Palladius and Ascetic Social Engagement

THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA

A DISSERTATION

Submitted to the Faculty of the

School of Theology and Religious Studies

Of The Catholic University of America

In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements

For the Degree

Doctor of Philosophy

Robert M. Simkins

Washington, D.C.

2013

Palladius and Ascetic Social Engagement

Robert M. Simkins, Ph.D.

Director: Philip Rousseau, D.Phil.

Around 420 CE, Palladius wrote the Lausiac History, a collective biography recounting his travels amongst the desert communities of Egypt and Palestine. The text was written in response to a specific request from Lausus, who was the praepositus sacri cubiculi in the court of Emperor Theodosius II. Lausus desired to hear of the lives of the ascetic men and women

Palladius had encountered in the desert. The text Palladius produced provides a vivid and personal narrative of the monastic successes and failures that he had witnessed, meshing narratives of miraculous deeds alongside tales cautioning against overzealousness and boasting.

While scholarly interest in Palladius has increased in recent years, most scholars have been content to use individual anecdotes from the work in the service of their larger arguments on the ascetic life, rather than undertake a comprehensive analysis of the Lausiac History as a whole. This thesis provides such an analysis, examining Palladius’ critique of the ascetic life through attention to the text’s narrative construction and comparison between Palladius’ ascetic ideals and those of the tradition that preceded him. I conclude that Palladius’ narrative offers a reassessment of the ascetic ideal through an emphasis on ascetic struggle while de-emphasizing the location in which the ascetic life took place. As such, he strives to relocate the ascetic life from the desert to the city. His text was to serve as a guide towards the development of a

Christian life of charitable ministry that was built upon self-knowledge and communal teaching.

Using eye-witness accounts of ascetic failure, Palladius presents a critique that challenges previously held views on the necessity of living a life of severe austerity while isolated from larger society. His critique centers upon the damaging and delusional effects of pride, which tempts the ascetic to posit his own effort as the cause of his success. Palladius helps us to understand better the shifting landscape of asceticism in the early-fifth century as Christians increasingly resided in urban centers and sought a means to live spiritual lives that followed in

Christ’s footsteps.

This dissertation by Robert M. Simkins fulfills the dissertation requirement for the doctoral degree in Historical Theology approved by Philip Rousseau, D.Phil., as Director, and by James Wiseman, O.S.B., S.T.D., and Wendy Mayer D.Phil., as Readers.

Philip Rousseau, D.Phil., Director

James Wiseman, O.S.B., S.T.D., Reader

Wendy Mayer, D.Phil., Reader

Contents

Chapter

1. The Desire to Write……………………………………………………………….... 1

Reflections on the Ascetic Life………………………………………………….. 6

Figures both Influential and Contentious……………………………………….. 15

Exile and an Imperial Audience………………………………………………… 26

2. Life in the Desert: Understanding God’s Providence…………………………… 36

Beginning his Desert Life………………………………………………………. 39

The Path to Ascetic Failure…………………….……………………………….. 46

Deconstructing his Desert Failure…………….………………………………… 55

Abandonment by God and the Will of the Ascetic...….……………...... ………. 75

Conclusion...……………………………….………………………………..….. 85

3. Differences in Transmission……………………………………………………… 87

The Egyptian Desert……………………………………………………………. 92

The Beginning of the Ascetic Life in the Life of Antony…………………….…. 95

Augustine and the Life of Antony……………………………………………… 102

Summary…………………………………………………………….………… 105

The Desert Tradition Encountered by Palladius………………………………. 107

4. Out of Solitude and into Community…………………………………………… 119

Subverting Pride through Moderated Askesis……………………….……..…. 121

Ascetic Transformation: Antony, Syncletica, and Palladius………………….. 138

iii

5. Ascetic Social Engagement………………………………………………………. 148

Humility as Communal Endeavor……………………………………………... 150

Life on the Fringes versus Life in Society…………………………………….. 154

Ascetics and Ordination……………………………………………………….. 171

Social Engagement and God’s Grace…………………………………………. 176

Conclusion……………………………………………………………………………. 182

Bibliography………………………………………………………………………….. 187

iv Chapter 1

The Desire to Write

In the early months of 407 CE, Palladius, the exiled bishop of Helenopolis, sat in a dark cell and recalled the prophetic words of John of Lycopolis, who had warned him of the suffering he would endure if he left the desert and became a bishop. Palladius had been exiled by the emperor Arcadius to Syene, a remote outpost in southern Egypt, after he had appealed to Pope

Innocent I in Rome following the trial of John Chrysostom.1 Chrysostom had found himself on the losing side of a battle between himself, Theophilus, bishop of Alexandria, and the empress

Eudoxia.2 Exiled multiple times, he would ultimately succumb to exhaustion as his military escort marched him with little rest through extreme climates.3 John Chrysostom died on 14

September 407 CE while Palladius was imprisoned.4 As Palladius endured his banishment, he understood that God’s providence had played a role in the events leading to his exile and

Chrysostom’s death. What he did not know was precisely what role providence had played. He reflected on John of Lycopolis’ warning. Had Palladius been led to the episcopacy out of his

1 The events surrounding Palladius’ appeal of Chrysostom’s exile are detailed in Palladios, Dialogue sur la vie de Jean Chrysostome (henceforward Dial.), introduction, texte critique, traduction et notes par Anne-Marie Malingrey, Sources Chrétiennes, 341 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1988). ET by Robert T. Meyer, Palladius: Dialogue on the Life of St. John Chrysostom, Ancient Christian Writers, 45 (New York: Newman Press, 1985). All translations are those of Meyer unless otherwise indicated. On the location of Palladius’ exile see Dial., 20.41-42.

2 Soc., Hist. eccles., 6.15-18; Sozom, Hist. eccles., 8.16. For a detailed account of these events, see J.N.D. Kelly, Golden Mouth: the Story of John Chrysostom – ascetic, preacher, bishop, esp. pp. 238-43. Liebeschuetz has attempted to provide nuance to these arguments in regard to John’s condemnation relative to his relationship with Eudoxia. See J. H. W. G. Liebeschuetz, Barbarians and Bishops: Army, Church, and State in the Age of Arcadius and Chrysostom, esp. pp. 195-208.

3 Dial., 11.

4 Soc., Hist. eccles., 6.21. 1 2 own vainglory? Or had God set him on this path as a means towards the achievement of greater virtue? He would spend eleven months in this cell, giving him ample time to contemplate these questions. After his release, Palladius renewed his travels around Egypt and eventually made his way back to his native Galatia.

Little more than a decade after being exiled, Palladius, now the bishop of Aspuna,5 received a request from Lausus, the praepositus sacri cubiculi in the court of Theodosius II.6 As part of what may have been an imperial attempt at reconciliation with Chrysostom’s supporters,7

Lausus requested that Palladius write for him an account of the monks Palladius had met during his time living in the desert.8 Lausus appears to have met Palladius in 391 CE while Palladius was in Egypt9 and he now sought a renewal of their acquaintance in the guise of a text on ascetic living. With the emperor Theodosius II just beginning to take full command of his duties and with the animosities of the previous regime towards Chrysostom’s supporters nearly at an end, the time may have seemed right to quell any lingering hostilities between the imperial court and

5 Soc., Hist. eccles., 7.36.

6 On the role of the praepositus, see James E. Dunlap, “The Office of the Grand Chamberlain in the Later Roman and Byzantine Empires,” in Two Studies in Later Roman and Byzantine Administration, pp. 161-314.

7 Claudia Rapp, “Palladius, Lausus and the Historia Lausiaca,” in Novum Millennium: Studies on Byzantine History and Culture dedicated to Paul Speck, pp. 279-89.

8 Palladius, Historia Lausiaca (henceforward HL), edited by Cuthbert Butler, The Lausiac History of Palladius, Texts and Studies, vi, parts 1 and 2. Unless otherwise stated, all translations are by Robert T. Meyer, Palladius: the Lausiac History, and all page references to Butler are to the second part of Texts and Studies, vi. References to the HL will follow the paragraph numbering used by Meyer.

9 In the closing passages of the History Palladius says to Lausus, “Pray for me, and keep yourself as I knew you from the consulate of Tatian” (HL, 71.6, Butler, ed., p. 169, Meyer, tr., p. 154). On the problems with the dating of this meeting see Butler pp. 246-47. Presumably, Lausus had also undertaken a journey to the Holy Land in search of the monastic life and this is when he and Palladius met. However, we know nothing about Lausus’ time in Egypt nor why he chose to forego this life for imperial service. Cf. Rapp, “Palladius, Lausus and the Historia Lausiaca,” pp. 282-83.

3 the Christian bishops who had defended him. The text Palladius produced, subsequently named the Lausiac History after its recipient, remains one of the more vivid and personal accounts of asceticism in the late-fourth and early-fifth centuries. Written as a travelogue and mixed with second-hand anecdotes of well-known ascetic men and women, the text recounts Palladius’ wandering amongst desert communities and his recurring struggle with health and motivation as he sought spiritual perfection in the Holy Land. Amongst the miracle stories, whose type would be familiar to most readers of ascetic texts, Palladius interspersed narratives of monks who had fallen victim to pride and licentiousness. These stories, somewhat peculiar for the genre, give

Palladius’ work a degree of nuance rarely found in other works of his time and serve as illustrations that even ascetics striving for God sometimes found themselves falling victim to the same temptations that their time in the desert was intended to eliminate. The final product is a text both personal and enlightening, presenting miraculous deeds alongside tales cautioning against overzealousness and boasting.

Though interest in Palladius has increased in recent decades, few scholarly works have undertaken an analysis of the full scope of Palladius’ ascetic writings. Numerous scholars have used small portions of Palladius’ History – usually references to individual chapters – within the larger frame of their own arguments on asceticism in the late-fourth century.10 However, there are few systematic studies that strive to analyze the History as a totality rather than as a group of

10 Some notable examples include: Georgia Frank, The Memory of the Eyes: Pilgrims to Living Saints in Christian Late Antiquity (Berkeley, CA/Los Angeles, CA/London: University of California Press, 2000); David Brakke, Demons and the Making of the Monk: Spiritual Combat in Early Christianity (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006); Virginia Burrus, Saving Shame: Martyrs, Saints, and Other Abject Subjects (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008); Andrew Crislip, Thorns in the Flesh: Illness and Sanctity in Late Ancient Christianity (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2013).

4 loosely connected anecdotes.11 A recent work offering some of the most comprehensive analysis of Palladius’ rhetorical methods helps illuminate Palladius’ skills as a writer and sheds light on his commitment to the associates he felt had been unfairly slighted by others.12 However, the scope of that project applies more squarely within the themes and styles of Palladius’ Dialogue on the Life of St. John Chrysostom, the defense of Chrysostom that Palladius wrote during his exile,13 rather than as an analysis of the ascetic life found in the History. Presented as a conversation between an anonymous bishop and Theodore, deacon of the Church of Rome, the

Dialogue recounts the struggle between Theophilus and Chrysostom, and the events that ultimately led to Chrysostom’s exile and death. While the History contains almost nothing of the trials and controversies Palladius narrated in his Dialogue, the Dialogue will inform our analysis of the History through the manner in which it provides us with Palladius’ portrait of the ideal bishop born of ascetic preparation.14 Palladius depicted Chrysostom as a young man living in the city who recognized his inability to resist the passionate temptations of city life. As recourse he sought refuge in the mountains outside Antioch where he cultivated discipline and austerity,

11 Of note are Nicholas Molinier, Ascèse, contemplation et ministère: D’après l’Histoire lausiaque de Pallade d’Hélénopolis (Bégrolles-en-Mauges: Abbaye de Bellefontaine, 1995) and Elena Magheri Cataluccio, Il Lausaicon di Palladio tra Semiotica e Storia (Roma: Herder Editrica e Libreria, 1984).

12 Demetrios S. Katos, Palladius of Helenopolis: The Origenist Advocate (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2011). Unfortunately, this work appeared too late for its study to be fully incorporated into the present work. I have made reference to it where it seemed most reasonable, especially in regard to Katos’ appraisal of Palladius’ relationships with Jerome and Evagrius, as these relationships play a key role in Katos’ assessment of Palladius’ intentions for writing the Lausiac History.

13 On Palladius as advocate for John Chrysostom see Katos, Palladius of Helenopolis, pp. 33-97. On the dating of the Dialogue specifically, see Katos, pp. 26-31.

14 Dial., 5.15-33.

5 imitating the life of Syrus, an old-man of great self-discipline [ἐγκράτειαν].15 While the sickness borne by such austerity would force Chrysostom to forsake his solitude, he did not forsake his discipline. Chrysostom used his ascetic preparation as the impetus to spiritual discipline, which he then brought from the mountains into the city, teaching others by his example.16 Such was

Palladius’ example of the monk turned bishop.

Given the unique meshing of autobiography and biography found within the History, the lack of a comprehensive analysis has left us bereft of knowledge of Palladius’ development as a writer and as an ascetic. The present study seeks to undertake just such an analysis with the aim of understanding the deft manner in which Palladius intertwines the acts of reading and writing about the ascetic life with the actual practice of living the ascetic life. In the decade between the writing of the Dialogue and the writing of the History, Palladius appears to have come to a more nuanced understanding of ascetic practice and how ascetics fulfilled the pastoral needs of the

Christian community. As he wrote his History, he placed his emphasis upon guidance rather than upon imitation. As such, there is a certain informality prevalent in Palladius’ text.

Structures and forms were not necessarily to be emulated, but rather Palladius hoped his audience would read and reflect upon the lives of those narrated and take to heart the principles behind his text rather than the specific actions of those within it. What we shall find is that for

Palladius the ascetic life was a constant struggle filled with risk and uncertainty. As such, it was not best carried out as an isolated hermit. The ascetic life was its most fruitful when it was built upon the charity, mutual support, and teaching of the larger Christian community.

15 Dial., 5.25, Malingrey ed., p. 110, Meyer, tr., p. 35.

16 Dial., 18.

Reflections on the Ascetic Life

While neither the Dialogue nor the History purport to be autobiographies, both represent our main sources of information regarding the details of Palladius’ life.17 These works provide us with a wealth of information spanning the years that begin with Palladius’ arrival in the desert and end with him as bishop of Aspuna. Palladius begins his History with a brief autobiographical chronology: “It was the thirty-third year of my being in the company of the brethren [ἐν τῇ τῶν ἀδελφῶν πολιτείᾳ] and of my own solitary life [τῷ μονήρει βίῳ], my twentieth year as bishop, and the fifty-sixth year of my life as a whole.”18 These figures mark the significant moments, at least as determined by Palladius, for an understanding of Palladius’ life.

We know nothing of him prior to his arrival in the desert, and while the History contains additional accounts of ascetics he met after being exiled, these accounts say little about Palladius himself. They offer us some insights into his post-exilic life, but, overall, the details are sparse and imprecise.19 Thanks to a brief comment from the historian Socrates we do know that

17 My chronology will follow that of Butler, vol. 1 pp. 179-83 and vol. ii, pp. 237-47. See especially pp. 245-46 for a timeline covering the relevant dates of Palladius’ life. While Butler’s chronology has its deficiencies, deficiencies of which Butler was well aware and which are detailed in his work, it provides the greatest coherence and remains the most accurate chronology to date based upon the texts we have at hand. While relying much on Butler, D. F. Buck has offered an alternative chronology, see D. F. Buck, “The Structure of the Lausiac History,” Byzantion 46 (1976): 292–307.

18 HL, prol. 2, Butler, ed., pp. 9-10, Meyer, tr., p. 23.

19 There is mention of Palladius by Jerome in the prologue to his work Against the Pelagians, written around 417 CE. There Jerome states, “Palladius, no better than a villainous slave, tried to impart energy to the same heresy [Origenism], and to excite against me fresh prejudice on account of my translation of the Hebrew” (Jerome, Against the Pelagians, prol. 2). Jerome’s reference, however, may be more reflective of the animosity begun during Palladius’ time in the desert rather than of anything Palladius had done around the time Jerome was writing. Palladius’ relationship with Melania, Rufinus, and the Mount of Olives community may have been enough to elicit

7 Palladius was transferred from his previous position as bishop of Helenopolis to the bishopric of

Aspuna, in Galatia, and it is there that he likely died. Exactly when he died is not entirely certain though it was probably prior to 431 CE since the bishop of Aspuna present at the Council of

Ephesus was not Palladius.20

Palladius was born in 363 or 364 CE in Galatia. Of his family, we know that he had a brother and a sister, both of whom had undertaken the “solitary life” [τὸν μονήρη βίον].21 From the Dialogue we know that his brother, Brisson, also had been a bishop but during the persecutions that developed following Chrysostom’s condemnation, Brisson left his church voluntarily in order to cultivate a farm.22 Other than a brief note that his father is still alive, we know nothing more of his parents.23 His monastic journey began around 386 CE at the Mount of

Olives, just outside Jerusalem, where he met Innocent, a monk with whom he lived for three years.24 After he departed from Innocent and the Mount of Olives community he made his way

Jerome’s wrath regardless of any specific actions by Palladius himself. While Palladius clearly harbors no love for Jerome either, his concerns revolve largely around Jerome’s disposition towards other ascetics, especially the aristocratic women who were Jerome’s patrons, rather than any theological concerns. See HL, 36.6-7 and 41.2. On the enmity between Palladius and Jerome, especially as it might relate to factors impinging upon Palladius’ writing of the History, see Katos, Palladius of Helenopolis, pp. 110-16.

20 Butler, p. 245.

21 HL, 35.8, Butler, ed., p. 103, Meyer, tr., p. 101. What exactly Palladius means by τὸν μονήρη βίον will be of particular concern to us in later chapters as it is the same description that he provides of his own life. As will be made clear later, the term did not denote only a life of the desert and certainly not one of solitude.

22 Dial., 20.55-57.

23 HL, 35.8. Palladius makes no mention of his mother within the conversation with John of Lycopolis concerning his family, so presumably she had already passed away. Given that Palladius nowhere mentions her, she may have died prior to his original departure from Galatia.

24 HL, 44. Dating Palladius’ arrival in the Holy Land depends largely on one fixed point: the time in which he arrives in Alexandria (see the following note) as it is one of the only fixed dates Palladius provides us. On the dating of his arrival to see Innocent, see Butler, pp. 245-46.

8 to Alexandria and there met Isidore.25 From Palladius’ telling it was not long after meeting

Isidore that Isidore sent Palladius to the Solitudes to live with Dorotheus. Palladius was to remain in the Solitudes for three years, but illness, brought on as a result of Dorotheus’ squalid life,26 cut short Palladius’ stay and forced him to move on to Mount Nitria.27 Palladius remained at Nitria for a year, hearing the stories of great monks, before moving on to the “depths of the desert” [τὴν ἒρημον τὴν ἐνδοτάτω].28 It was there, in the “Cellia”, that Palladius was to spend the majority of his desert life. While he would travel sparingly to other parts of the surrounding desert, his nine years in the Cellia eventually broke down his health and forced him to return to

Alexandria where physicians recommended he seek the drier air of Palestine. In either 399 or

400 CE he would head to Bithynia where he was made bishop of Helenopolis.29 It was while bishop of Helenopolis that Palladius found himself caught up in the backlash against supporters of Chrysostom and he was exiled to Syene in 406 CE. Once released from Syene, Palladius spent four years at Antinoë in the Thebaid30 and from there he made his way back to Galatia, spending some time with Philoromus31 before being translated to Aspuna in 417 CE. Given that

25 As Palladius states, this occurred “during the second consulate of Theodosius,” one of the few concrete dates in the History (HL, 1.1, Butler, ed., p. 15, Meyer, tr., p. 31). The date of this is 388 CE, for which see Butler, pp. 237- 40.

26 HL, 2.1.

27 HL, 7.1.

28 HL, 7.3, Butler, ed., p. 25, Meyer, tr., p. 40.

29 HL, 35.12.

30 HL, 58.1.

31 HL, 45.

9 he had been bishop for twenty years when he wrote the Lausiac History, we can then surmise that he wrote the text in either 419 or 420 CE.

