-86, 1 14, 115 according to Antony, 32-33
according to Origen, 1 14, 1 15 according to Athanasius, 84-86
Ptolemies, 26, 28 according to Cassian, 33, 68-76,
purity, 68, 78, 80, 92, 96, 101, 102, 79, 84-86, 1 12-117
109- 1 17 according to Origen, 84-86,
1 13-117
R psalmody a means to, 84-86
reading: reading a means to, 6-8, 68-76, 79,
as a structured act, 6, 69, 70, 82, 84-86, 1 12-1 1 8
92, 95, 1 10, 1 12, 1 1 3 see also interiority
Cassian's use o f autobiography, 6, Smith, A., 55
86 Sozomen, 14
Cassian's use of dialogue, 65-67, spiritual exercises, 32-35
70, 77, 78 Stewart, c., 4, 9 n. 7, 20 n. 50
Cassian's use of exempla, 82-84 Stoicism, 3 1-35, 56
psalmody, 70, 73, 84-86, 1 14, 115 Sulpicius Severus, 51, 54
relationship to interiority, 6-8,
68-76, 79, 84-86, 1 12-1 1 8 T
relationship t o praxis, 70-86, Theodore, abba, 78, 83, 1 10
109-118 Theophilus, bishop of Alexandria, 1 1 ,
relationship to stillness, 85, 108, 1 3 , 16, 17, 3 5
109 thearia, 1 0 1 , 1 10, 1 14
spiritual interpretation, 73, 80, 8 1 , Torjeson, K., 120 n. 72
1 1 1, 1 12, 1 15-117 transfiguration, 69, 1 15-117
transformation of the reader, 6-7,
68, 72, 73, 95, 1 10, 1 12 v
understood as anachoresis, 1 12-115 Vessey, M., 48
Remnuoth, 29, 99 de Vogiie, A., 2, 8 n. 2,
Rondeau, M.-J., 120 n. 66
Rousseau, P., 3, 20 n. 37, 108
Rubenson, S., 31, 32
W
Rufinus of Aquileia: Weber, H., 3, 9 n. 7
conflict with Jerome, 15, 53-58 Word (Logos), 1 12, 1 14-116
influence of Evagrius, 35, 38, Worthen, J., 90 n. 1 1 1, 1 12
53-58
influence of Origen, 53-58 y
monastic career, 22, 32, 48 Youtie, H., 26
S z
Sarabaites, 98, 99 Zosimus, bishop of Rome, 1 8
Sarapion, abba, 29
Scetis, 4, 34
Schwartz, E., 15

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JOHN CASSIAN AND THE READING

OF EGYPTIAN MONASTIC CULTURE

MEDIEVAL HISTORY AND CULTURE

MEDIEVAL HISTORY AND CULTURE

1. "AND THEN THE END

3. CHRISTIAN, SARACEN AND GENRE

5. JUSTICE & THE SOCIAL CONTEXT

6. MARRIAGE FICTIONS IN OLD FRENCH

Published in Great Britain by

Routledge is a member of the Taylor & Francis Group.

Copyright © 2002 by Steven D. Driver.

The author is grateful to Peeters Publishers for permission to reprint portions of

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Driver, Steven D., 1964-

BR190 .D75 2002

Far from providing just a musty whiff of yesteryear, research in Medieval

2. Stories and Histories of Early Egyptian Monasticism 21

3. Western Perceptions of Egyptian Monasticism 45

4. Literary Structure and Monastic Praxis 65

5. Implications for Praxis: A Reconsideration of the Solitary Life 91

6. Implications for Theoria: Reading, Interiority and the

This book began as a dissertation under the supervision of J. N. Hillgarth and

A note about translations: The translations of Cassian are my own. At

Cassian's devaluation as a monastic historian has encouraged the examina­

approach, de Vogiie contended that the analysis of any facet of Cassian's

If Cassian's interior self is the subject of his account, we must inquire

Origen's exegesis of the Psalms is to a large extent a matter of voice appro­

1. Cassian, De institutis coenobiorum, praef 2-3; hereafter Inst.

filtered through Evagrius. Nevertheless, Cassian mentions neither Origen nor

WHAT CAN BE KNOWN

of John Chrysostom and had served as an emissary to Rome on his behalf.

Though sparse, most of the evidence concerning Cassian's career is straight­

Bethlehem and Egypt

Constantinople and Syria

Since Cassian claims to have been present at the events immediately

Proculus to bring the charge of adultery against Briccius, the successor to

1. Can. 24. 1.2-3.

Stories and Histories of Early

THE STORY OF CHRISTIAN MONASTICISM

A REVISION OF THE STORY

In order to examine the nature of Cassian's monastic formation, it is necessary

Copt and Greek

The supposed division between Coptic monks (those Egyptians preserving

Forms of Monastic Life

A Theology of the Monastic Life

Papyri and other sources can suggest the demographic COmpOSltlOn of

Antony and Origen

cognoveris te in Rufinus' translation. In the course of his commentary Origen

Spritual Exercises and Christian Philosophy

was common to late ancient philosophy more generally. While different

exempla in order to encourage the internalization of an idea.lOl The oral nature

Teaching and Learning in the Egyptian Desert

READING EVAGRIUS PONTICUS

I am instead referring to the fundamentally oral nature of the desert

29. Bowman, "Some Aspects," 43.

Cassian's devaluation as a monastic historian has encouraged the examina

Origen's exegesis of the Psalms is to a large extent a matter of voice appro

Though sparse, most of the evidence concerning Cassian's career is straight

The long and tortured history of this controversy, or series of controver

Cassian's use of anachoresis as a metaphor for interiority is rich with implica