The two major gaps in our knowledge of Palladius’ life – the years of his life prior to coming to the desert and the details of his years just prior to writing the History – provoke a measure of curiosity for any understanding of Palladius’ view on the ascetic life. Did he have specific reasons for leaving home for the Holy Land? The answer eludes us. While certainly we can speculate, and while undertaking that journey was hardly unusual, regardless of why he chose to leave Galatia, his journey begins to come into focus once he began to associate with the monastic communities. Perhaps undertaking the ascetic life had always been his intention, or perhaps he discovered something in these communities after traveling around the Holy Land visiting various biblical locales.32 At some point he became eager to become like these men and women. His portrait of Innocent, the first monk with whom he lived, emphasizes Innocent’s simplicity and juxtaposes Innocent’s simple demeanor with his position as a palace dignitary under emperor Constantius. Innocent gave up this position to become a monk33 and as Palladius’ first teacher this voluntary renunciation of such luxury seems to have kindled Palladius’ initial desires. But Palladius was young and undisciplined, a fact perhaps evidenced by his desire to leave Innocent and the Mount of Olives community in order to seek out a more austere life. His specific reasons for going to Alexandria are unknown, but after arriving there and meeting

Isidore, Palladius’ desire appears to have grown even further. He asks Isidore to teach him of the

32 While we cannot know whether Palladius followed such a course, or was even aware of one, Jerome’s description of Paula’s journey provides on example of biblical wanderings. See Jerome, Ep., 108.8-9.

33 HL, 44.1.

10 solitary life [παρακαλοῦντι στοιχειωθῆναι ἐν τῷ μονήρει βίῳ],34 but Isidore, recognizing Palladius’ passion, immediately sent Palladius away from the city. Palladius first had to overcome his passion, even his passion to be an ascetic. As noted above, his first attempt to develop the required discipline – the time he spent with Dorotheus – would result in illness.

The parallels drawn by Palladius between the early stages of his ascetic sojourn with those of Chrysostom should not be lost on us as readers. We are dealing here with both literary and also biographical constructions. In presenting the genesis of his ascetic life in terms very similar to those of Chrysostom, Palladius conforms his ascetic beginnings to a path that follows the model set forth in the Dialogue.35 As should be clear from the details presented above,

Palladius began his ascetic life living for three years with Innocent on the Mt. of Olives, yet his

History does not begin there. Ιt begins, rather, with Isidore and the account of Palladius’ need to discipline his passions. In similar fashion to Chrysostom, illness would eventually force

Palladius to leave the desert, but his departure does not serve as the end to his narrative. In fact, his departure from the desert falls right in the middle of his narrative: at the end of the thirty-fifth chapter of a seventy-one chapter text. While Palladius mostly remains outside his narrative, conveying accounts of what he saw and what he heard about, he does at times enter the narrative

34 HL, 1.5, Butler, ed., p. 16, Meyer, tr., p. 32.

35 It should be noted that some have argued that Palladius constructed his presentation of Chrysostom’s ascetic preparation based upon the ascetic life he was familiar with in Egypt rather than upon the facts of Chrysostom’s life on the outskirts of Antioch. See Katos, Palladius of Helenopolis, pp. 54-55. Wendy Mayer also has questioned whether the reason Palladius gave for Chrysostom’s return to Antioch, namely sickness, was a valid representation of Chrysostom’s actual concerns. See Mayer, “What Does It Mean to Say that John Chrysostom Was a Monk?”, Studia Patristica 41 (2006): 451–55. If Palladius’ representation of Chrysostom itself was a construction, then this would serve to further strengthen the constructed nature of Palladius’ presentation of his ascetic formation. Palladius modeled himself after a model that he put forth as the ideal. These points take on greater weight within the broader social concerns Palladius had for the ascetic life, concerns we shall take up in Chapter Five.

11 as one of the principal protagonists to engage directly with his subject and convey a sense of the difficulty of any ascetic endeavor. Many ascetics appear in the literature about them as miraculous or superhuman, but Palladius rarely comes across in such light. When he appears in his own narrative Palladius reveals the difficulty with finding, utilizing, and even understanding divine guidance. This sense of uncertainty and difficulty bleeds into his other narratives, which serve as poignant illustrations of the struggle of undertaking an ascetic life.36 These autobiographical vignettes will provide unity to the many tales that make up the whole of his text,37 and it this consistent meshing of literature and biography that allows the History to unfold in a manner that creates a more nuanced composition about the utility of the ascetic life.

Palladius’ text, in that regard, is very much a narrative of reflection on the nature of askesis.

These reflections upon his past are most likely to have come during the second of our two major gaps in our knowledge of Palladius’ life: the years after his exile and while bishop of

Aspuna.38 As noted previously, Palladius includes a few accounts in the History from this period but Palladius himself is almost completely absent from them. In these accounts he simply

36 On this see Georgia Frank, The Memory of the Eyes: Pilgrims to Living Saints in Christian Late Antiquity, pp. 61- 62.

37 Patricia Cox Miller argues that the unity within works of collective biography is found within facets of the collection as a whole such that “any sense of difference between individuals evaporates to the extent that each one exemplifies the subjectivity that is the heart of the collection’s interest.” Cox Miller, “Strategies of Representation in Collective Biography: Constructing the Subject as Holy,” in Greek Biography and Panegyrics in Late Antiquity, eds. Tomas Hägg and Philip Rousseau (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000), p. 221. My argument here thus takes her argument in a slightly different manner. The individual narratives are taken to represent ways in which Palladius is trying to understand his life and thus the text achieves its unity through the relationship between the specific details of Palladius’ life taken alongside the various details of the individual lives that make up his History.

38 As will be discussed in more detail below, there are compelling reasons to think that, when composing the History, Palladius modified a work he had previously written, a work perhaps containing narratives he wrote while still living in the desert. For a full discussion, see Gabriel Bunge and Adalbert de Vogüé, Quatre ermites égyptiens: D’après les fragments coptes de l’Histoire Lausiaque, Spiritualité Orientale 60, esp. pp. 63-80. Katos, Palladius of Helenopolis, p. 102n23 provides a useful summary as well.

12 narrates. Because these chapters might provide us with particular clues to the evolution of

Palladius’ thoughts on the ascetic life, we must be careful in evaluating the purpose these chapters serve within the larger scope of the History. Amongst these chapters, there is a group of narratives concerning ascetics Palladius encountered in Ancyra,39 whom he likely met, or heard about, during his time as bishop of Aspuna. Thus, these chapters might provide us with insights most closely aligned with his thoughts on the ascetic life during the time in which he wrote.

These narratives primarily concern the ministerial role of the ascetic within an urban milieu, while also providing particular notes of caution regarding the risks city life placed upon any ascetic endeavor. While it would be easy simply to view these chapters as accessible examples for Lausus to follow as he lived in Constantinople, there is a larger concern running throughout the History with the ability of ascetics to live with, develop, and minister to the Christian community writ large. In Ancyra, Palladius was witness to a sort of ministry that, by including it in his text, he classified as ‘ascetic’. We will have ample opportunity in the coming chapters to come to terms with how Palladius might have arrived at that point, along with other examples from his text that help illustrate the relationship between the later chapters of the History with those concerning Palladius’ life prior to his exile. For now it will suffice to make note of the evolving nature of his text.

In the opening line to her book on pilgrimage, Georgia Frank captures perfectly the way we must approach Palladius’ reflections: “The first step for any pilgrim lands not on the road, but

39 HL, 66-69, Butler, ed., pp. 162-65.

13 somewhere in the imagination.”40 The act of traveling to the Holy Land was itself an act of askesis:41 Palladius left behind family, an act of definite concern for him,42 and he dealt with hardship and great uncertainty. He embarked on a pilgrimage that provided him the opportunity to share his experiences with those living elsewhere, but that pilgrimage also presented him with many trials.43 When Palladius set out from Galatia, he would have in his mind an ideal that he desired to experience. We know he was familiar with the Life of Antony and perhaps he sought to experience for himself this desert made city that had been eroticized by Athanasius’ text. Had he been drawn in by the Life of Antony and now hoped to write a narrative of his own? We must return to Frank’s comment above. While we cannot be completely certain, there is reason to believe that some of the accounts we have in the History were modifications of narratives

Palladius had previously written. When he set out, Palladius possessed an imagined ideal; when he began to write of his encounters that ideal was brought face-to-face with the reality of the desert life he had experienced. As Palladius began to recount his trials he alludes frequently to

40 Frank, The Memory of the Eyes, p. 1. On the relationship between pilgrims and the residents of pilgrimage sites see Candace Slater, Trail of Miracles: Stories from a Pilgrimage in Northeast Brazil (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1986). On the multi-faceted ideals influencing the experiences of pilgrims themselves see David L. Haberman, Journey through the Twelve Forests: An Encounter with Krishna (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 1994). While neither work addresses Christian pilgrimage nor concerns pilgrimage in antiquity, each provides interesting analysis of the imagined ideals pilgrims take with them as they set out.

41 Frank, The Memory of the Eyes, p. 63.

42 Palladius’ concerns for his family are illustrated during his meeting with John of Lycopolis (HL, 35.8-9).

43 While not specific to Palladius and his journey two works by E. D. Hunt are particularly instructive on general issues encountered in pilgrimage. See his “St. Silvia of Aquitaine: The Role of a Theodosian Pilgrim in the Society of East and West,” Journal of Theological Studies 23 (1972): 351-73 and Holy Land Pilgrimage in the Later Roman Empire, AD 312-460. The basic point to take away and apply to Palladius is that the sacred had an allure that attracted many visitors. However, upon arrival those visitors might find the ‘biblical’ world to be different than they had imagined it. Palladius likely experienced the same phenomenon: in his desire to witness the holy places and to experience the locality of Christ’s resurrection, he walked into ecclesial strife.

14 the Apostle Paul, creating a parallel between his trials and those suffered by Paul. Setting out this biblical model lent biblical significance to his text44 and allowed Palladius to convey the importance that the narrative of his life’s journey would have for Lausus and his superiors residing amid the luxuries of the imperial palace in Constantinople. His text, however, would serve other purposes as well. It was a space for Palladius to look back upon his imagined ideal.

Just as setting out on his pilgrimage was a form of askesis so too was his act of writing. The life that Palladius lived in the desert was not one that need remain isolated to that environment. By revealing to Lausus the nature of the desert inhabitants Palladius was providing him a means towards ascetic living within a city rather than the desert. That the city was also now where

Palladius resided implies that what Palladius may have been working out was the means for continuing his “solitary life” while also carrying out his duties as bishop of Aspuna.

As we begin to understand the concerns that motivated Palladius’ writing our concern now shifts to the influences upon Palladius’ ascetic life. Palladius’ works pay homage to these influences, sometimes as blatant attempts at resuscitating a legacy as in the case of John

Chrysostom, though at other times in more veiled ways through allusions and tangential references. We will then be left to determine and understand how the ecclesial and imperial interactions that framed much of Palladius’ life came to bear on his perception of the ascetic’s role in a Christian society. Was he always looking back, hoping to regain and revive what was lost? Or was he directing those experiences forward in an attempt to craft something new?

44 HL, prol. 6. Cf. Frank, The Memory of the Eyes, pp. 62-64.

15 Figures both Influential and Contentious

While in the desert Palladius had the good fortune of engaging with and learning from many of the most notable ascetic figures of his time: Didymus the blind, Evagrius of Pontus,

John of Lycopolis, Macarius of Alexandria, Melania the Elder, and Paphnutius Kephalas.

Through these associations Palladius was connected in a family-tree-like fashion to numerous other luminaries within the Egyptian ascetic tradition: Pambo, Macarius of Egypt, Sarapion,

Ammonius, and many others. They all receive chapters in Palladius’ collection. To this distinguished group we can add John Cassian, a contemporary of Palladius whose life as an ascetic mirrored that of Palladius in many ways. They lived amongst and learned from many of the same distinguished men and women and through their writings each sought to make those experiences applicable to individuals living outside the Egyptian desert. Though Palladius does not mention Cassian in the History, nor does Cassian mention Palladius in his works, Palladius does refer to him in the Dialogue.45 And, of course, there was John Chrysostom. For our purposes here, we shall reflect on Palladius’ presentation of Melania the Elder and Evagrius of

Pontus.46 The narratives concerning these two ascetics, while paying homage to them as

45 Dial., 3.

46 On Evagrius’ influence upon Palladius and the History see R. Draguet, “L’ Histoire Lausiaque, une œuvre écrite dans l’esprit d’Évagre,” Revue d’Histoire Ecclésiastique 41 (1946): 321-64; 42 (1947): 5-49. Draguet’s argument remains the standard though we must take into account the nuancing of this argument proposed by Jeremy Driscoll in “Evagrius and Paphnutius on the Causes for Abandonment by God,” Studia Monastica 39 (1997): 259-86. In his article Driscoll makes a basic, but none the less fundamental, point that serves as a general guide to my own way of approaching any understanding of the relationship between Palladius and Evagrius. Regarding Draguet’s phrase “une œuvre écrite dans l’esprit d’Évagre” Driscoll states, “It is too simplistic to think that this means that Palladius has merely recast his stories from the desert and the teachings of the fathers reported there and made them his ploy for promoting the teachings of Evagrius, which are otherwise sui generis and thus not representative of the genuine spirit of Egyptian monasticism.” He continues, “Thus, ‘a work in the spirit of Evagrius’ needs to mean that we have to do here not just with the spirit of one peculiar innovator but rather with the tradition that he represents. Palladius

16 influential members of the ascetic community within which Palladius resided, offer us insight into the varying nature of the acceptable forms of ascetic renunciation that made possible the ascetic life.

Palladius makes the Elder Melania the subject of three separate chapters in his History, the only ascetic in the History to be the subject of multiple chapters.47 After being widowed at the age of twenty-two,48 Melania, granddaughter of the Roman consul Marcellinus and patron of

Rufinus of Aquileia,49 set sail for the Holy Land, where she would first take up residence in

Nitria. She stayed in Nitria for only a few months, but according to Palladius’ account even in that short time she had the fortune of meeting a veritable who’s who of ascetic figures: Pambo,

Arsisius, Sarapion, Paphnutius, Isidore the Confessor, and Dioscorus, bishop of Hermopolis.50

In this regard, Palladius leaves little doubt to surround the foundations of her spirituality. She followed many of these men to Palestine, after their expulsion from Nitria, and later founded the monastic community at the Mount of Olives, where she and Rufinus would reside for twenty- seven years supporting the surrounding members of the Jerusalem Church with their funds.51

takes advantage of the focus, order and spiritual logic with which Evagrius speaks the wisdom of desert monasticism” (Driscoll, p. 261).

47 HL, 46, 54, and 55. It should be noted that while the title of Chapter 55 – Silvania – suggests it is a new chapter, it is actually a continuation of the previous chapter on Melania.

48 HL, 46.1; Jerome, Ep., 39.5. Jerome also mentions that Melania lost two sons around the time she was widowed. She left her wealth to her surviving son, though Palladius does not mention this. Palladius appears to suggest in Chapter 54 that Publicola was Melania’s only son.

49 Jerome, Ep., 4.2.

50 HL, 46.2, Butler, ed., p. 134, Meyer, tr., p. 123.

51 HL, 46.6.

17 Palladius likely first met Melania between 386 and 388 CE during his time with Innocent on the Mount of Olives. After this, it is entirely possible that he would not meet her again until after leaving the desert and being made bishop of Helenopolis. He remarks with perhaps a little sadness that Melania had departed from Nitria prior to his arrival.52 Given that Palladius met

Melania prior to having experienced much of the monastic life himself, we may wonder how much that experience shaped his retelling of his time in the desert. Does his presentation of her as a paragon of ascetic virtue stem from this early influence, providing shape and scope to how

Palladius would understand his subsequent struggles? Alternatively, could Palladius be aiming his emphasis on her virtue, along with the frequent mentions of her charitable wealth, squarely at

Lausus’ superiors, specifically Pulcheria, sister of the emperor Theodosius II and devoted virgin of God?

While Palladius clearly favored Melania, twice referring to her as “the thrice blessed”53 and “man of God [ἡ ἂνθρωπος τοῦ θεοῦ],”54 her influence upon him seems restricted to her charity, rather than in matters more traditionally associated with the ascetic life, such as power over demons, scriptural learning, or bodily mortification. In each of his chapters devoted to her,

Palladius allots considerable space to reports of Melania’s generosity in service to other

Christians of the desert. Palladius remarks that no one failed to benefit from her wealth, from east to west, even equating her spending to “holy zeal.”55 His descriptions almost blur the line

52 HL, 9, Butler, ed., p. 29, Meyer, tr., p. 43.

53 HL, 5.2, 46.1.

54 HL, 9, Butler, ed., p. 29, Meyer, tr., p. 43.

55 HL, 54.1, Butler, ed., p. 146, Meyer, tr., p. 134.

18 between lavish wealth and monastic poverty as Melania uses her worldly wealth to enable others to remove themselves from the world and take up monastic vocations. It was her generosity, according to Palladius, which prevented Melania’s separation from Christ. Yet, we may see in this same generosity the root of a rivalry with Jerome’s monastic establishment at Bethlehem, who accused the monastic community of Olivet of living a life of luxury.56 As his controversy with Rufinus grew, Jerome’s perception of Melania shifted from “devout”57 to one “whose name bears witness to the blackness of her perfidy.”58

Palladius shows little concern with Melania’s wealth instead making her charity into the noblest of virtues. As a supporter of monastic and ecclesial communities, Melania embodied the ideal of giving all you had for God. It would not be much of a stretch to assume that Palladius came from a family that was not poor; he is well educated and was obviously capable of leaving home on a pilgrimage. Imagine, then, the sight Melania would strike when Palladius arrived.

An aristocratic woman who cast aside the loss of her husband and used it to bring her closer to

God, not through a particular spiritual fervor, but by giving everything she had to help others through her constant charity. We might also recall the example Innocent set for Palladius: a palace dignitary who voluntarily set aside his status to take up the life of a monk. As early instigators of Palladius’ ascetic desire, Melania and Innocent, through generosity and simplicity respectively, provided Palladius an impetus to his ascetic inquiry focused more on serving others

56 Suggested by E. D. Hunt, “Palladius of Helenopolis: a Party and its Supporters in the Church of the Late Fourth Century,” Journal of Theological Studies 24 (1973): 462, who sees Jerome’s comment in his work Against John of Jerusalem, “You, with your endless resources, and making a profit out of the religion of the world” (Jerome, Con. Ioh. Hier, 14), to be directed at the Jerusalem community and the wealth of its benefactors.

57 Jerome, Ep., 4.2.

58 Jerome, Ep., 133.3.

19 than on serving oneself. While Palladius would spend years with those whose ascetic discipline surpassed what his health ever enabled him to attain, Melania revealed to him that the ascetic life takes many forms and that the extreme mortification of some ascetics was not the only manner of developing virtue and achieving unification with Christ.

Palladius’ presentation of Evagrius provides an interesting contrast with his presentation of Melania, in part, because Evagrius does not come across in an extremely noble light. The narrative Palladius constructs about Evagrius is of a man burdened by his flesh, in constant struggle to live out his oaths to God, and only barely able to constrain himself. We glimpse fleeting moments of his triumphs over the body and the demons that torment him, but the overall impression of Evagrius is of a man consumed by “toil and labor and continual prayer.”59

After Gregory of Nazianzus had ordained him a deacon, Evagrius found himself in

Constantinople under the eye of Nectarius, bishop of the city.60 Feeling a bit of pride in this important position Evagrius fell victim to his lust for a woman of high social rank.61 He was trapped. On the one hand, he was a member of the clergy and his transgression would provide heretics with an opening to attack the Church. On the other hand, his passion, and his lover’s passion for him, prevented him from taking the steps he knew he needed to take. Evagrius prayed that God would impede his desire since he was unable to act and take control of himself.

He received help in the form of a vision: soldiers of the governor bound Evagrius in iron collars and chains and took him into custody; he was imprisoned seemingly without reason. Evagrius,

59 HL, 38.13, Butler, ed., p. 122-23, Meyer, tr., p. 114.

60 HL, 38.2.

61 HL, 38.3.

20 however, knew the reason. The vision mirrored his present state: chained between his lust and his clerical duty, he was at the mercy of others. The angel who was the source of the vision then changed form and offered a way out: swear upon the Gospel that he would leave Constantinople and the angel would free him from his chains. Evagrius promised that he would and upon awaking he sailed for Jerusalem.62

Palladius tells us that upon Evagrius’ arrival in Jerusalem he was greeted by Melania, who, as we shall see, would play a pivotal role in Evagrius’ monastic life.63 However, the narrative immediately moves on from this meeting to address Evagrius’ passions and his inability to control them. In Jerusalem Evagrius again succumbed to his pride, slipping back into his old ways and seemingly forsaking his promise to the angel. Once again, God would intervene though this time without Evagrius first seeking help. God brought a six-month sickness upon him that wasted away Evagrius’ flesh. When he sought treatment, the doctors were confounded and unable to provide a cure. Finding Evagrius in this state, Melania recognized that the sickness must stem from some source other than basic bodily failure. She asked what troubled him and Evagrius confessed his transgressions. Just like during his dreamed imprisonment in Constantinople, Evagrius was made an offer. If he accepted, then he would be cured. Melania made Evagrius promise that he would take up a monastic life. He agreed, was soon healed, and within a few days he departed Jerusalem for Nitria.64

62 HL, 38.3-7, Butler, ed., pp. 117-19, Meyer, tr., pp. 111-12.

63 HL, 38.8.

64 HL, 38.9.

21 From this point forward Palladius’ narrative begins to shift. He chronicles the ascetic efforts Evagrius undertook, which allows Palladius the space to marvel at the purification of

Evagrius’ mind and provides Palladius’ readers with at least a brief glimpse into Evagrius’ successes rather than his failures. Up to his departure for Nitria, Palladius’ narrative of Evagrius might have struck his readers as somewhat paradoxical. Palladius had, after all, opened his chapter on Evagrius with high praise, stating that it would be edifying for anyone who happened upon the account and that Evagrius had lived κατὰ τοὺς ἀποστόλους.65 Yet, Evagrius appears as a man barely capable of constraining his lust and reigning in his pride, let alone functioning as a leader of the Church. While Evagrius’ actions become far more laudable once he takes up a monastic life, even after arriving at Cellia he would still suffer from numerous temptations. His constant combat against them and the excessively austere diet he used to control his passions gradually would break down his body. As a closing to his narrative, Palladius provides a remark from Evagrius himself (“This is the third year that I am not tormented by carnal desires.”66) that both serves as a testament to Evagrius’ ascetic ability as well as a revelation of the difficulty of the ascetic life. While three years may seem a meager period given that, by Palladius’ reckoning, Evagrius’ desert life had encompassed around seventeen years, the ability to overcome temptation for any length of time was an accomplishment in itself. In the end,

Palladius’ chapter on Evagrius in the History is unrelenting. Evagrius struggled mightily simply to begin a monastic life and once there the struggle with his flesh continued. There was no rest, only toil.

65 HL, 38.1, Butler, ed., p. 116, Meyer, tr., p. 110.

66 HL, 38.13, Butler, ed., p. 122, Meyer, tr., p. 114.

22 Yet, this presentation of Evagrius may be incomplete. The Coptic Life of Evagrius,67 almost certainly written by Palladius, provides a much more thorough (and laudable) presentation of Evagrius and his ascetic practice. There is an air of intimacy and awe in the

Coptic Life that is absent from the portrait of Evagrius we find in the History. This raises a question in regard to what we do find in the History and whether its emphasis on Evagrius’ struggles was the presentation Palladius had intended. As there is almost no information contained in Chapter 38 of the History that is not also contained within the Coptic Life, we can deduce fairly clearly that Chapter 38 represents an abridgement of the Coptic Life.68 Whether that abridgement was made by Palladius or by anti-Origenists concerned with discrediting

Evagrius (or perhaps a combination of both) likely cannot be determined with complete certainty,69 though there remains an interesting question: if the abridgement was intended by

67 Four Desert Fathers: Pambo, Evagrius, Macarius of Egypt, and Macarius of Alexandria. Coptic Texts Relating to the Lausiac History of Palladius, tr. Tim Vivian, pp. 72-92.

68 For a synopsis of the differences between each text see Bunge, Quatre ermites égyptiens, pp. 48-53. The presence of a Greek fragment that the Coptic likely translated from makes it very unlikely that the Coptic text is simply an expansion of an original shorter Greek text. On this Greek fragment, which contains the narrative of Evagrius’ contest against the three demons (the Arian, Apollinarian, and Eunomian), a segment largely missing in the History but preserved in the Coptic Life, see Butler, The Lausiac History of Palladius, part 1 pp. 131-37 and Four Desert Fathers, tr. Vivian, pp. 46-49. For the Greek text of this fragment see Butler, part 1 pp. 132-35 and for Vivian’s English translation of the Greek fragment see Four Desert Fathers, pp. 174-79.

69 For proposed solutions, see Four Desert Fathers, tr. Vivian, pp. 46-49; Bunge, Quatre ermites égyptiens, pp. 63- 80; Butler, The Lausiac History of Palladius, part 1 pp. 107-55. The relationship between the Coptic Life and Ch. 38 of the History likely stems from one of the following explanations: either Palladius wrote a longer Greek version as a precursor to his History and then shortened it when writing for Lausus, in this case the Coptic would be a translation of the longer Greek precursor; or the longer version represents the actual text Palladius intended for his History, which was then edited by later anti-Origenist redactors nervous about Evagrius’ heretical teachings. I take the first of these two explanations as most probable. Palladius originally wrote, while living in the desert, a previous version of some chapters of the History, which he then shortened for inclusion in the History itself in order to appeal to the wider, non-Egyptian audience of that text. Further attestation to the presence of this longer Greek original comes from Socrates who claims there is a work on those devoted to the solitary life written by the monk Palladius (Soc., Hist. eccles., 4.23). That Socrates refers here to Palladius as a monk, rather than as a bishop, suggests that this work was one written prior to Palladius’ ordination. This work would then represent the longer Greek text Palladius modified for Lausus. There is still allowance for redacting by anti-Origenists, which certainly seems to

23 Palladius, then his editing efforts might provide us a unique insight into the genesis of the

Lausiac History along with shedding light on subjects of particular interest to Palladius in his narrative construction.70

The chapters on Melania and Evagrius present us with differing forms of ascetic renunciation. Melania is the hallmark of charitable support, not only through her monetary support of monastic communities, but also through her support of individual ascetics, like

Evagrius, who struggled to overcome the burdens of temptation. Her ascetic life is founded upon service and the renunciation of her wealth and high social standing. She gave up herself as an offering to others to be made use of as God saw fit. Melania, however, never seemed to struggle with particular vices or passions and it is here that her contrast with Evagrius is most evident.

Evagrius lacked the ease of Melania’s renunciation. He was incapable of controlling his desire so long as he resided within the city. As deacon, Evagrius suffered from vainglory [κενοδοξία].71

Once separated from that environment his practice was able to develop, though even at Cellia his torments were so severe as to cause him to stand naked outside in the night so as to freeze his flesh and extinguish his lust.72 To the end of his life, his battle never ended. This contrast

have occurred, but those redactors do not account for the bulk of the emendations from the longer original to the shorter text of the History.

70 We will have more to say in this regard in the coming chapters. As an example in regard to the present discussion of Evagrius, while the History is primarily concerned with Evagrius’ battles against sexual temptation and the damage caused to his body due to his strict diet, the Coptic Life contains details about his sleeping practices, his teaching practices, statements about his hospitality and humility towards visitors, and a long section on the discernment of demonic temptation. Each of these omitted segments is of a type that can be found within the narratives of other monks in Palladius’ History, so this is not a matter of Palladius having little interest in these subjects for his History. Was there, however, a particular reason he would choose not to relate those details about Evagrius and instead remain focused on temptation and the degradation of Evagrius’ body?

71 HL, 38.8, Butler, ed., p. 119, Meyer, tr., p. 112.

72 HL, 38.11.

24 between forms of renunciation is a hallmark of Palladius’ History. Palladius’ concern is not with specific forms but a plurality of forms and we will see the ways in which he stretches the bounds of what constitutes ascetic practice.

Palladius’ chapter on Evagrius also provides us with a glimpse into one of the principle concerns of the History: failure. That Evagrius avoided failure through the intervention and assistance of sources other than himself should not surprise those familiar with Palladius’ work.

Palladius had lived with and heard about failed ascetics. Seeking to understand how those failures fit within the context of the desert life, Palladius, Evagrius, and Albanius73 traveled to visit Paphnutius Kephalas,74 giving rise to one of the longest and most theologically sophisticated chapters in the History. They questioned Paphnutius, hoping to understand how seemingly noble ascetics could fall into licentious behavior. Paphnutius’ answer will serve as a starting point for Palladius’ attempt to understand the life he had undertaken in the desert; a life that he did not consider to have ended when he left the desert. Palladius had been a pilgrim to the Holy Land and had become troubled by his own temptations and sickness while there. At times, he sought to give up his desert life and return to Galatia.75 Evagrius, too, perhaps ought to have failed to remain in the desert. A question Palladius must contend with is whether he, that is

Palladius himself, had failed.

73 An Albanius is mentioned in two places in the History: HL, 26.2 and 47.3. Other than these brief mentions we know nothing else of him.

74 HL, 47.

75 The most dramatic occurrence in which Palladius considers leaving the desert comes in the climactic chapter on John of Lycopolis. Without Palladius revealing to John his reasons for visiting him, John tells Palladius, “Many sorrows await you, and many things have worked against you to get you to leave the desert. You were terrified and put off your resolution. The demon brings up pious and well-sounding excuses for you and weakens you” (HL, 35.8, Butler, ed., p. 103, Meyer, tr., p. 101).

25 As he wrote from Aspuna, now quite distanced from the political and ecclesial strife he had encountered while in the desert and during his time as bishop of Helenopolis, we might imagine Palladius reflecting on everything he had come through: the ideals he harbored prior to setting out for the Holy Land, the struggle of seeing his friend Chrysostom deposed, and finally his own exile. Yet, when we ask how exile affected the beleaguered bishop, Palladius remains mostly silent in both the History and the Dialogue. Other than the obvious unfairness he felt regarding Theophilus’ conduct in the deposition of John, Palladius reveals little, especially regarding his own treatment. After spending eleven months exiled in Syene,76 Palladius spent four years at Antinoë in the Thebaid getting to know the monasteries of that region before making his way back to Galatia. While at Antinoë he visited with both male and female ascetics,77 though his discussion of them reveals little about his disposition at the time.78 If his exile had altered his outlook at all, he makes few specific disclosures of such change in his writings. Nor do we gain much of an impression from the other chapters that supposedly describe events between his exile and the writing of the History. The final, autobiographical, chapter of the work provides the only clue, but even this tells us little. It is nothing more than a simple statement that “he is willing to run risks over and above the line of duty where genuine

76 HL, 35.13, Butler, ed., p. 105, Meyer, tr., p. 102.

77 HL, 58-60.

78 There is one notable exception. In his chapter on The Monks of Antinoë, Palladius tells of a meeting he had with Diocles, one of the brothers living in the monasteries there, during which they discussed the ways in which the mind could remain fixed upon God. The discussion is significant for the way in which it might inform how we understand a similar encounter had between Palladius and Macarius of Alexandria. The encounter with Macarius will be discussed in greater detail in the next chapter and these concerns will be of greater import to our analysis in Chapter Five.

26 friends are concerned.”79 That Palladius refers here not only to Lausus, but also to Chrysostom,

Evagrius and others who suffered during this time, should be obvious, but his lack of comment leaves us with more questions than answers. This unknown figure from Galatia, who had embarked on a simple journey to the Holy Land, found himself as a bishop embroiled in controversy and subsequently exiled. As enmities cooled, Palladius returned to his homeland of

Galatia and was reinstated to the episcopate. It was then that he became the subject of an imperial request, possibly granting him a chance to redeem his way of life. Yet, why write this text for Lausus? Assuming we could imagine Palladius ignoring a request from someone so highly placed, the question is significant. Does Palladius not risk further difficulty by jumping back into the political fray? It was, perhaps, precisely these sorts of tribulations that John of

Lycopolis had warned Palladius against by encouraging him to remain in the desert and avoid ordination.80 For Palladius, then, following through with the request must have provided him with something ‘ascetic’; his writing must have stretched beyond simply defending himself and his former associates.

Exile and an Imperial Audience

During the controversies surrounding Chrysostom, Palladius mentions that Eutropius, chief of the royal chamberlains [ἀφηγητὴς τῶν βασιλικῶν κοιτώνων], was in charge of affairs

79 HL, 71.1, Butler, ed., p. 167, Meyer, tr., p. 153.

80 John of Lycopolis said to Palladius: “As bishop you would have to be ordained and labor much and suffer many tribulations [ἐπίσκοπος ἒχεις χειροτονηθῆναι καὶ πολλὰ καμεῖν καὶ θλιβῆναι]. If indeed you would flee the tribulations, you would not leave the desert. No one has the power to ordain you bishop here in the desert” (HL, 35.11, Butler, ed., p. 104, Meyer, tr., p. 102.).

27 [ἐκράτει τῶν πραγμάτων] and was responsible for John’s appointment as the bishop of

Constantinople.81 Eutropius’ intentions behind choosing Chrysostom for bishop appear to have remained mostly concealed from those outside his immediate circle. When emperor Arcadius summoned a synod to ratify Chrysostom’s election, Theophilus, bishop of Alexandria, was caught unaware of John’s potential appointment.82 This was a particularly galling affair for

Theophilus since he had already chosen one of his own clergy, Isidore, and hoped to have him elected to the position. It is not entirely clear why Eutropius favored, and the emperor chose,

Chrysostom for this position.83 Palladius himself suggests that Eutropius was impressed by John during an imperial visit “farther East” during the reign of Theodosius I, under whom Eutropius had also served.84 What is clear, however, is that Eutropius engineered the event and that

Arcadius took his recommendation of Chrysostom seriously.

Castrated and sold into slavery at a young age, Eutropius was a man of great ambition who became one of the most powerful men in the court at Constantinople. Arcadius respected his recommendations and Eutropius showed a keen ability to manipulate events to further his advantage. He engineered the marriage of emperor Arcadius to the beautiful Eudoxia in order to

81 Dial., 5.53-55, Malingrey ed., p. 113, Meyer, tr., p. 36. For a brief biography of Eutropius see Kelly, Golden Mouth, pp. 110 – 11; PLRE, 2.440-44. The Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire, vol. 1 A.D. 260-395; vol. 2 A.D. 395-527; vol. 3 A.D. 527-641, A. H. M. Jones; Martindale, J. R.; Morris J. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971-1992).

82 Kelly, Golden Mouth, pp. 105-6.

83 See Wendy Mayer, “John Chrysostom as Bishop: The View from Antioch,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 55 (2004): 455-66 for some points in this regard. Though these points relate more generally rather than conveying exactly what Eutropius himself saw in John, they are instructive to consider nonetheless.

84 Dial., 5.55-57; Sozom, Hist. eccles., 6.22.

28 prevent the praetorian prefect, Rufinus, from having his own daughter married to the emperor.85

Having been successful in that venture, Eutropius then appears to have assisted Stilicho in a plot to have Rufinus killed.86 Under the pretext of protecting Arcadius, Stilicho had troops sent to

Constantinople under the command of Gainas with the express intention of killing Rufinus. In this, they were quite successful. Rufinus was ambushed, cut to pieces, and then his attackers paraded his head around the city seeking alms.87 With Rufinus dealt with, Eutropius had now solidified his path to power and took hold of Rufinus’ wealth and position as Arcadius’ advisor.

As quickly, however, as Eutropius had risen through the political ranks to hold the most powerful position as Arcadius’ advisor, his downfall would be equally as quick. Surrounded by a confluence of personal hatreds, both from those in the military and those of the aristocracy,

Eutropius would extend his arrogance too far by insulting the empress Eudoxia,88 the very woman whom he had arranged for Arcadius to marry. Upon hearing of the insult, Arcadius immediately dismissed Eutropius from his position and stripped him of his offices. As Eutropius fled mobs in the city he sought out Chrysostom and took refuge in Hagia Sophia.

The days of Eutropius’ glory were over. This powerful man, whose superiors heeded his recommendations and who showed a keen ability to manipulate events to further his advantage, now lacked all dignities. The quickness of his downfall is revelatory of the tenuous nature of his power: his overzealousness and arrogance – qualities that had enabled him to surpass rivals and

85 Zosimos, Histoire Nouvelle, 5.3.2-3. Zosime, Histoire Nouvelle, texte établi et traduit par François Paschoud (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1971–1989).

86 Zosimos, Hist. Nouv, 5.8.1.

87 Zosimos, Hist. Nouv, 5.7.6.

88 Sozom, Hist. eccles., 8.7. Also see Kelly, Golden Mouth, pp. 145-47.

29 garner the emperor’s favor – were not viewed favorably when they conflicted with the desires of his rulers. Even his position as royal chamberlain could not save him once he offended the empress. The same manipulative qualities that had enabled his rise also had brought about his fall.

While Eutropius’ death (399 CE)89 likely occurred prior to Palladius leaving the desert and being made bishop of Helenopolis, it is clear he was aware of the power Eutropius had wielded and the sway the chamberlain could possess amongst his superiors. Of equal significance, Palladius would also be aware of how easily the chamberlain’s position could be lost. We can then see how Palladius’ consistent admonishments of pride and cautions to Lausus, while fully consistent with ascetic treatises, would also serve to remind his friend of the perils of his role as chamberlain.90 If Lausus was to provide Palladius with a manner of influencing those in power, he served little purpose if he was removed from his position of influence.

A request from a chamberlain within Theodosius II’s retinue offered Palladius an opportunity at a time when Theodosius himself was only beginning to exercise his power, relying mostly on the sway of his older sister Pulcheria. Theodosius was only at the age of eight when Arcadius died (d. 408 CE) and he inherited rule of the eastern empire. Due to his immaturity, initial duties thus fell instead to the praetorian prefect Anthemius.91 Theodosius’

89 Kelly, Golden Mouth, pp. 149-50.

90 Thus, we read Palladius’ final words to Lausus to end his treatise, “For such a one, one whom such riches and power did not make less God-fearing, reclines upon Christ who heard the devil say: ‘All these will I give thee, if falling down thou wilt adore me’” (HL 71.6). Here Palladius quotes Matt. 4.9 (the devil’s temptation of Jesus in the desert). It seems fitting to end an ascetic treatise intended for a wealthy audience with a reference to temptation in the desert; the final juxtaposition of the desert life and the aristocratic life.

91 Soc, Hist. eccles., 5.23-6.1.

30 older sister, Pulcheria, age fifteen, would oversee him and the affairs of the eastern empire after having been granted the title “Augusta” on 4 July 414.92 Her influence upon both the young emperor and upon imperial rule during this time appears considerable.93 She quickly grasped that through piety she could wield the greatest influence. Pulcheria took a vow of virginity, encouraged her sisters Arcadia and Marina to do the same, and followed this with a public manifestation of her vow through an inscription on the altar in the church of Constantinople.94

Her piety and virginity were on public display as a way of making the emperor’s own piety apparent and Pulcheria fully intended that those seeking to influence imperial rule through marriage should seek influence elsewhere. This group of princesses (Pulcheria and her sisters) even began to look like a monastic community within this world of riches: they lived lives of virginity, took their meals together, and sang praises of God.95 These women manifested ascetic power within the palace itself and they did so in a manner opposite to the norm. Pulcheria would not grasp for power through child bearing: rather, she sought political power and influence by rejecting this course in order to assert the piety of the imperial household.96

92 PLRE, 2.929.

93 Sozom. Hist. eccles, 9.1. Sozomen states, “That new heresies have not prevailed in our times, we shall find to be due especially to her….” As he continues his narratives Sozomen will even claim that the pious actions of these women strengthened the Eastern Empire by providing protection against outside forces (Sozom. Hist. eccles, 9.3).

94 Sozom. Hist. eccles, 9.1.

95 So also Claudia Rapp, “Palladius, Lausus and the Historia Lausiaca,” p. 284.

96 Cf. Holum, Theodosian Empresses, pp. 91-93. We should note, however, that Pulcheria’s piety appears to have been of an opportunistic type. After the death of her brother in 450 CE, she married Marcianus as Theodosius’ successor.

31 Pulcheria’s piety would certainly have caught Palladius’ interest, and Lausus’ petition provided Palladius with a unique opportunity to ingratiate himself with the empress through a display of his own asceticism. Given his previous troubles, Palladius would likely tread carefully, though he could not pass up the opportunity to provide both caution and praise to the ascetic women within the imperial residence.97 To this end, Palladius wasted little time before providing an account of the virtue of female ascetics. In two of his first five chapters he provided the narratives of Potamiaena98 and Alexandra,99 women whose virtues had been conveyed to him by Isidore and Didymus the Blind respectively. Palladius quickly shifted to a cautionary narrative, however, discussing in chapter six (The Rich Virgin), “a virgin of humble appearance but of overbearing disposition”,100 that was sure to get the attention of Pulcheria.

This virgin possessed great wealth but likewise great greed and found herself duped by

Macarius101 into donating a large sum of money for the support of a hospital. When she realized her charitable act had come out of her own greed rather than through her desire to provide

97 On the great number of stories of female ascetics in the History see Elizabeth A. Clark, “Holy Women, Holy Words: Early Christian Women, Social History, and the “Linguistic Turn”,” in Journal of Early Christian Studies 6 (1998): 413-30. In the various collections, Clark notes, the Historia Monachorum contains no chapters on women, Theodoret’s History of the Monks of Syria contains two chapters, the Apophthegmata Patrum includes the sayings of four women, while Palladius’ History includes an astounding nineteen chapters at least partially concerned with women.

98 HL, 3.

99 HL, 5.

100 HL, 6.2, Butler, ed., p. 22, Meyer, tr., p. 37.

101 It is not entirely clear to which Macarius this narrative refers, though that the account concerns a virgin living in Alexandria might suggest this was Macarius of Alexandria whom Palladius spent some time with in Cellia (HL, 18.1).

32 assistance to the poor, the virgin became ill with grief.102 Palladius ends the narrative there, but his point should not have been lost on Pulcheria.

For Palladius, Lausus’ commission provided him the opportunity to reach beyond previous disagreements in order to promote the practices of these small Egyptian communities to the expansive environs of Constantinople. Palladius’ text could provide assurance that the ascetic lives of Pulcheria and her sisters were in no way inferior to those following similar regimes in the desert. As Palladius stated in closing the Prologue to the History, “we are concerned not with the place where they settled, but rather it is their way of life [ὁ τρόπος τῆς

προαιρέσεως] that we seek.”103 Yet, there was another purpose. As noted above, for Palladius to take up the writing of this work, which would seem to conform precisely to the sorts of tribulations John of Lycopolis had warned him about, there must be some way in which the narrative itself communicated a spiritual askesis. As we shall see, Lausus’ commission also presented Palladius with an opportunity to further his own ascetic practice through the passing on of his experience.

The History was accompanied by a letter intended for Lausus. In this letter Palladius praises Lausus’ request for an edifying text, noting that the recognition of his need for learning represents the initial steps towards the avoidance of arrogance [ὑπερηφανίας]. His praise, however, comes with a note of irony as Palladius warns that “words and syllables do not constitute teaching.”104 As the letter continues, Palladius’ emphasis becomes clearer: “teaching

102 HL, 6.5-9.

103 HL prol. 16, Butler, ed., p. 15, Meyer, tr., p. 29.

104 Ep. ad Lausus, 2, Butler, ed., p. 7, Meyer, tr., p. 21.

33 consists of virtuous acts of conduct, of freedom from injuriousness, of dauntlessness, and of an even temper.”105 Palladius’ text would provide Lausus a picture of a world in which Lausus may have been somewhat familiar. As noted previously, Palladius had met Lausus in 391 CE while

Palladius was living in Egypt. How long Lausus had been in Egypt and the circumstances of his time there are unknown, but what Palladius hoped to make clear is that Lausus could not learn by only reading about these men and women. The History could take Lausus back to the desert but

Lausus then had to take these ideals and bring the desert into the city. He must take these narratives as guides to action. Yet, the reading was important. It was participatory. Palladius’ text was a diegesis; specifically he refers to it as τὰ τῶν πατέρων διηγήματα.106 As a particular form of narrative, diegesis was intended to be an edifying account from an eye-witness to the events narrated.107 Palladius, however, took this form a step further through the manner in which he included himself in his narrative.108 His presentation suggests there is a connection between the events narrated and the reading or hearing of those events such that the audience is capable of participating in the narrative to a degree similar to the eye-witness. In his chapter on John of

Lycopolis, Palladius states that Evagrius desired to meet John but was unable to travel to see him. Evagrius stated to those around him, “Gladly would I learn what kind of a man he is from the testimony of one who knows how to interpret mind and speech. Since I myself cannot see

105 Ep. ad Lausus, 2, Butler, ed., p. 7, Meyer, tr., p. 21.

106 HL, prol. 2, Butler, ed., p. 10, Meyer, tr., p. 23. To further reinforce this form, Palladius concludes his prologue by stating, “ Ἀρξάμενος τοίνυν τῶν διηγήσεων…” (HL, prol. 16, Butler, ed., p. 15, Meyer, tr., 29).

107 Claudia Rapp, “Storytelling as Spiritual Communication in Early Greek Hagiography: The Use of Diegesis,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 6 (1998): 434-35.

108 Here I follow arguments made by Rapp, “Storytelling as Spiritual Communication,” pp. 439-41 and Frank, Memory of the Eyes, pp. 64-65.

34 him, I could hear exactly from another man of his way of life [τὰ δὲ τῆς πολιτείας αὐτοῦ ἀκοῦσαι

ἀκριβῶς δυνηθῶ ἂλλου διηγουμένου], but I shall not go so far as the mountain.”109 Palladius, of course, was the man to travel to see John and after meeting with him he returned to Evagrius and the others and related to them [διηγησάμενος] everything he had learned.110 The immediate implication was that Evagrius was capable of experiencing, through Palladius’ narration of his encounter, what Palladius himself had experienced first-hand. Just as Palladius was affected by conversing with John, his telling of his experiences was to convey a similar effect upon his audience.111 Drawn out to encompass the History as a whole this brief account of Evagrius’ desire to learn of John’s virtue provides a lens for understanding how the History could become something more than just a book for Lausus to read. Palladius’ accounts provided Lausus a means to experience what he would not have the chance to see first-hand. They were to edify but beyond that they were to serve as a window that clarified Lausus’ own failures and weaknesses.112 Through this clarifying light Lausus would be reinvigorated and firmed in his resolve against the persistent impediments life in the city placed before him. And here, Palladius drives home the utility of diegesis: “For the appearance of their faces abloom with grey hairs, and the arrangement of their dress, together with their conversation so free from arrogance, and

109 HL, 35.3, Butler, ed., p. 101, Meyer, tr., p. 99.

110 HL, 35.11, Butler, ed., p. 104, Meyer, tr., p. 102. Rapp offers a summary concerning not only Palladius’ use of diegesis but his use of it in relation to his predecessors. She states, “Palladius is the first author to suggest that there is an intrinsic connection between hearing a diegesis, seeing a holy person, and actively sharing his life” (Rapp, “Storytelling as Spiritual Communication,” p. 440).

111 Rapp, “Storytelling as Spiritual Communication,” p. 441.

112 HL, prol. 15-16.

35 the piety of their language – all this and the grace of their thoughts will increase your strength, even should you be afflicted with spiritual dryness [ἐν ἀκηδίᾳ τυγχάνῃς].113 “All this,” Palladius states, would be experienced by Lausus as he read this book. Lausus would experience these accounts as if he were there: capable of perceiving the hairs on their face, their manner of dress, and the tone of their words.

Yet, here Palladius suggests a double-meaning. Due to his position, Lausus would have been subject to an onslaught of temptations and a persistent vigilance against them was a necessity, but through his experience of reading Palladius’ diegesis Lausus could participate in a life of askesis. As we read the History, we would not have to stretch our imaginations far to envision Lausus seeing himself as Elias, an ascetic whose figural castration ended the temptations that besieged him during his time living with a large group of women.114 Nor would it be a stretch to imagine Pulcheria reading herself into any of the tales of both honored and fallen female ascetics. Lausus’ participation in the desert askesis that Palladius presented to him cannot rest with his reading of the text. Just as these men and women should become clarifying lights for Lausus, so also must Lausus become a clarifying light for those within his city. Lausus desired to read of those Palladius encountered. Palladius has left it to Lausus to take his reading and turn it into action.

113 HL, prol. 16, Butler, ed., 14, Meyer, tr., 29.

114 HL, 29. Also see Rapp, “Palladius, Lausus and the Historia Lausiaca,” 283-88.

Chapter 2

Life in the Desert: Understanding God’s Providence

Palladius’ narrative construction – the travelogue form that placed the eye-witness nature of his narrative at the forefront – created the means for Lausus to see what Palladius saw and travel across the deserts that Palladius crossed. While Palladius could have fulfilled Lausus’ request without including personal details of his insecurities and the sicknesses that afflicted him, it is these narrative details that provide the foundation that brings together the various threads brought out from the many chapters of the History; they help shape and maintain Palladius’ travelogue form. Lausus desired to hear of desert men and women, but for Palladius, this text allowed him the opportunity to understand his own failure to succeed at living in the desert. Like the ascetics about whom he narrates, he is analyzing whether he was a failure. Viewed in this way, the originality in the History lies not so much in Palladius’ ideas but rather in how he uses his own life as a guide for his reader to understand the ways in which particular forms of practice might lead the ascetic astray. However, by the end of his text the travelogue has broken down.

Many of the later chapters exist almost independently with far less relation to those which preceded them than had been the case at the beginning of the text. In addition to this narrative breakdown, we find one other peculiarity in Palladius’ travelogue construction: he chose not to begin at the beginning. As mentioned in the previous chapter, Palladius chose to begin his

History not with the place where he first arrived – the Mt. of Olives – but rather with his arrival

37 in Alexandria and his meeting with Isidore. To hear of his time with Innocent we must wait until

Chapter 44, well after Palladius has described the trials that forced him to leave the desert.

These two breaks in Palladius’ travelogue construction – by not beginning at the beginning and the breakdown of the travelogue form itself – might have stemmed naturally from

Palladius’ editing process. Considering that the early chapters of the text likely existed as a previous construction that Palladius sought to modify, we can then see how the later chapters were tacked on as part of Palladius’ efforts to provide Lausus with a means to understand how the desert life could be made practicable within the cities. We touched on these points in brief in the previous chapter but it is worth reiterating them here as we begin to work through the primary analysis of the History itself. Palladius’ modifications, as they are born out in the later chapters of his text, arose in large part from his analysis of ascetic failure and abandonment, which will be of primary concern to us in this chapter. As he began to understand the means in which the ascetic life itself became an obstacle he was then able to posit ways of avoiding such downfall.

Palladius’ analysis of failure forces his readers to see past the appearance of ascetic holiness in order to grasp the underlying aims of an ascetic’s life. The crux, at least as a first step towards understanding, of his analysis concerns the fall of seemingly noble ascetics, those who appeared noble and appeared to follow a precise regimen of restraining the body, and how it is that these men and women might actually be on the wrong path and falling away from God. He wants Lausus to understand what he is really seeing when he encounters ascetic men or women and when he reads about them. Ascetic narratives were typically written for imitation: these were holy men and holy women whose actions were deemed worthy of imitation due to a

38 perceived spiritual perfection. Palladius’ text, however, cautions Lausus by raising a basic question: how can you know whose actions are worthy of being mimicked? Perception in this case could be deceptive.

Our analysis of the Lausiac History will begin with a question alluded to above: why did

Palladius choose to begin his narrative with Isidore rather than with his actual beginning and his time with Innocent? While some commentators have provided plausible reasons to account for this oddity,1 I would like to suggest a slightly different rationale: by beginning with Isidore,

Palladius can more quickly get to his principle theme on the potential damage caused by overzealous rigidity. The chapter on Isidore, along with its associated chapter on Dorotheus, establishes at the outset of Palladius’ narrative that his text of ascetic lives will not be one that marvels at the ability of other ascetics to subject their bodies to extreme forms of discipline.

Palladius not only questioned the effectiveness of such practices to achieve their desired goal, but he also had great concerns about the associated effects these practices had upon the psyche of the ascetic. Severe austerity, and the success that stemmed from it, appeared to result from the concerted actions of the ascetic to assert the desires of his will over the desires of the body. For

Palladius, however, this was merely an appearance. Success only came through divine guidance and any attributions of one’s success to human striving were merely the seeds of pride.

1 Demetrios Katos argues that Isidore’s prominent placement in the text comes as a result of Palladius’ apologetics for the Origenists he had known from his time in the desert, especially those vilified by Jerome and those who suffered greatly during the persecutions of Theophilus. See Katos, Palladius of Helenopolis, pp. 116-17.

39 Beginning his Desert Life

Palladius arrived in Alexandria, young and eager to learn, and found Isidore, presbyter of the Alexandrian church. It was 389 CE and Palladius had traveled from the Mt. of Olives where he had been staying for the previous three years. At the time of their meeting, Isidore was seventy years old and was residing in the city after beginning his ascetic career in a cell at Nitria.

Even in the city he had managed to maintain the great discipline he learned while living in the desert. He avoided the public baths, refrained from eating meat, and, even though he was quite wealthy, he was exceedingly charitable.2 When Palladius visited him, he begged Isidore to teach him the solitary life. From his enthusiasm, Isidore quickly recognized that Palladius was in need of discipline and that he could not develop the appropriate discipline within the city. The city was too full of potential temptations for someone without cultivation to expect to develop and learn to resist such distractions.3 So Isidore led Palladius out of the city to live in the desert with

Dorotheus. Isidore intended to prepare Palladius for later training (Palladius refers to Isidore as a horse-breaker [πωλοδάμνης]),4 and he hoped that staying in the Solitudes with Dorotheus would subdue Palladius’ passions [δαμασμὸν τῶν παθῶν].5 Once his stay with Dorotheus was at an end,

2 HL, 1.1-4.

3 Palladius here alludes to John Chrysostom’s similar need to leave the city for the mountains around Antioch so as to avoid giving into the many temptations of the city. See Dial., 5.15-33. There is one crucial difference between the two men. Chrysostom, according to Palladius, had recognized this need on his own, while Palladius had to be led away from the city by Isidore.

4 HL, 1.5, Butler, ed., p. 16, Meyer, tr., p. 32.

5 HL, 2.1, Butler, ed., p. 16, Meyer, tr., p. 32.

40 Palladius could then return to Isidore where together they would take up spiritual training

[ἐντειλάμενος διδασκαλίας ἓνεκεν πνευματικῆς].6

Isidore knew that Dorotheus struggled, seemingly endlessly [μεγάλη σκληραγωγίᾳ

συζῶντα], to control his body and likely hoped Palladius would develop a similar sense of disciplined perseverance. However, as evidenced by a series of questions posed by Palladius, we must wonder to what degree Isidore’s purpose was fulfilled. Palladius questioned Dorotheus about why he spent his days in the heat killing his body. At one point, suspicious that Dorotheus only acted as he did because of Palladius’ presence, Palladius questioned Dorotheus’ disciples on the old man’s manner of living. The disciples replied that Dorotheus had lived in this manner since his youth. On another occasion, Palladius urged Dorotheus to rest. Dorotheus slept as little as he could manage and seemed extremely tired so to Palladius a respite from such exhaustion seemed necessary. In response to Palladius’ urging, Dorotheus simply replied, “If you persuade the angels to rest, then you can perhaps persuade the eager man [ Ἐὰν πείσῃς τοὺς

ἀγγέλους κοιμηθῆναι, πείσεις καὶ τὸν σπουδαῖον].”7 With this response, Dorotheus intended to illustrate the persistence with which the ascetic must struggle to control his body. We might question, however, whether that is the point that Palladius noted. In the end, Palladius was unable to complete the allotted time he was to have lived with Dorotheus. His time in the

Solitudes, which was supposed to be three years, was cut short due to illness [ἀρρωστίᾳ]. To

6 HL, 2.1, Butler, ed., p. 16, Meyer, tr., p. 32.

7 HL, 2.3, Butler, ed., p. 18, Meyer, tr., p. 33.

41 account for this, Palladius remarks simply that Dorotheus’ “way of life [ἡ δίαιτα] was squalid and very dry [αὐχμώδης καὶ ξηροτάτη].”8

Judging by his presentation, Palladius was clearly not in awe of Dorotheus’ way of life.

He makes no mention of Dorotheus’ spirituality, knowledge, saintliness, or any other of the many adjectives used to describe other ascetic men and women found in the History.9 While this chapter certainly reveals a degree of naiveté on Palladius’ part with regard to his understanding of the exacting demands required of the ascetic life, it also reveals confusion. Dorotheus’ asceticism was not what Palladius had expected: it was brutal and depressing! Furthermore, other than living a physically taxing life, Dorotheus hardly seems to fit the image of the ascetic as Palladius may have idealized it. The physical demands of this life were likely precisely what

Isidore wanted Palladius to experience, but Palladius seems to question what, exactly, Dorotheus had accomplished through his desert withdrawal. When Dorotheus responded to Palladius’ efforts to get him to rest, his response revealed that even through all of his persistence Dorotheus remained a σπουδαῖος, an eager man. Had his asceticism not pushed him past such concerns?

Isidore had sent Palladius into the desert as a means of learning to still the passions, yet he sent him to a man who, by his own admission, remained eager. When he compiled his History,

Palladius showed various concerns about the role of zealousness within the ascetic life, especially as it had affected his own struggles to resist the temptation to leave the desert. We can then see how Dorotheus’ manner of bodily toil [πόνων τῶν κατὰ σάρκα] may not have had the

8 HL, 2.1, Butler, ed., p. 16. My translation.

9 Sozomen follows Palladius’ account in his stories about Dorotheus, though Sozomen refers to Dorotheus as one of the most celebrated monks in the areas neighboring Alexandria. Palladius omits any such appellation. Sozom, Hist. eccles, 6.29.

42 desired effect on Palladius and why Palladius would choose to make this one of the early narratives in his text. His time with Dorotheus was, in fact, foundational, though it was not foundational in quite the manner in which Isidore had intended it. To Palladius, Dorotheus’ asceticism was one-sided, neglectful of his intellect and focused entirely upon subduing the body regardless of the strain that subjugation might place upon him.

In a later chapter of the History, Palladius will reveal the full implications of a one-sided focus on bodily mortification in his short chapter on Abramius. Abramius was a monk living a

“most rough and savage [τραχύτατον καὶ ἀγριώτατον]” life in the desert who became arrogant and began to quarrel with the priests of his church.10 Abramius felt that his great austerity qualified him for ordination and, as such, he should perform the priests’ functions. The priests did not respond by chastising him. Rather, they took him away from the desert “and brought him to a less coarse [παχύτερον] and less exacting [ἀδιαφορώτερον] way of life” curing him “of his arrogance [ὑπερηφανίας] by bringing him…to a knowledge of his own weakness [τῆς οἰκείας

ἀσθενείας].”11 The chapter on Abramius comes amongst a series of very short, independent,12 first person narratives of individuals Palladius met while in the desert, and Abramius is one of the many cases in the History where a monk whose pride brought him to harm was saved by

10 HL, 53, Butler, ed., p. 145, Meyer, tr., pp. 133.

11 HL, 53, Butler, ed., p. 145, Meyer, tr., pp. 133-34.

12 The chapters in question are HL, 50-53. By independent I mean only that there is no apparent connection between each individual chapter and any other chapter in the work. The vast majority of the chapters are tied together in some fashion, whether through a chronological order of Palladius’ journeys, or second-hand narratives Palladius attributes to someone else. These chapters share none of these traits, nor any accurate dating, meaning whether these are ascetics Palladius met during his primary time in the desert or whether he met them during the period after his exile but before returning to Galatia is unknown.

43 others rather than lost by himself. The fact that Palladius tells of him being brought to a better knowledge of himself by being removed from the desert is not insignificant within the larger context of Palladius’ work. In this regard, life in the desert had the power to obscure weakness just as readily as it could reveal it. Abramius had been blinded by his own self-worth, deluded into thinking that his success was attributable to his ability to live a harsh life, and, furthermore, that his extreme austerity gave him an element of ecclesial power and responsibility within the

Church. Palladius’ use of superlatives and comparatives for describing the nature of how

Abramius lived and the sort of life he was brought into through the assistance of the priests, suggests that his problem is one of scale rather than of any specific action. He had simply pushed himself beyond what was physically reasonable and needed to take up a regimen that placed less emphasis on pure physical survival. Trapped in his severe regimen, Abramius could not see this solution, nor could he recognize the pride that had built up inside him. Through the guidance of others these faults were revealed to him and he was cured.

The narratives of Dorotheus and Abramius shed light on how Palladius sought some purpose for the ascetic life beyond brutal physicality, a purpose that promised transformation of the ascetic’s inner life through a moderate restraint of the physique. The full implications of these transformations will be flushed out as we gradually put together the various threads of

Palladius’ narrative. With that said, we can see already how an ascetic seeking out inner transformation was faced with a daunting challenge: what was he to do about the body? The body provides the vehicle within which the mind ascends in its contemplation of God; it facilitates access to the sensory aspects of God’s creation. Yet, the body can also be the primary motivating factor in movements away from God, through our response to sensory temptations,

44 and sustaining the body was a persistent source of distraction. We can then see why ascetics such as Dorotheus would be prompted to remark, “[The body] kills me, I will kill it.”13 In this regard, bodily need tended to be adverse to spiritual contemplation.

Ascetics withdrew to the desert, at least in part, in order to remove the societal impulses that were most responsible for stimulating bodily temptation, thus allowing them to bring the body under control without outside interference. We saw this in Isidore’s primary desire for sending Palladius out to the Solitudes. Yet, Dorotheus’ depressing lifestyle, along with its inability to cure him of his eagerness, called into question the efficaciousness of such an endeavor when that endeavor became focused only on the body. By first sending Palladius to

Dorotheus so as to subdue Palladius’ passions, after which Palladius would return for ‘spiritual training’, Isidore was, in effect, attempting to segregate the development of mental and physical forms of discipline. But Dorotheus’ eagerness made clear to Palladius that the dynamic between the body and mind went beyond any arduous attempts to ‘kill the body’ so as to insure salvation.14 While bodily impulses were indeed a source of temptation it was the ascetic’s mind itself that was the true source of desire. Just as the seasoned athlete would inevitably desire better performance and then sustain injury, the ascetic’s mind would desire to push his bodily subjugation to a point where he lost sight of his original intention: closeness to God. When an

13 HL, 2.2, Butler, ed., p. 17, Meyer, tr., p. 33.

14 An aspect of this dynamic that will be discussed in greater depth as we proceed is the relationship between the ascetic and non-conscious action. Athletes condition their bodies so as to enable them to react without thinking; they engage in activities where thinking is too slow and the body must simply act through the appropriate conditioned response. What Palladius discovers is that the ascetic regimen leads to its own unthinking actions whereby the effects of the regimen go unnoticed to the point that the ascetic unknowingly loses sight of the path to God. The discussion of Abramius above provides one example: he fails to recognize his error and must be forced into a more fitting lifestyle. The more thorough example will be discussed below and in the chapters to follow. That is the narrative of Moses the Ethiopian.

45 ascetic attended strictly to the physical parameters of ascetic renunciation while ignoring his mental development, as Palladius presents Dorotheus and Abramius as doing, then this turned the ascetic regimen into a source of pride. In a worst case scenario, this pride would prohibit the ascetic from developing communion with God and he might fall into licentiousness.

As a beginning to his History, Palladius uses Dorotheus as a means to establish that an ideal was needed that sought out mental discipline without falling into the trap of focusing only on physical stringency. Once he reaches the point of his narrative that he tells of Abramius,

Palladius illustrates a more nuanced problem with the ascetic regimen, focusing on the scale of the physical regimen, along with the effects of an immoderate lifestyle. The intervening chapters, along with the chapters that follow the narrative of Abramius, deal with the more complex question of the utility of desert withdrawal itself, especially as it relates to the ability of the ascetic to cultivate an interior discipline that allowed for effective contemplation. What I hope to make clear as we proceed is that Palladius is not against bodily mortification. There are many ascetics in the History that Palladius deems praiseworthy who also lived lives of great austerity without succumbing to the negative effects Palladius will illustrate. His concerns, however, do show a mistrust of bodily mortification. Palladius questions whether bodily mortification might be just as likely to lead the ascetic astray as it is to lead him to God. The chapter on Abramius exhibits this in brief, though the sparse details of the narrative do not allow us to conclude much beyond the results of his immoderation. The mistrust of bodily mortification that Palladius exhibits appears to stem from two facets of his time in the desert: the first facet we began discussing above, namely the inability of bodily mortification to still impure thought. There is much more to be said on that topic, but in the interim we will explore the

46 second facet: Palladius’ struggle with illness while he lived in the desert. Illness revealed a particular weakness of the body and suggested there were cases where the body simply was not capable of coping with the physical demands of desert life. Did this mean that these men and women had no hope of living an ascetic life? Was there perhaps some fault in their ascetic regimen? Sickness also raised a fundamental question about God's role in the lives of holy people: why would God allow these men and women to become sick in the first place?

The Path to Ascetic Failure

Sickness challenged the perception of ascetics, both in regard to the ascetic’s perception of the quality of his own ascetic practice and also in regard to how an outsider might perceive the worthiness of a sick ascetic.15 If a visitor to a monk’s cell found that monk to be ill, this might reflect negatively upon the reputation of the sick monk and raise questions in the visitor’s mind regarding the devotion that monk had shown to his practice. Palladius demonstrated his awareness of these matters of perception in the way he provided his readers with an explanation for why he would choose to include narratives of sick ascetics in his History. Put simply, ascetic sickness needed explaining. Sickness also posed a challenge within the day-to-day activities of any ascetic who strived to remain free from distraction.16 On the one hand, a sick ascetic may

15 As noted by Andrew Crislip in his recent work on illness in late antiquity: “The very title of the popular aphoristic collections of the late ancient Syrian world, The Paradise of the Fathers, reflects this widespread understanding of Christian asceticism as remedy for postlapsarian maladies. Throughout, the saint’s status as symbol and moral exemplar renders his or her health or illness especially meaningful within the symbolic matrix of late antique Christianity” (Crislip, Thorns in the Flesh, p. 4).

16 Illness is not an infrequent topic in the Apophthegmata Patrum. A couple notable examples include Apop. Pat. (alph.), Aio; Theodore of Pherme 26; Theodora 3; Isaac the Theban 2; Copres 1; Longinus 2; Syncletica 8. For

47 have been unable to maintain his typical regimen and that inability might be viewed as a failure.

Taken a step further, if the sickness lasted long enough then the ascetic might find it difficult to regain his original regimen even once the sickness had been cured, producing an overall reduction in the austerity of his life and a sense that he had in some way failed because his life was now easier. On the other hand, sickness could promote ascetic practice through its stilling of the passions and the discomfort or pain it might force the ascetic to endure. Understanding the development of sickness was thus problematic for those in the desert. Did sickness mean that the ascetic was being punished for some fault or hidden temptation? An ascetic who suffered an illness might then be tempted to maintain, or increase, the stringency of his practice so as to combat the temptation that brought on his sickness, which could further debilitate the body and result in death.

Given the severe austerity under which many ascetics lived in the desert, illnesses were bound to develop and potentially overtake many ascetics.17 Though they were commonly

studies on self-cultivation as it related to understanding the body and the threat of sickness see Aline Rousselle, Porneia, tr. F. Pheasant (New York: Blackwell, 1988); Michel Foucault, The Care of the Self, vol. 3 The History of Sexuality, tr. R. Hurley (New York: Vintage, 1990). On ascetic and monastic approaches to sickness specifically, see most recently Crislip, Thorns in the Flesh; Crislip, From Monastery to Hospital (Ann Arbor: U. Michigan Press, 2005). On the challenges sickness posed to a monastic community and the regulation of interactions between healthy monks and those that were ill, see Crislip, From Monastery to Hospital, pp. 39-42; 68-99.

17 Palladius certainly was aware of the prevalence of sickness amongst desert inhabitants as well as the need for someone to minister to the sick. Immediately after narrating the condition of Benjamin (the first of the two chapters on sick ascetics which we will discuss here) Palladius tells of Apollonius (HL, 13), an old ascetic at Mount Nitria. Because his old age prevented him from developing any new skills with which he could labor, Apollonius became a doctor of sorts, using his money to purchase medicine and groceries and going door to door tending to the sick. Not only was this a lucrative venture for Apollonius but Palladius states that when Apollonius died, “he left his wares to one just like himself, and he encouraged him to carry on with this service. For there were five thousand monks living on the mountain, and there was a need for this visiting, since the place was a desert” (HL, 13.2, Butler, ed., p. 37, Meyer tr., p. 49). We could understand this final line in one of two ways, either as a comment on the harshness of desert life or as a comment upon the lack of adequate medical attention in an area so secluded. In either case, sickness could not be understood as a rare occurrence for desert ascetics, but rather as a part of the life these Christians had chosen.

48 derived from natural causes, we can see the ways in which sickness produced uncertainty, both in the way the ascetic understood the cause of his sickness and also in the appropriate response to his sickness. Visitors to the desert (or readers) would need to be aware of how to perceive and respond to the condition in which they found a sick ascetic. Palladius provides narratives of sick ascetics as a means to prevent confusion among those who read his text and also to draw his readers past their initial confrontation with the sick body and towards an understanding of the cause of that sickness. While these narratives are rare in the History, that fact should not obscure the importance they play in Palladius’ narrative. It was sickness, after all, to which Palladius attributed his need to leave the desert. The narratives about sick ascetics take on greater weight when read in concert with Palladius’ stories illustrating how bodily failure came about as a result of pride and led to an ascetic slipping into libertinism. The two most notable stories of ascetic illness found in the History display significant parallels in the manner in which Palladius structured each narrative and the manner in which he introduced each ascetic. The two chapters in question are Chapter 12 on Benjamin and Chapter 24 on Stephen.

Benjamin, a monk of eighty years living in Nitria who had “attained the height of ascetic perfection [ἂκρον ἀσκήσας]”18 and who had, a bit ironically, been “deemed worthy of the gift of healing,”19 contracted hydropsy [ὑδρωπίασε],20 which caused his body to swell so large that after

18 HL, 12.1, Butler, ed., p. 35, Meyer, tr., p. 47.

19 HL, 12.1, Butler, ed., p. 35, Meyer, tr., pp. 47-48.

20 HL, 12.1, Butler, ed., p. 35, Meyer, tr., p. 48. It should be noted that this is the same affliction [ὓδρωπα] that Palladius states that he suffered from prior to his need to depart the desert (HL, 35.12, Butler, ed., p. 105, Meyer, tr., p. 102). As will be illustrated below, Benjamin’s sickness appears to have been derived naturally rather than because of a particular failure, in contrast to Stephen. While any conclusions about a comparison between Palladius and Benjamin could only be speculative, since it would require that we presume Palladius is not being entirely truthful about his illness, it should not be lost on us that Palladius aligns his illness with the illness of a noble ascetic.

49 his death the door jambs had to be removed to facilitate carrying his body out of the house.

Palladius states, “I felt that I must tell about this sickness [πάθος] so that we might not be too surprised when some accident befalls just men.”21 In the chapter on Stephen, Palladius tells us that Stephen, an ascetic who had “attained the highest degree of asceticism [ἂκρον γενόμενος

ἀσκητὴς]” and had been “accounted worthy of discernment of grace”22 while residing for sixty years on the coast, developed a cancer that required that his body undergo an operation to cut away his genitals. In similar fashion to the chapter on Benjamin, Palladius closes by stating:

“Now I have told this so that we may not be puzzled when we see holy people falling prey to sickness [πάθεσιν].”23 There is remarkable similarity between how Palladius has framed these two narratives: from his description of the ascetic virtue of each man to his closing statement on why he includes the chapter in his work, the frame of each chapter is nearly identical.

Despite these similarities, these two chapters offer subtle differences in the manner in which each ascetic assesses the nature of his own predicament, which might help explain why

Palladius chose to include two narratives of such close similarity.24 In the chapter on Benjamin,

Palladius tells us that Dioscorus, the priest of Mount Nitria, had come to him and Evagrius, telling them, “Come here, see a new Job who possesses boundless gratitude [ἂμετρον κεκτημένον

21 HL, 12.3, Butler, ed., p. 36, Meyer, tr., p. 48.

22 HL, 24.1, Butler, ed., p. 77, Meyer, tr., p. 83.

23 HL, 24.3, Butler, ed., p. 78, Meyer, tr., p. 84.

24 Cf. Crislip, Thorns in the Flesh, pp. 15-19. Crislip sees less of a difference between the narratives of Benjamin and Stephen than I will argue for here. Nonetheless, we are both in agreement in regard to the disjunctive effect these narratives have within ascetic collections.

50 εὐχαριστίαν] while in a state of great bodily swelling and incurable sickness [πάθει ἀνιάτῳ].”25

Upon witnessing Benjamin’s condition, both Palladius and Evagrius were forced to avert their eyes, disgusted at the sight of his grotesque body. This prompted Benjamin to remark, “Pray, my children, that the inner man [ὁ ἒσωθέν μου ἂνθρωπος] may not contract hydropsy [ὑδρωπιάσῃ]; for this body did not help me when it was well, nor has it caused me harm when faring badly.”26

Here we have a case of an ascetic whose body suffers greatly, but it is an entirely exterior suffering. His mind has not suffered, nor has his gift of healing since Palladius tells us that

Benjamin continued to heal others even during his sickness. While Benjamin’s body had decayed, his discipline remained untouched and there was no evidence that his body’s decay had any relation to the nature or quality of his spirituality. The response of Evagrius and Palladius to the sight of Benjamin’s body reveals the discord inherent in ascetic sickness. Even though

Dioscorus had compared Benjamin to Job, a comparison that should have provided a means for

Palladius and Evagrius to understand Benjamin’s condition,27 the two men still only saw the swollen outer man rather than the untouched inner man.

In the case of Stephen we find a decidedly different situation. While his genitals were being cut away, Stephen remarked to those looking on, “My children, do not be hurt by this. Of all the things God does, not one is done out of evil intent, but all are for a good purpose. It may well be that my members deserve punishment and it would be better to pay the penalty here than

25 HL, 12.2, Butler, ed., p. 35, Meyer, tr., p. 48.

26 HL, 12.2, Butler, ed., p. 36, Meyer, tr., p. 48.

27 The significance of this comparison, as well as the distinction between Benjamin and Stephen, is made clearer within Paphnutius’ discussion of God’s abandonment of ascetics in HL, 47, to be discussed in greater detail below.

51 after I have left the arena.”28 Stephen seems to imply that his illness has come about as a form of punishment. His narrative also lacks the comparison with Job. Stephen’s illness was not simply the case of a decaying body, but rather, Stephen’s actions had led God to inflict this ailment on his genitals in order to necessitate their removal and, thus, to remove the source of his sin.

In these narratives, the body serves as a teaching tool for the on-looking monks, though in a way that is very different from, for instance, Antony’s resplendent emergence from his desert fort.29 Antony’s ascetic discipline brought his body under control, subjugated it to his will, and through that subjugation he made his body impervious to the effects of aging and illness. His pristine body was revealing of his great ascetic discipline. Palladius has an entirely different agenda. The bulbous body of Benjamin and the mutilated body of Stephen are more captivating than revelatory. Through his diegesis Palladius provides his readers a direct experience30 of the two ascetic men and the extreme vividness of his accounts (“[Benjamin’s] body [was] so greatly swollen that another person’s fingers could not reach around one of his”31;

“While [Stephen’s] members were being cut away like locks of hair….”32) placed his readers in a

28 HL, 24.3, Butler, ed., p. 78, Meyer, tr., p. 84. Macarius of Alexandria provided Palladius with an anecdote related to a similar affliction. Upon discovering that Macarius refused to cure a priest who suffered from some sort of cancer of the head, Macarius explains his reason to Palladius, stating: “He is not worthy to be cured. This was sent to him as a good lesson. If you want him cured, persuade him to refrain from saying the Mass; for he was both indulging his lust and exercising the priestly function, and for this he is receiving this lesson, and God is healing him” (HL, 18.19-20, Butler, ed., p. 54, Meyer, tr., pp. 63-64).

29 Vita Antonii, 14 (PG 26:864-865).

30 In the case of Benjamin it was Palladius himself who was present to see Benjamin; with Stephen it was “those around Saints Ammonius and Evagrius” (HL, 24.2, Butler, ed., pp. 77-78, Meyer, tr., p. 83) who provided the eye- witness details.

31 HL, 12.2, Butler, ed., p. 35, Meyer, tr., p. 48.

32 HL, 24.2, Butler, ed., pp. 78, Meyer, tr., p. 84.

52 position to contemplate the distinction between the interior and exterior states of each man. That contemplation enabled his readers to perceive the bodily conditions under which each man suffered. While Stephen’s excessive sin required that his flesh be cut away, thus removing the tangible source of such sin, Benjamin’s generosity and healing brought on an excess of flesh that swelled him so greatly that he could no longer leave his home.33 Benjamin’s flesh seems barely capable of containing the grace that pours forth from him, while Stephen’s grace remains buried somewhere inside, only to be revealed through the shearing away of his limbs.

Palladius hammers home his juxtaposition of these two sick ascetics by following the chapter on Stephen with four chapters that each chronicles a failed ascetic. In these narratives

Palladius clearly illustrates the manner in which these ascetics had led lives deprived of their bodily needs, yet it was precisely this deprivation that led to their pride and failure. In the cases of Valens and Ptolemy, the result of their bodily deprivation was clear: an estrangement from the teaching and company of other holy men and from Communion.34 The tales of Heron and the

Virgin are similar: the severe austerity of their lives drove them beyond measure and into excess, moving them from the heights of ascetic practice and into the depths of sinful libertinism. These failed ascetics, despite the purity suggested by their physical labors, had each become subject to delusions, which, because of their excessive pride, they were unable to recognize. If his readers had passed over the narrative of Stephen, thinking that it presented a similar anecdote to that of

Benjamin, then these cautionary tales of pride and arrogance would force them to pause over the

33 Virginia Burrus, “Carnal Excess: Flesh at the Limits of Imagination,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 17 (2009): 264-65.

34 For Valens: HL, 25.5. For Ptolemy: HL, 27.2.

53 condition of Stephen’s body and to reconsider his apparent ascetic worth. The narrative of

Stephen seems almost as if it was designed to be a close-up examination of part of the narrative of Heron, whose genitals also had become infected and rotted away as a means to restore his virtue.35 Even though Stephen was accepting of his condition, he also realized that it came about due to a failure on his part. The illness, and associated surgery, was the cure for his desire.

Cases of sickness and failure, each in their own way, represented a challenge to the standard trope of ascetic perfection found in the desert. Palladius desired for his readers to be aware of such potential encounters. Moreover, he desired for his readers to begin to appreciate the underlying conditions that brought about these sufferings in order for them to appreciate the distinctions between exterior and interior dispositions. As Palladius noted regarding Valens,

“Often, indeed, even a virtue, whenever it is not perfected with the right intention [σκοπῷ ὀρθῷ], may be responsible for a fall.”36 It is around this notion of the right intention that Palladius shaped the narratives of his History. While in the narratives of Stephen, Valens, et al. Palladius chose to withhold the true source of their fall, he nonetheless illustrated that failed monks did not fail because of some lack in their askesis. Rather, these ascetics failed because their intention was not constituted properly.

In a separate chapter, which might present the opposite side of this situation, namely when proper intention was demonstrated regardless of a particular chosen action, Palladius presented the narrative of the brothers Paesius and Isaias (HL, 14). Following their father’s death, Paesius and Isaias agreed that they should take up a monastic life and divide their

35 HL, 26.4.

36 HL, 25.6, Butler, ed., p. 80, Meyer, tr., p. 86.

54 inherited property as is appropriate in order to please God. Yet, each brother chose to follow a different path to achieve this end. One “shared everything among the monasteries, churches, and prisons; he learned a trade so that he might provide bread for himself and he spent his time at ascetic practices and prayer.”37 The other “built a monastery for himself and took in a few brethren. Then he took in every stranger, every invalid, every old man, and every poor one as well, setting up three or four tables every Saturday and Sunday.”38 After both brothers had died, there was disagreement amongst the monks over which had been perfect. The monks consulted

Pambo to learn which brother had led the better way of life, but Pambo replied that they were equal. Unsatisfied, the monks persisted with their protest so Pambo told them to wait for a revelation from God. After receiving this revelation, he informed the monks that both brothers were in paradise in the presence of God.39 Each brother had chosen a different form of practice, and yet each found the same place in heaven. Their final results were the same because each brother possessed the correct intention, even if their manner of carrying out that intention followed a different course of action.

Palladius possessed such a keen desire to understand ascetic failure and had such an acute sense of the ascetic struggle because of the difficulties he had encountered during his own time in the desert. Sickness had forced Palladius to leave the desert and he hoped that his readers would avoid a too facile understanding of his need to depart. While Palladius more closely aligns his body’s failure with that of Benjamin, his confidence that their conditions are equally

37 HL, 14.3, Butler, ed., p. 38, Meyer, tr., p. 50.

38 HL, 14.3, Butler, ed., p. 38, Meyer, tr., p. 50.

39 HL, 14.6.

55 revelatory of the correct interior disposition is betrayed by the uncertainty Palladius displays regarding his ordination. As he wrote the History he had the opportunity to analyze the lives he had the fortune to witness during his Holy Land pilgrimage. He could reach beyond any established ascetic ideology in order to present his readers a palpable sense of the real struggle an ascetic must undertake in the desert. Just as the one-sided physical asceticism of Dorotheus had failed to still his passions, so too did the simple appearance of a sick ascetic fail to reveal a flaw in that ascetic’s way of life. Nuance was needed. Palladius’ own sickness raised its own questions about what role retreat to the desert played within his ‘solitary life.’ Was this really the only way to combat the temptations life in society aroused within the mind? But more pressingly, did retreat to the desert really provide the ascetic with insulation from these temptations?

Deconstructing his Desert Failure

Palladius’ time in the desert was marred by his inability to cope with the physical demands of desert life. From the initial bout of sickness that forced him to cut short his stay with

Dorotheus to his final departure at the behest of a doctor, Palladius never seemed fully capable of adapting to a lifestyle in the harsh environs of the desert. During one of these periods of uncertainty, he left Evagrius and company in order to visit John of Lycopolis. For some reason,

Palladius refrained from revealing his intentions to his desert companions and after an eighteen day journey, during which he again fell ill, he arrived at John’s cell.40

40 HL, 35.3.

56 Upon seeing Palladius, John immediately recognized him as a member of Evagrius’ company. Palladius referred to himself simply as a stranger from Galatia before revealing that

John was correct and that he did, indeed, belong to the Evagrian group. Almost immediately after their conversation had begun, the governor of the area, Alypius, interrupted them in order to speak with John. Palladius felt belittled by John seemingly ignoring him and, after waiting awhile for the conversation between John and Alypius to end, he decided to leave. When he saw

Palladius’ indignant departure, John sent an interpreter to reprimand Palladius for his petulance and to explain the need John had for speaking to Alypius rather than to Palladius. The admonishment John gave Palladius was intended to build up Palladius’ confidence in his own ascetic endeavor, an ironic twist given the nature of Palladius’ visit. John’s statements to

Palladius continued in this vein: he offered encouragement for Palladius’ practice and, consistent with the motif of John’s prophetic capability,41 it was unnecessary for Palladius even to tell John the reason for his presence, John already knew why he had come and sensed Palladius’ despair.

As we read John’s words to Palladius we begin to understand the reasons behind Palladius’ secret departure from Evagrius. Fears had crept into Palladius’ mind about remaining in the desert. He was concerned for his family: he desired to see his father and to instruct his brother and sister on the solitary life [τὸν μονήρη βίον].42

41 In the opening to his chapter on John, Palladius recounts John’s predictions made to Emperor Theodosius regarding Maximus and Eugenius, predictions the validity of which served to make John famous for his prophetic accuracy. See HL 35.2, as well as the fuller account in the Historia Monachorum in Aegypto (henceforward HM), 1.1-3, ed. A. J. Festugière, Subsidia Hagiographica 53 (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1971). ET Norman Russell, The Lives of the Desert Fathers: The ‘Historia Monachorum in Aegypto’ (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1981). Unless otherwise stated all translations are those of Russell.

42 HL, 35.8, Butler, ed., p. 103, Meyer, tr., p. 101.

57 John explained to Palladius that these fears were excuses and that even the good intentions behind them were nothing more than seeds planted by the demon seeking to take advantage of Palladius’ weakness. John tried to reassure Palladius, telling him that his father was well, with many years ahead of him, and that his brother and sister had both been converted

[ἀπετάξαντο].43 After he heard this, Palladius felt relief. He began to realize that in order to deal with the hardships he encountered in the desert he had begun to rationalize his insecurities and manufacture a need to depart. John wanted Palladius to see that rather than trying to uncover his weaknesses, Palladius had covered them up, cloaking them in different, seemingly innocent, concerns: the well-being of the family he had left behind in Galatia and his desire to teach others of the solitary life.44 John’s warning to Palladius was to remind him that these desires threatened to return him to his human endeavors and would take him away from his contemplation of God.

However, in a similar vein as his encounter with Dorotheus, we should question whether

Palladius truly took to heart John’s assurances. As we shall explore in greater depth below, this was not the only occurrence in which Palladius’ desire to teach had raised questions for him surrounding the utility of the desert life.

The warnings John gave to Palladius come into sharper focus, and gain significant weight, as we read further into the narrative. As their conversation continued, John inquired if

43 HL, 35.9, Butler, ed., pp. 103-104, Meyer, tr., p. 101. Ἀμφότεροι ἐσωθησαν. ἀπετάξαντο γάρ. In similar fashion, see Apop. Pat., Cassian 8 on an ascetic’s response to his father’s death.

44 Palladius’ desire to teach will take on greater importance as we move through our analysis and will figure most prominently in Chapters 5 of this work. In regard to John’s statements to Palladius here, perhaps we should not take them as an admonishment against teaching itself but rather as an admonishment against leaving the desert in order to teach. John wants Palladius to know that he can accomplish such actions while remaining free from the distractions of urban life or the distractions of ordination. Macarius of Alexandria remarked to Palladius in similar fashion (HL, 18.29), which will be discussed in greater depth below.

58 Palladius wished to become a bishop. After Palladius uses a play-on-words to describe himself already serving as a bishop – the overseer of the kitchens – John again cautioned Palladius, though this time in the form of a prophecy: “As bishop you would have to be ordained and labor much and suffer many tribulations. If indeed you would flee the tribulations, you would not leave the desert. No one has the power to ordain you bishop here in the desert.”45 Sometime after this conversation, Palladius returned to his companions in Nitria and ultimately forgot

John’s words. Once again he developed a sickness [ὓδρωπα]46 that forced him to seek treatment.

This time, however, his doctors advised him to leave the desert. Palladius then traveled to

Bithynia where he was ordained.47

John of Lycopolis’ prophecy refers to the exile Palladius faced because of his support of

Chrysostom and Palladius shows more than a twinge of regret at the forgetfulness that led him out of the desert and into ordination. As he wrote the History, Palladius appears unsure of what to make of his ordination, stating that it came about “because of human eagerness or because of the good will of Him who is more powerful [εἲτε ἐξ ἀνθρωπίνης σπουδῆς, εἲτε ἐξ εὐδοκίας τοῦ

κρείττονος].”48 Palladius’ inference here draws us forward in his text to a discussion he had with

Paphnutius Kephalas regarding the reasons good monks fail in the desert life. In that chapter we find that an overzealous monk may fall into misfortune because he has been abandoned by God’s

45 HL, 35.8, Butler, ed., p. 104, Meyer, tr., p. 101. ἐπίσκοπος ἒχεις χειροτονηθῆναι καὶ πολλὰ καμεῖν καὶ θλιβῆναι. εἰ τοίνυν φεύγεις τὰς θλίψεις, μὴ ἐξέλθης τῆς ἐρήμου. ἐν γὰρ τῇ ἐρήμῳ ἐπίσκοπόν σε οὐδεὶς ἒχει χειροτονῆσαι.

46 HL, 35.12, Butler, ed., p. 105, Meyer, tr., p. 102.

47 HL, 35.11-12.

48 HL, 35.12, Butler, ed., p. 105, Meyer, tr., p. 102.

59 providence [ἐγκαταλειφθέντα ὑπὸ τῆς προνοίας τοῦ θεοῦ].49 However, and this is where the crux lies for Palladius, it could also be the case that God chose to abandon the ascetic so as to make some hidden virtue known, as was the case of Job.50 Essentially, in the chapter on John of

Lycopolis, we find Palladius wondering to his readers whether his exile came about through his own pride or whether it was actually a trial set to him by God. He does not know the answer, and his uncertainty is telling.51 As Palladius concludes his chapter on John of Lycopolis he provides one final anecdote, meant as an obvious parallel to the narrative he has told about his meeting with John.

At some point, John had been visited by Poimenia, “the servant of God,” and during the course of her visit John warned her against venturing to Alexandria while traveling from the

Thebaid.52 He told her that in Alexandria she would surely fall into temptation. Like Palladius,

49 HL, 47.17, Butler, ed., p. 142, Meyer, tr., p. 130.

50 HL, 47.14.

51 In the Dialogue Palladius makes a similar statement when discussing Chrysostom’s desert life and how he was brought out of it and ordained, which is certainly revealing of the tensions within the History itself: “[John] never relaxed for that two-year period, not in the days nor at night, and his gastric organs became lifeless and the proper functions of the kidneys were impaired by the cold. Since he could no longer take care of himself alone, he went back once more to the haven of the Church. And this is proof of the Savior’s providence that he was taken away from the ascetic life by his sickness brought on by such strict habits, forcing him to leave his caves for the benefit of the Church” (Dial. 5.25-33, Malingrey ed., p. 110, Meyer, tr., p. 35 (emphasis mine)). While we will discuss this passage in greater depth in Chapter Five, it is worth noting a couple of points here. In the passage from the Dialogue there is no wavering and nor should we expect there to be any wavering given the genre of the work. In similar fashion, it would be unfitting of Palladius to make a similar statement regarding himself within the context of the History. He certainly could not decree that his own ordination had come about because of God’s providence! With that said, Palladius’ remark in the History is still puzzling since it is somewhat unnecessary. Palladius chose to reveal the suffering and tribulations John foretold and their connection with his exile. While he clearly saw the progress in Chrysostom’s life to have come through the benefit of Providence even if it ultimately exiled and killed John, he lacked that clarity in regard to his own life. Virginia Burrus has commented similarly upon this chapter and I hope my analysis will extend the beginning she makes in understanding how Palladius viewed the relationship between his ordination and his life in the desert. See Burrus, Saving Shame, pp. 94-95.

52 HL, 35.14, Butler, ed., p. 106, Meyer, tr., p. 103.

60 Poimenia forgot John’s advice and stopped in Alexandria where, upon going ashore, her servants were involved in a fight with some local men. The fight resulted in the death of one of the servants and the wounding of many others. Once the fighting had ended the locals then turned their attention to Poimenia herself and “insulted and threatened [λοιδορίαις καὶ ἀπειλαῖς]” her.53

Palladius abruptly ends the narrative there, allowing Poimenia’s humiliation to serve as his final words on John.54

Within the complex narrative on John of Lycopolis, we sense an underlying message that remained with Palladius: John’s warning operated under the presumption that the ascetic life and contemplation of God was only feasible when withdrawn from society and living isolated in the desert.55 The point is significant not only for Palladius but also his audience. Lausus and his superiors sought a means towards the holy life, but it is doubtful they would take to heart a message suggesting such a life was only achievable in the desert. Yet, the difficulties for

Palladius are no less significant. The desires that brought him to John in the first place (the desire to see his family, the desire to teach about the solitary life, and the desire to serve as a bishop) all suggested that there is a fullness to the Christian life that cannot be found in the

53 HL, 35.15, Butler, ed., p. 106, Meyer, tr., p. 103.

54 Cf. Burrus, Saving Shame, p. 95.

55 See John’s specific statements in this regard in the Historia Monachorum where he states: “For an ascetic [ἀσκητὴς] is good if he is constantly training [γυμναζόμενος] himself in the world, if he shows brotherly love and practices hospitality and charity, if he gives alms and is generous to visitors, if he helps the sick and does not give offence to anyone. He is good, he is exceedingly good, for he is a man who puts the commandments into practice and does them. But he is occupied with earthly things. Better and greater than he is the contemplative [ὁ θεωρητικὸς], who has risen from active works to the spiritual sphere [ὁ ἀπὸ τῶν πρακτικῶν ἐπὶ τὴν νόησιν ἀναδραμὼν] and has left it to others to be anxious [φροντίζειν] about earthly things” (HM, 1.62-63, Festugière, ed., pp. 33-34, Russell, tr., p. 62). This passage will be discussed in greater detail in Chapter 5.

61 desert. In that regard, the desert lacked some essential factor in its ability to affect the salvation of others.

The need to feel effective was not a trivial matter to Palladius. When he visited Macarius of Alexandria because he was “bored with weariness [ἀκηδιάσας],” Palladius asked Macarius,

“What shall I do, Father, since my thoughts prompt me to leave, seeing I have made no progress here?”.56 By itself, what Palladius intended by ‘progress’ could have many meanings.

Macarius’ reply, however, provides clarity. He stated: “Tell them on Christ’s behalf, I am holding up the walls here.”57 Palladius intended ‘progress’ to relate to the salvation and well- being of others and not simply his own salvation and Macarius’ answer was to reassure Palladius that the ascetic life had an impact that stretched beyond its direct contact with other Christians.

Ascetics, in effect, serve as a protecting force that insulates the larger society from the demonic, even while they are secluded and out of contact with that society.58 Palladius’ weariness suggests that he does not fully comprehend these facets of the ascetic life, and the renewal of that weariness in the chapter on John of Lycopolis suggests that Palladius either never quite achieved that understanding or that he sought a more balanced Christian life seeking out the transformative capabilities of the ascetic life while maintaining a more active engagement with and ministry to others. According to John, that first step, the transformative capabilities of the ascetic life, which in turn facilitated the ability of the ascetic Christian to assist others on the path

56 The sentence is somewhat awkward in Greek and Meyer’s translation renders the general sense of this question into intelligible English. Literally, Palladius writes that his thoughts distress him and suggest he should leave by saying to him “you do nothing.” ὃτι θλίβουσί με οἱ λογισμοὶ λέγοντες ὃτι Οὐδὲν ποιεῖς, ἂπελθε ἒνθεν.

57 HL, 18.29, Butler, ed., p. 58, Meyer, tr., p. 67.

58 Kallistos Ware, “The Way of the Ascetics: Negative or Affirmative?”, in Asceticism, pp. 6-7.

62 to salvation, was still only possible through withdrawal into the desert. It was this problem that remained with Palladius. In what way could Palladius’ readers take the ascetic ideal to heart while maintaining their life in society?

To fully appreciate the scope of John’s discourse with Palladius, and comprehend

Palladius’ wrestling with this ethics of the ascetic life, we must turn to the Historia

Monachorum. John’s remarks there are reflective of those he makes to Palladius in the History, but they also provide us with a much more nuanced defense of withdrawal that goes beyond where Palladius began his History with the disdain for the brutal physicality of Dorotheus’

‘killing the body’.

John states:

Be sure that no passion disturbs you, or honour and glory and human praise, or the simulation of priestly virtue and self-love, or the thought that you are righteous, or boasting about righteousness, or the memory of any of your relatives when you pray, or the recollection of some happy experience or of any other emotion, or even the remembrance of the world itself as a whole. Otherwise the entire undertaking becomes pointless when, in conversing with the Lord, one is seduced by opposing thoughts. Everyone who has not renounced the world fully and completely but chases after its distractions suffers from this spiritual instability [πάσχει δὲ τὸν ὂλισθον τοῦτον τῆς διανοίας ἓκαστος μὴ παντελῶς τὸν κόσμον ἀπαρνησάμενος]. His preoccupations, being bodily and earthly, distract his mind through the many enterprises in which he is engaged. And then, absorbed in his struggle against the passions, he cannot see God.59

Withdrawal to the desert sought to confront the emotional and psychological stresses that life within society made most prevalent, especially those which stemmed from temptations that

59 HM, 1.25-26, Festugière, ed., pp. 17-18, Russell, tr., pp. 55-56. Rufinus omitted John’s discourse found in HM 1.22-28 from his translation of the Historia Monachorum and inserted an extended sermon on monastic vices and how they can be avoided so as to continue to follow God. See PL 21.395-398. My focus here is on John’s discussion of memory and distracting thought as these were of particular relevance to Palladius so Rufinus’ alterations will not concern us here.

63 caused the mind to wander from its focus on God. Desert isolation facilitated the ascetic’s ability to resist sinful thoughts through a focus on spiritual perfection aimed at cultivating a mind and body that were at one with God. By removing distractions, desert withdrawal isolated the ascetic with his thoughts and freed him for contemplation of God. This was an effort at developing a self-consciousness that sought the truth of God’s presence within the human person through an analysis of the nature of human thoughts. It was an examination of the ascetic’s interior life.60

Continuing the passage above, John goes on to state: “it is necessary that one should always approach God in a moderate and devout manner, making spiritual progress according to one’s capacity and within the bounds permitted to men. The will, then, of those who seek God must be free from all other concerns.”61 From Palladius’ criticisms of pride and boasting as it related to human endeavor to his own struggles over concerns for his family, there is a clear link between the ascetic life prescribed by John and Palladius’ encounter with John in his History.

The crucial point is how Palladius would understand exactly the implications of John’s statement: “παντελῶς τὸν κόσμον ἀπαρνησάμενος.” Did that renunciation require the desert?

The relationship between distracting thought and spiritual progress has a long history within meditative and contemplative traditions. The divine, as creator and sustainer of created reality, controlled access to proper perception. Distractions led the ascetic astray because they were linked only to what was human and mutable. The ascetic’s memory of a pleasing life in

60 For a brief development of these ideas see Michel Foucault, “About the Beginning of the Hermeneutics of the Self,” in Religion and Culture: Michel Foucault, pp. 169-81.

61 HM, 1.27, Festugière, ed., p. 18, Russell, tr., p. 56.

64 society, of loving family members, and especially of alluring women, all served as potential sources of danger gnawing at the contemplative mind and drawing it away from God. This sort of external focus was a constant side-track that attended only to earthly concerns and brought with it the memories of an easier life.62 It was a life that benefited the body, rather than the spirit. By withdrawing to the farther reaches of the desert ascetics attempted to hinder these destructive memories by removing their source and turning the mind inward in search of God within the person.

John provides various anecdotes of monks who succumbed to temptation, monks who, like those in Palladius’ narrative, appeared to be living a noble life. One such anecdote goes as follows. An anonymous monk living in the desert and “of the strongest ascetic discipline,” through his virtue and way of life, became too reliant upon his accomplishments. The devil sent an image of a beautiful woman to him disguised as one who was lost and in need of shelter.

During what began as innocent conversation, the monk began to pursue the woman in illicit ways turning the conversation towards more playful and pleasing subjects. “He then consented inwardly,” made a move for her, and the illusion was revealed as she vanished in a peal of laughter, leaving him alone and humiliated. The monk spent the next day deep in thought and while lamenting his actions from the previous night he decided to give up the ascetic life and left the desert.63

62 See the tale John tells of another anonymous monk who fights with exactly these sorts of distracting thoughts, though he is eventually saved by his strong ascetic habits and the fortuitous finding of a monastery in the far desert. HM, 1.45-58.

63 HM, 1.32-36, Festugière, ed., pp. 20-22, Russell, tr., pp. 56-57.

65 This anonymous monk’s reliance upon his own accomplishments had soured his judgment. By giving in to temptation, he was afterwards forced to acknowledge that his virtue had not progressed as far as he thought it had. He then lost his resolve and gave up the life he had spent considerable time cultivating. This monk failed to see correctly when the woman came to him, seeing only the illusion and not the reality, which then led to his second failure when he gave up the ascetic life because of this setback. John interprets this second failure in an interesting manner, suggesting that encounters like the one between the monk and the woman inflamed an “indelible memory [ἀνεξάλειπτον μνήμην]”64 in the monk’s mind that led him into despair. While this anonymous monk had lived in the desert at the time the encounter took place, John uses the example to warn his listeners about dwelling too close to inhabited places.

Memories of the ascetic’s previous life already exerted a powerful force upon him, which was magnified and made almost impossible to overcome if the monk remained too near the society he had left behind. The encounter with the woman was not by itself the cause of the monk’s downfall. The encounter stirred up thoughts the monk assumed had been eliminated, experiences he now desired to feel once again, and the longing for those experiences plunged him into despair over his desert life. He then was drawn back to society in order to fulfill the yearnings of these repressed passions. As far as John was concerned, resisting the influence of these memories was only possible when living far away from the impulses that could serve as reminders of those same memories.

The interplay between memories and desert seclusion also was of particular relevance when Palladius secretly departed to see John. This journey, however, was not the only time

64 HM, 1.36, Festugière, ed., p. 22, Russell, tr., p. 57.

66 doubts about the desert life had arisen within Palladius, nor was it the only time he had secretly left his companions because of such doubts. During a time in which concupiscence and inflamed passions were seriously troubling him, Palladius left his teacher Evagrius to travel further into the desert to Scete.65 As when he sought out John, he left without the knowledge of his companions and traveled to a space of increased isolation relative to his normal habitation.

Unlike the time he visited John, this time he did not leave in order to seek out a particular ascetic, but rather he sought refuge from the thoughts that were tormenting him. He would find this refuge impossible to reach.

During these travels in the Great Desert, while he was at Scete, Palladius came across

Pachon, a monk of about sixty years. Palladius unburdened himself to Pachon, disclosing the thoughts [λογισμοὺς] and dreams [τὰς φαντασίας τὰς νυκτερινάς] that tormented him and had caused him to leave his companions. Pachon attempted to calm him, “Do not be puzzled at this.

You are not suffering because you are easygoing [ῥᾳθυμίας] – the place that you are in is of itself witness that you lack necessities and there is no chance of meeting with women – but because of your zealousness [σπουδῆς].”66 Pachon then elaborated on his answer by relating accounts of his own struggles with temptation and passionate thoughts. During these struggles, Pachon tells

Palladius, the demon’s attacks were so relentless that Pachon came to a resolution:

I suspected that God had abandoned [ἀπέστη] me, and I felt so oppressed that I made up my mind to die in an irrational way rather than give in to bodily passion.

65 HL, 23.1.

66 HL, 23.2, Butler, ed., p. 75, Meyer, tr., p. 81.

67 I went out then, and while going about the desert, I came across a hyena’s cave. Here I placed myself naked one day in hopes that the wild beasts would devour me.67

His plan was unsuccessful. The hyenas came out to him as he had expected, but they merely licked him and went away, leaving him lying in the desert all night. After this first suicide attempt, Pachon returned to his cell but his torments continued over the next two years. Once again he decided to leave, this time retreating into the Great Desert. While there, he picked up an asp and ground its head into his flesh in another attempt to end his life. As with the hyenas,

Pachon’s attempt to harm himself was unsuccessful. The snake simply refused to bite him. He then heard a voice in his thoughts [ἐν τῇ διανοίᾳ]:

Depart, Pachon! Keep up the good fight! It was for this reason that I let you be depressed, so that you might not become haughty [μέγα φρονήσῃς] as a strong person, but rather might know your own weakness, and that you might not trust too much in your own way of life, but rather come running to God for help.68

Pachon then returned to his cell where he remained at peace and free from demonic torment for the rest of his life.

Unlike his chapter on John, we get no commentary from Palladius on how Pachon’s words affected him, leaving us to put the pieces together on our own. Palladius was struggling with passionate thought even though he lived without many necessities and free of women. He was eager to achieve the cessation of his passions, but he had found no cure. In this sense, the desert life appears to have failed to provide what we may think it is to provide. As John of

Lycopolis warned in the Historia Monachorum, memories from societal living are indelibly

67 HL, 23.3, Butler, ed., p. 76, Meyer, tr., p. 82.

68 HL, 23.6, Butler, ed., p. 77, Meyer, tr., p. 83.

68 imprinted in the mind and always pose a risk to the wavering ascetic. However, contrary to

John’s advice that the cure is societal withdrawal, Palladius remains plagued by the images these memories brought upon him; even attempts to move further into the desert failed to still his torment. Pachon sees in Palladius a reflection of his younger self: the man eager for the cessation of his passions. He revealed his suffering to Palladius and, as his account demonstrates, that the issue was his own misunderstanding of God’s role in his askesis. Pachon had presumed that his discipline should have rid him of all passion and, thus, his torments seemed almost as taunts; taunts that he was unable to bear. Once made aware of the source of these torments, Pachon no longer worried.

In this regard, Pachon’s first words in response to Palladius’ torments are instructive.

Pachon suggested that Palladius suffers from σπουδῆς. He had an intense desire for the cessation of his passions, but lacked an understanding of the source from which this cessation would be derived. Such was the paradox of desert living: bringing about the remission of passion brought with it a greater danger, the build-up of pride. Palladius lacked this understanding and Pachon’s tale was intended to caution him against self-reliance. Yet, Palladius reveals in his account of

John of Lycopolis that this eagerness remained an issue for him. Palladius is concerned that it may have even led him to pursue life as a bishop: “whether because of human eagerness

[σπουδῆς] or because of the good will of Him who is most powerful, I do not know; God would know – I was thought worthy of ordination since I had taken part in the state of affairs connected with the blessed John.”69 The chapters on Pachon and John both hinge upon a similar

69 HL, 35.12, Butler, ed., p. 105, Meyer, tr., p. 102. To be clear, Palladius refers here to the trial of John Chrysostom, not his time with John of Lycopolis.

69 uncertainty in Palladius’ life. In each case, Palladius had ventured farther into the desert to seek the remission of what tormented him and in each case part of the problem appears to lie in his eagerness to achieve particular results. Both men provided him with a caution that Palladius seemed unable to grasp fully.

The themes of these chapters are brought together in the narrative of Moses the

Ethiopian.70 Palladius appears to develop his narrative of Moses from second-hand accounts and much of the biographical information we have on Moses relies upon the account found in the

History.71 While the Apophthegmata Patrum contains numerous sayings attributed to Moses, there is little narrative overlap between those sayings and the narrative presented by Palladius.

The principle exception is Moses 1, which presents a conversation between Moses and Father

Isidore (presumably the same priest of Scete mentioned by Palladius in his account of Moses) regarding Moses’ inability to resist his temptations. The way Isidore resolves this dilemma,72 however, differs entirely from anything we find in Palladius’ account, leaving the mere fact of

Moses’ troubling temptations as the only point of connection. Palladius’ narrative, thus, appears to be an original construction. Moses the Ethiopian provided Palladius with a stunning example because Moses led such an ignoble life prior to his conversion. Because he was constantly

70 All of the narratives of Moses the Ethiopian, including that of Palladius’ History, are available together in “Ethiopian Moses (Collected Sources),” trans. Kathleen Wicker, in Ascetic Behavior in Greco-Roman Antiquity: a Sourcebook, ed. Vincent Wimbush, pp. 329-48. Unless otherwise stated, translations of Palladius’ narrative of Moses still will be those of Meyer, though meaningful divergences between Meyer and Wicker will be noted.

71 Sozomen, following Palladius, provides similar biographical information. On the relationship between the accounts of Palladius and Sozomen, see Butler 1.51-58 and Wicker p. 330n4.

72 Isidore presents Moses with something akin to a holy battlefield: he asks Moses to look west, where a host of demons await, and then to look east, toward a host of angels. Isidore then says, “Behold, these angels are sent to the holy ones by the Lord for support. Those in the west war with them. Certainly those with us are more numerous.” Moses, then edified, departs (Apoph. Patr., Moses 1, Wicker, tr., p. 339).

70 threatened to be pulled back into iniquity by memories of his pre-ascetic life, Moses represents the potential capability of even the most debased person for turning his life around.

Paradoxically, he also fails in his persistent attempts to overcome his torment. Palladius uses the narrative of Moses to provide a concrete example of how an ascetic could escape this demonic trap, but the crux is that Moses’ cure does not come through any action he performs on his own.73

Moses was a slave dismissed from his position after his master suspected him of theft and possibly murder. As the head of a gang of robbers, he desired to kill a particular shepherd.

While Moses sought the place where the shepherd’s sheep were kept, the shepherd escaped.

Upon finding that the shepherd had escaped, Moses slaughtered four rams, ate the best of the meat, and sold the skins to procure some wine, which he then drank. It was a night of indulgence. Following these events he rather mysteriously converted. Palladius states simply,

“Late in the day he was brought to his senses by some circumstance and he betook himself to a monastery.”74 The lack of any specific action makes it difficult to judge the reason for Moses’ conversion, especially when trying to understand Moses’ own role in bringing about this sudden change. Palladius then provides an even more confusing detail: “After his conversion he

73 In contrast to past readings of Palladius’ chapter on Moses as an example of the “transformative power of the ascetic regime” (David Brakke, “Ethiopian Demons: Male Sexuality, the Black-Skinned Other, and the Monastic Self,” Journal of the History of Sexuality 10 (2001): 530). Brakke here follows the opinion of Vincent Wimbush in his article “Ascetic Behavior and Color-ful Language: Stories about Ethiopian Moses,” Semeia 58 (1992): 86-87. Sozomen does provide just such an image of Moses, marveling at his great ascetic ability, and while Sozomen has followed Palladius, he does so in a manner that minimizes the tormenting effect Moses’ memories have upon him. If we are to understand the regimen as the course of action the ascetic takes to transform the self, then, while Moses is certainly transformed, that transformation does not come through his regimen. Palladius’ narrative of Moses is significant precisely because all of Moses’ attempts to still his mind fail to bring about the cessation of the memories of his previous life. His physically austere regimen is to no effect.

74 HL, 19.3, Butler, ed., p. 59, Meyer, tr., p. 68. Sozomen follows Palladius, recounting the conversion with equal mystery (Sozom. Hist. eccles, 6.29).

71 behaved in such fashion that he brought even his companion in evil, the demon [δαίμονα] who had been with him from his youth, to open recognition of Christ.”75 Butler is at a loss to explain what Palladius intends by this daimon. Meyer suggests it is likely a metaphorical expression to indicate the evil intentions Moses harbored up until his conversion.76 Based upon the rest of the narrative we surmise that the turning of this daimon comes about through the stilling of Moses’ dreams. Might we then take Meyer’s idea a step further and understand that Palladius intends this daimon as something akin to the “indelible memory” John of Lycopolis felt persistently drew the ascetic back to society?

The key to understanding Moses’ conversion is in Palladius’ explication of how Moses gained power over demons, and thus brought his inner daimon to recognize Christ. Like many ascetics, Moses was attacked by demons trying to tempt him back into a life of impurity. In response to these attacks, Moses intensified his ascetic practice, taking on a diet of nothing but dry bread and reciting fifty prayers daily. Still, his torments remained. Discouraged by his apparent failure, he went to one of the saints [ἀγιος] and asked, “What shall I do, since dreams of my mind blind my reason [σκοτίζουσί μου τὸν λογισμὸν τὰ ἐνύπνια τῆς ψυχῆς] because of my customary illicit pleasures?” The saint responded to Moses, “You have not withdrawn your mind [νοῦν] from these images [φαντασιῶν] and for that reason you are undergoing this.”77

Moses attempted to follow the saint’s advice by spending each night in his cell standing in prayer with his eyes open, but still his haunting memories remained. He could not find a way to subdue

75 HL, 19.3, Butler, ed., p. 59, Meyer, tr., p. 68.

76 Butler, p. 198n34; Meyer, p. 184n183.

77 HL, 19.7, Butler, ed., pp. 60-61, Meyer, tr., p. 69.

72 the barrage of memories of the life he led prior to his conversion. Some aspect of his practice seemed to be failing him and no matter how much he tried to change his actions, or the severity of his practice, these memories continued to torment him.

We should sense a bit of overlap here between Moses’ suffering and the dual narratives of suffering experienced by Pachon and Palladius. When Palladius described his torment to

Pachon, he told him that during the day his thoughts [λογισμοὺς] troubled him, during the night, his dreams [φαντασίας]. That his problems were related to memories of his previous life, as they were for Moses, would not be surprising given the discussion that takes place between John of

Lycopolis and Palladius. We then see the relatedness of these chapters, even if the chapter on

Moses does not immediately concern aspects of Palladius’ life.

A reprieve for Moses only comes in the form of Isidore, priest of Scete. Isidore implored

Moses to give up his constant efforts to combat his demons [ἡ φαντασία τῶν δαιμόνων]. When

Moses refused, Isidore took matters into his own hands, saying to Moses, “In the name of Jesus

Christ, your dreams [ἐνύπνια] have vanished. Now receive Communion confidently. You were subjected to this for your own good, so that you might not boast of overcoming passion.”78 After this, Moses never suffered again.

It becomes clear the farther we read into Moses’ narrative that his problems, even after his conversion, revolved around his memory of his previous life. Thus, the turning of the daimon is not simply the changing of his evil intentions upon converting, but it relates to Moses’ ability to overcome his memories, which not only had inclined him towards evil but also had

78 HL, 19.10, Butler, ed., p. 62, Meyer, tr., p. 70.

73 held him captive and threatened to return him to that life even after conversion. On the surface, it seemed that Moses was directing his efforts at the wrong source in his tireless quest to remove the memories that bothered him. He prayed constantly and restrained his bodily desires, but no matter what he did, his mind remained uncontrollable. And yet, the final resolution to his problem calls into question the very nature of any action performed on his part to produce the effect he desired. The problem for Moses may not have been the particular actions he undertook as a means to still the memories of his life as a robber, but rather his attempt to control these types of thoughts in the first place. Moses’ reprieve could only come through his submission to

Isidore’s command.

Palladius precedes his chapter on Moses with a long chapter detailing his visits to

Macarius of Alexandria. In that chapter, numerous brief anecdotes are used to build a picture of

Macarius as one of the ascetic greats from whom Palladius had the fortune to learn. In one of these anecdotes, Palladius discussed the problems confronting ascetics who attempted to take full control over their thoughts, as Moses had attempted. After telling of a series of successful ascetic endeavors undertaken by Macarius – these ranged from controlling food intake and sleep, the ability to resist the poisonous bite of an asp, and the curing of those afflicted by demons –

Palladius tells of Macarius’ attempt to fix his mind only upon God for five days. For two days and two nights Macarius kept his mind focused only on heavenly things, irritating the demon

[δαίμονα] to the point that it burned up everything in Macarius’ cell. Macarius even thought he was on fire! “Finally,” Macarius stated, “overwhelmed by fear, I left on the third day, unable to keep my mind free from distraction. I came down to view the world lest I be thought arrogant

74 [τῦφος].”79 Palladius moves onto the next anecdote about Macarius without commenting upon this one, but it is quite clear just how difficult the control of thoughts was for the ascetic.

Macarius had traveled days in the desert without food or water;80 while living in the monastery of Tabennisi, Pachomius had to ask him to leave simply because Macarius’ bodily control had so surpassed the other monks that the other monks became restless, referring to him as “bodiless

[ἂσαρκον].”81 Restraining the body clearly presented Macarius with little difficulty, yet the restraint of his thoughts could only be maintained for two days. Macarius’ statement about why he ended his attempt is instructive as well: “lest I be thought arrogant.” As he attempted to maintain his focus on only the divine, he perceived that in this venture he was attempting to over-step what was proper to humanity. Macarius was potentially stepping into an area only God could control and to do so would be an act carried out only out of his own pride.

Whether they were ultimately successful, like Moses and Pachon, or failures, like the quartet of monks about whom Palladius narrates or the anonymous monk described by John of

Lycopolis, the emphasis in each of these narratives is on the inability of the ascetic to understand the role human effort played within spiritual development. In this sense, we might even see much of the discourse on the body as being itself a distraction. In his prologue, Palladius had cautioned Lausus against precisely this sort of misunderstanding: “For,” Palladius states, “many of the brethren prided themselves on their labors and almsgiving and boasted of their celibacy or their virginity; they had every confidence in attention to divine prophecies and to acts of zeal,

79 HL, 18.18, Butler, ed., pp. 53-54, Meyer, tr., p. 63.

80 HL, 18.8.

81 HL, 18.15, Butler, ed., p. 53, Meyer, tr., p. 62.

75 and still they never attained a state of quietude [ἀπαθείας].”82 Ascetics could work tirelessly to combat certain temptations all the while failing to recognize that these very struggles had been placed before them by God. There was a lesson to be learned from the act of understanding the physical limitations of the human body and learning to live within those limitations rather than strive to overcome them.

The various threads of Palladius’ History that we have discussed here are brought together within the long chapter on Paphnutius Kephalas (HL, 47). The chapter on Paphnutius is the most theologically sophisticated chapter of the History and it is here that Palladius will finally deal with the primary question around which his numerous narratives have revolved: why do ascetics fail?

Abandonment by God and the Will of the Ascetic

Paphnutius delivered the discourse Palladius includes in his History in response to a specific question brought to him by Palladius, Albanius, and Evagrius. These men came to

Paphnutius after witnessing the fall of numerous ascetics83 and they questioned how it was that

82 HL, prol. 8, Butler, ed., pp. 11-12, Meyer, tr., p. 25.

83 Palladius lists a couple of ascetics, one named Chaeremon while the others remain anonymous, who each died as a result of sickness or some accident. He then goes on to list a group of fallen ascetics. That list was comprised of Stephen, Eucarpius, Heron of Alexandria, Valens of Palestine, and Ptolemy the Egyptian (HL, 47.4). Valens, Heron, and Ptolemy each have a chapter devoted to them in the History (Chs. 25-27 respectively). While we might first think that Stephen refers to the Stephen discussed in Ch. 24, who underwent surgery as a punishment for sin, this is not the case. The chapter on the Stephen that Palladius mentions here in regard to Paphnutius and the missing chapter on Eucarpius are known to us only through Syrian fragments, for which see Four Desert Fathers, tr. Vivian, pp. 168-172; for commentary on these chapters see Bunge, Quatre ermites égyptiens, pp. 53-55, 68-69; for the Syriac text see R. Draguet, Les formes syriaques de la matière de l’Histoire lausiaque, CSCO Scriptores Syri 173, pp. 236-41. This is all to say that Palladius’ inclusion of these particular fallen monks within his History was

76 someone who desired to live the proper life [τῷ καθήκοντι βίῳ] could fail in his or her endeavor.

For our concerns here it is important to recognize that their concerns were not simply about monks who turned to libertinism. They were also concerned with monks who became frustrated

[σφαλλομένων] and gave up this way of life. What they hoped to gain was an understanding of the conditions that brought about ascetic crisis and how ascetics could prevent those conditions from arising. The three men posed to Paphnutius the following question: why is it “that men living in the desert sometimes are deceived in their minds or are wrecked by lust [ἐν τῇ ἐρημίᾳ

τοὺς μὲν ἀπατηθῆναι τὴν φρένα τοὺς δὲ περιρραγῆναι ἀκολασίᾳ]?”84 Paphnutius began his answer with a general statement on the nature of phenomena: “Everything that comes about is one of two things, that which God approves or that which He permits. Everything that happens which is in accordance with virtue and the glory of God happens by His will. Now, on the other hand, things harmful and dangerous, accidents and falls, these occur with God’s consent.”85 As he continues his answer he gradually breaks down these two types of occurrences as a means of explaining their relationship to the temptations that afflict ascetic men and women. When he reaches his explanation for why ascetics fall he explains:

For when a person is swollen with pride and magnifies the charm of his own speeches, and attributes his charm or the abundance of his knowledge not to God but to his own ascetic practices or his own knowledge, then God removes the angel of providence (τὸν ἂγγελον τῆς προνοίας) from him. When the angel is removed,

certainly no accident. Rather it was the product of conscious reflection on his part so as to tie the discourse of Paphnutius to his earlier eye-witness accounts.

84 HL, 47.4, Butler, ed., pp. 137-38, Meyer, tr., p. 126.

85 HL, 47.5, Butler, ed., p. 138, Meyer, tr., p. 126.

77 then he is distressed by the Adversary and brags of his own natural ability, and thus falls into impurity through his overweening pride (περιπίπτει τῇ ἀκολασίᾳ διὰ τῆς ὑπερηφανίας).86

A fall, we then can see, came about through neglect on the part of the ascetic. He neglected to recognize the role God played in the development of all phenomena and because of that neglect he attributed success to his own actions and efforts, rather than attributing those outcomes to

God. That incorrect attribution, in large part, came about because of pride and in response God removed His protection and left the ascetic subject to his own devices. We can think back here to the daimon of Moses the Ethiopian. Paphnutius will go on to further strengthen the important role God plays in safe-guarding the ascetic from temptation when he states, “it is impossible for anyone to fall into sin unless he has been abandoned by God’s providence [ἐγκαταλειφθέντα ὑπὸ

τῆς προνοίας τοῦ θεοῦ].”87

Perhaps the most curious aspect of Paphnutius’ address above is his mention of the ‘angel of providence.’ Angels make frequent appearances in the History. They minister to ascetics through dreams and visions;88 at times they provided ascetics with food.89 The role of the ‘Angel of Providence’, however, seems much more significant. In Cassian’s Conferences we find a passage that parallels Paphnutius’ speech from the History. There, Paphnutius states, “We should believe that good things are accomplished by the will of God and by his help, while unfavorable things are accomplished by his permission, when on account of our wickedness and

86 HL, 47.9, Butler, ed., p. 139, Meyer, tr., p. 127.

87 HL, 47.17, Butler, ed., p. 142, Meyer, tr., p. 130.

88 HL, 25.5; 29.3-5; 32.1-7; 39.4-7.

89 HL, 71.3, Butler, ed., pp. 167-68, where Palladius himself receives food from an angel.

78 hardness of heart the divine protection abandons us and allows the devil or the shameful passions of the body to master us.”90 While Cassian’s text does not mention this particular angel it still communicates a similar sense of the resulting effect upon the ascetic whom God has abandoned.

Once God has removed His protection, the ascetic is left at the mercy of impulse and with little ability to resist these temptations.

Coming to grips with the role of this angel takes us to a lesser-known ascetic work: the

Life of Onnophrius.91 The Life of Onnophrius is attributed to Abba Paphnutius92 who resided in

Scetis,93 the same location as that given for Paphnutius Bubalis by Cassian.94 This text tells the story of Paphnutius’ first sojourn into the desert and his meeting with Onnophrius, an ascetic from a monastic community on the mountain of Shmoun in the Thebaid.95 Onnophrius tells

90 Cassian, Conf., 3.20.1. Jean Cassien, Conferences, introduction, traduction, et notes par Eugène Pichery, Sources Chrétiennes, 42 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 2008). ET by Boniface Ramsey, John Cassian: Conferences, Ancient Christian Writers 57 (Mahwah, NJ: Newman Press, 1997), p. 137. Butler deduced that Paphnutius Bubalis, whom Cassian is quoting, was the same as Paphnutius Kephalas from chapter 47 of the History. Furthermore, he deduced that Cassian borrows this speech from Palladius. See Butler, pp. 224-25. Cf. Columba Stewart, Cassian the Monk, p. 148n81.

91 All references to this work come from Histories of the Monks of Upper Egypt and the Life of Onnophrius, tr. Tim Vivian, Cistercian Studies 140 (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1993).

92 Life of Onnophrius, 1.

93 Life of Onnophrius, 37.

94 Cassian, Conf., 3.1.1. Palladius himself provides us with very little to deduce the location in which Paphnutius Kephalas resided. In the History, Paphnutius is said to have lived within a large community of ascetics founded by Chronius, at a distance of 15,000 steps from Chronius’ village, Phoinice (HL, 47.1-3). The location of Phoinice, unfortunately, is unknown. It should, however, be noted that in Ch. 46 Palladius mentions a ‘Paphnutius of Scete’ as one of the men Melania the Elder had the fortune to meet. While there is a certain degree of speculation surrounding the likelihood that Palladius, Cassian, and the Life of Onnophrius all concern the same Paphnutius, I think it is reasonable to conclude that they are the same man.

95 Life of Onnophrius, 11.

79 Paphnutius that he lives in the desert “on account of [his] sins.”96 Most relevant for the present discussion are two passages on the guardian angel provided for the ascetic. Onnophrius tells

Paphnutius that upon leaving his community he saw a light leading him. Initially afraid, he thought he should turn back, but then he heard a voice. “Do not be afraid,” it said. “I am the angel who has dwelled with you and walked with you since you were a child. You will carry through to its completion this stewardship which the Lord has appointed for you.”97 Again, we have a text that should immediately draw our attention back to Moses the Ethiopian’s daimon.

What is perhaps most interesting about the passage from Onnophrius is his seeming lack of awareness of this angel’s presence in his life prior to his movement into the desert. Whether

Onnophrius had previously failed to recognize this angelic guide or whether the angel had not revealed itself to Onnophrius prior to his coming to the desert is not entirely clear.98 In a passage later in the text, Paphnutius himself has an experience of an angel through an ecstatic vision. “A man, wholly of light” guided Paphnutius and the monks with him to another ascetic who was to serve as their teacher in the ways of God.99 These passages are somewhat vague relative to the more detailed descriptions found in Palladius’ text. Nonetheless, in them we can glean a role for

96 Life of Onnophrius, 10.

97 Life of Onnophrius, 13.

98 We might be helped in this regard by a saying about Abba Apphy. After leaving the desert and becoming a bishop, Apphy questioned the role God now played in his life. Apphy felt he had lost some of God’s grace. God responded with the following: “No, but when you were in solitude and there was no one else it was God who was your helper. Now that you are in the world, it is man” (Apop. Pat., Apphy 1 (PG 65.133)). This passage will be discussed in greater detail in Chapter 5, but in the present discussion we might use this to clarify the relationship of the angel and Onnophrius prior to Onnophrius coming to the desert. While living amongst his community, it was his community that guided him. Alone in the desert, with no one else to serve as guide or witness to his temptations, the angel’s continual presence finally was revealed.

99 Life of Onnophrius, 31.

80 the angel as a guide and protector who facilitates the ascetic’s movements along a path towards

God, especially under circumstances such as the desert life where the ascetic might spend the majority of his life alone, unseen by anyone else.

In his text, Palladius takes up this same sense of the guardian angel, but he approaches the topic from an opposing angle. Rather than look upon the angel as protector, Palladius provides his readers with Paphnutius’ explanation for what happens when the angel is removed.

Palladius’ analysis thus falls on the human side of the angel-human relationship, focusing not on the angel, but on what happens to those who, upon having the angel removed, are simply left to their own devices and who lack insulation from the demonic. With the resolution to Moses the

Ethiopian’s suffering Palladius takes his argument a step further. It was Isidore, not an angel, who was responsible for relieving Moses’ suffering and ultimately turning Moses’ daimon to

Christ. In Palladius’ narrative on Moses the Ethiopian, we have then, at least the makings of, an ideal of the protector guide as a member of the clergy rather than as an angel.

Before concluding, there is one other form of abandonment presented by Paphnutius. In addition to the monks whose pride resulted in their inevitable fall into licentious behavior, we have also seen cases like that of Pachon when God chose to test ascetics by leaving them susceptible to demonic incursions.100 The purpose was typically as a means to insulate the ascetic from pride, rather than as a punishment for the ascetic’s pride. Following the conclusion of Paphnutius’ discourse on the loss of the angel of providence, Palladius relates a second

100 Palladius’ choice of words to describe Pachon’s sense of abandonment (ἀπέστη), compared with the description given by Paphnutius (ἐγκαταλείπω), is reflective of Pachon’s misunderstanding. Ἀπέστω is more literally a feeling of absence and shows that Pachon feels God is not with him, and it lacks the active sense of God’s abandonment that Paphnutius’ use of ἐγκαταλείπω possesses. Pachon’s efforts to end his life come through his own misunderstanding: he thinks his torments reflect negatively on his practice. It is not until after the voice reminds him why he is tormented that Pachon truly understands the function of his askesis.

81 discourse delivered by Paphnutius,101 which sought to explain how an ascetic could undergo misfortune as a precursor for a display of righteousness. The significance of this second form of abandonment lies in its relationship to Palladius’ own failure to survive in the desert, and, taken together, these two forms of abandonment provide Palladius with a means for understanding the ramifications of his desert life, whether he failed and why.

In Paphnutius’ second discourse, he refers to two notable biblical exemplars of God’s abandonment: Job and Paul. Here though, the reason for their abandonment is different, as

Paphnutius explains: “Now this is why these people are abandoned [τῶν ἐγκαταλείψεων]; so that the virtue which was hidden might be made known.”102 Paphnutius uses ἐγκαταλείπω to describe the situation here, just as he did to describe the loss of God’s providence discussed above. He continues: “It is to overthrow pride [ὑπερηφανίας], as in the case of Paul…. That is to say, so that the repose and prosperity and honor which were heaped upon him because of these miracles might not drive him to conceit like the devil’s and puff him up with pride [τῦφον].”103

As an interesting contrast, rather than have the angel of providence removed as happened to those who were ‘puffed-up’ by pride, Paul claims to have had an angel of Satan cast upon him.104

101 Paphnutius’ first discourse encompasses HL, 47.5-12 while the second discourse encompasses HL, 47.12-17. Palladius provides a natural demarcation between the two with the simple statement: “And these same men told us this also…” (HL, 47.13).

102 HL, 47.14, Butler, ed., p. 141, Meyer, tr., p. 129.

103 HL, 47.15, Butler, ed., p. 141, Meyer, tr., pp. 129-30.

104 The reasons behind this shift from the angel of providence to the angel of Satan might relate to the model of Job Paphnutius had referred to previously. The thorn in Paul’s flesh thus relates to the suffering of Job, which came about through God’s grant of permission to Satan to perform these acts. Cf. Susan Garrett, “Paul’s Thorn and Cultural Models of Affliction,” in The Social World of the First Christians, eds. White and Yarbrough, 87-91 (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1995).

82 Regardless, the purpose of each type of abandonment was the same – the avoidance of pride – which would likely account for Paphnutius classifying each as a form of ‘abandonment’ by God.

According to Paphnutius, the abandoned one, whether abandoned because of pride or as protection from pride, was capable of regaining God’s protective guidance.105 Palladius, however, seems less confident that those whose abandonment had come about through their own pride would have any hope of turning back towards God. Of the failed ascetics he presented, none turned back of their own accord. They were either brought back by others, notably the case of Abramius, or their turn came through the removal of the offending parts of the body – such as castration, as evidenced by both Stephen106 and Heron.107 Even in the latter two cases we would not consider those to be conscious decisions by either to change their arrogant manner.108

While both Job and Paul serve as important figures of abandonment within the larger framework of the History, it was Paul’s abandonment that took on significant weight for

Palladius. Palladius was pressed by the desire to understand the meaning of his inability to live a

105 HL, 47.11.

106 HL, 24.3.

107 HL, 26.4.

108 The tale of Elias provides another interesting example of castration. Elias was a monk whose concern for virgin women led him to build a monastery and gather together all of the dispersed women, providing them with everything life in the monastery required. The women quarreled constantly, forcing Elias to remain amongst them at all times. Being young and new to a monastic life, Elias was wracked with lust living amongst these women and was forced to flee the monastery. While sleeping in the desert three angels came to him in a dream asking why he had left. He explained his passion to the angels and his concern for his own, as well as the women’s, well-being. The angels offered to remove his passion if he would only return to the monastery to keep watch over the women. Elias swore he would and the angels figuratively cut off his passion, castrating him in his dream. After he awoke, he returned to the monastery and lived there another forty years, never again suffering from the lust that forced his initial withdrawal (HL, 29, Butler, ed., pp. 84-85). In this instance, Elias chooses this course of action (castration) even though the actual act of being castrated occurs in a dream and is performed by an angel. Again, because it occurs in a dream, there is a disconnect between the ascetic’s conscious choosing of this action and the very real results that are borne of the action.

83 desert life. This desire pushed him to one of the crucial points illustrated in his Prologue, which provides an interesting clue that is significant for the way in which Palladius not only flushed out the role his text would play for Lausus, but also the role his text would play for himself.

“For if Paul,” Palladius explains,

so much my superior in way of life and in knowledge, in conscience and faith, made a journey from Tarsus to Judea to meet with Peter, James, and John – if he boasted of this, putting it on a pedestal, as it were, saying: I went to Jerusalem to see Peter, it was in order to relate his own trials as an incentive to those who lived in self-satisfaction and idleness. He was not satisfied merely to hear of Peter’s virtue, but he longed for a meeting with him. How much more is it so that I should not be owed ten thousand talents for doing the same, not so much to do them a good turn as to help myself! For even those who wrote down the lives of the Fathers, Abraham and those in succession, Moses, Elias, and John, wrote not to glorify them, but to help their readers.109

Here Palladius provides a vivid description of the importance the eye-witness nature of his diegesis will play for his readers. We saw in the previous chapter how Paul’s journey had provided Palladius a template upon which to position his own text so as to best provide his readers with an authentic representation of life in the desert. Now I would like to turn our attention to Palladius’ use of Paul as his particular exemplar. As a model of abandonment and success, Paul provided a foundation for Palladius as Palladius sought to understand what exactly had occurred when a monk, who by all accounts appeared noble, failed to live a life in the desert.

Paphnutius had referred to 2 Cor 12.7 in his discourse to Palladius concerning Paul’s abandonment: “There was given me a sting to my flesh, an angel of Satan to buffet me, lest I be

109 HL, prol. 6, Butler, p. 11, Meyer, tr., p. 25. Cf. Frank, Memory of the Eyes, pp. 62-64.

84 exalted.”110 The model of Paul merged the two other models of abandonment: that of the arrogant ascetic and that of Job. Paul’s abandonment served to reveal the virtue that was hidden within him and through his perseverance he was able to communicate an ideal of constant resistance to the demonic forces that might try to tempt us away from Christ. But his abandonment was also meant to safeguard him from pride. He had been elevated above others – to the third heaven – and as such was at great risk of misconstruing his position as an exaltation.

The thorn in his flesh was to maintain his humility.

For Palladius, Paphnutius’ reference to Paul held personal significance. It helped him to begin to understand his own fall and in the final chapter of the History Palladius drew his reader’s mind back to Paul: “I shall be finished with my history after I have said a few words about the brother who has been with me from youth until this very day.”111 This was a stylistic allusion to Paul’s statement, “I know a person in Christ who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven.”112 Palladius’ readers should immediately recall Paphnutius’ use of the 2

Corinthians passage in his discussion of abandonment and should add that to the comparison

Palladius made in his Prologue between himself and Paul, specifically the way in which he related his desert journey to Paul’s trip to Jerusalem to see Peter.

Palladius saw in his own “abandonment” the reflection of Paul’s journey and the afflictions he suffered along the way. They reflected the hardships that Palladius endured due to his inflamed passions, the sickness that forced him to leave the desert, the exile forced upon him

110 HL, 47.15, Butler, ed., p. 141, Meyer, tr., pp. 129-30.

111 HL, 71.1, Butler, ed., p. 167, Meyer, tr., p. 153.

112 2 Cor. 12.2 (NRSV). Palladius continues the allusion later in the chapter when he states, “For such an one I will glory” (HL, 71.4), which alludes to 2 Cor 12.5 “On behalf of such a one I will boast…” (NRSV).

85 because of his support of John Chrysostom, and finally Lausus’ request for this text. Were these events all part of a divine plan to overthrow his pride and demonstrate God’s providence, just as

Paphnutius proclaimed God had abandoned Paul? As a ‘model of affliction’113 Paul provided

Palladius a means to understand hardships undergone for the advancement and betterment of the

Christian Church. As we will see in the next chapter through comparison with the Life of

Antony, Palladius’ development of an ascetic image that emphasized a depiction of hardship and charity depended on an image of Christ’s suffering, death on the cross, and subsequent exaltation in the resurrection, rather than the powerful image of Christ’s triumph over death, which served as the dominant model guiding Athanasius’ construction in the Life. It is through Paul that

Palladius was able to articulate this shift in Christ imagery. As Lausus read Palladius’ text, he could then understand that the hardships and afflictions that ascetics endured were not a sign of error, but a sign of their imitation of Christ’s suffering. These were signs of future exaltation.

This was the model Palladius hoped to articulate so that Lausus could “follow these men gladly, and take their lives and labors and great perseverance as a fitting proof of the resurrection.”114

Conclusion

In the decade between the writing of the Dialogue and the writing of the History,

Palladius found himself reinstated to the bishopric and then the recipient of a conciliatory request from authorities whose previous leadership had exiled him. Whether Palladius had hoped for

113 The term comes from Garrett, “Paul’s Thorn and Cultural Models of Affliction.”

114 HL, 71.5, Butler, ed., p. 169, Meyer, tr., p. 154.

86 such reconciliation as he wrote the Dialogue, we cannot know. The Dialogue is a rhetorical text meant to advocate for John and his companions,115 and its tone is one of accusation and admonishment designed as an attempt to defend the past rather than attempt to progress forward.

The History possesses little of this backward glance. While Palladius recited his journey he was thinking about the future of Christian asceticism and his place within it. He was now in a position to understand better his own past and the role of the ascetic within the Christian Empire.

By aligning his pilgrimage with Paul’s journey to spread the Gospel, Palladius re-imagined his desert failure and the abandonment that sent him into exile. He sought to spread the ideals of these small, isolated, desert communities of Egypt into the larger expansive environs of

Constantinople.116 Just as Paul had spread the Gospel amongst the various Mediterranean communities to which he traveled, so too would Palladius find a larger audience for his ascetic vocation. Only then would he be able to comprehend his time in the desert and understand its results as something other than a failure.

115 See Katos, Palladius of Helenopolis, pp. 33-97.

116 There also may have been practical reasons lying behind Palladius’ desire to spread the ascetic life of Egypt to the larger environs of Constantinople. The barbarian raids upon Scetis of 407 CE scattered many of the famous monks Palladius had been familiar with and threatened the feasibility of continuing to live in the desert. During his travels following his exile Palladius likely would have been witness to these developments and this may have spurred him to record and insure the passing on of a tradition that risked being lost. Cf. Katos, Palladius of Helenopolis, p. 26. On the preservation of ascetic memory following these raids see William Harmless, “Remembering Poemen Remembering: The Desert Fathers and the Spirituality of Memory.” Church History 69 (2000): 512-18.

Chapter 3

Differences in Transmission

Though Palladius had failed to maintain his desert life, his failure did not suggest to him that the solitary life he had hoped Isidore would teach him was itself a failure. As discussed in the previous chapter, the Lausiac History reflects Palladius’ apprehension about desert withdrawal as a means of carrying out the ascetic life. His apprehensions arose from his own personal struggle to live in the desert as well as his witness to the failures of other ascetic men and women. These experiences demonstrated to him a need for a new model that embraced a larger profile for ascetic Christians without restricting them to environs that emphasized separation, seclusion, and the dependence of the ascetic on his own abilities. Palladius hoped his text would present an image of the ascetic life that would guide Lausus’ pursuit of holiness while surrounded by an urban populace.

Our task now expands its scope: we must contextualize Palladius’ History through attention to an ascetic tradition of living and writing about the desert life that had developed up to and during the time of his sojourn. Ascetic literature is full of accounts designed to provide its audience with the experiences of previous generations of ascetic men and women with the hope of developing a tradition of living out a life in service to God. Palladius’ History is a critique of that life that seeks to provide ascetic men and women a means for understanding the ascetic life they strive to undertake. That Palladius’ audience lived outside the desert provided him a unique opportunity to construct that ascetic ideal. The present chapter, along with the next, will be concerned with articulating the relationship between the literary transmission of the ascetic 87 88 tradition on desert withdrawal and the ways in which Palladius sought to modify that tradition based on his experience struggling to live in the desert. Our objective is to understand the environment Palladius encountered and then mesh that understanding with Palladius’ narrative so as to formulate a better assessment of Palladius’ ascetic criticism.

For this analysis, we will look at two hagiographies: this chapter shall consider the Life of

Antony1 while the following chapter will consider the Life of Syncletica.2 These two texts stand in purposeful relation with one another. Structurally, the Life of Syncletica is modeled off the

Life of Antony. Both works open with an introductory biographical section, which lays out the manner in which the protagonist established his or her ascetic regimen. This section is then followed by a long discourse delivered to the surrounding community and each work closes with an additional biographical section recounting the ascetic’s death. Given these structural similarities it was natural for early commentators to assume that both texts had been written by

Athanasius. We know now, however, that this is not the case, which has yielded the standard appellation of Pseudo-Athanasius as the author of the Life of Syncletica. Ironic given the ascriptions of Athanasius as the author, the Life of Syncletica is actually critical of the ascetic life as presented in the Life of Antony, and it is that critical stance which will be of principle concern to us in our analysis of these two texts. Alongside these two hagiographies, and especially in

1 Athanasius, Life of Antony, Greek edition, Patrologia Graeca, ed. J. P. Migne, vol. 26, cols 836–978. ET by Robert C. Gregg, The Life of Antony and the Letter to Marcellinus, Classics of Western Spirituality (New York, NY: Paulist Press, 1980). All translations are those of Gregg unless otherwise indicated.

2 For analysis and background see Mary Schaffer, The Life of the Blessed & Holy Syncletica: Part Two: A Study of the Life; Lucien Regnault, “Introduction,” in Vie de Sainte Synclétique et Discours de salut d’une vierge, pp. iii-xvii. For brevity, the Life of Antony will generally be referred to as simply ‘the Life’ hereafter, while the Life of Syncletica will be referred to by its full title.

89 relation to the Life of Antony, we also will look briefly at the reception of the Life of Antony as recounted by Augustine in his Confessions.

Antony looms as such a large figure, and the Life is a text of such significant influence within the ascetic literary tradition, that we must account for how the desert life was represented to those who read the Life, Palladius included. Athanasius’ biography of Antony sought to provide other Christians with a model towards which they could aspire when undertaking a life of spiritual perfection.3 The text was less specific in regard to confronting the particularities of the desert life, but it was also more complete in its total assessment of Antony’s move out of life in society, into desert withdrawal, through life in the desert, and ending in his death. This was a text intended more for the aspirant than the practitioner.4 We can appreciate this ideal of the aspiring Christian most fully through Augustine’s Confessions. There Augustine discusses the way in which specifically the Life, as a text, confronted both himself and Alypius and provoked an inner reflection which led to their conversion. By understanding the ways in which texts like the Life were appropriated we may gain a sense for how Palladius understood the desert life prior to his actual arrival in the desert. This, in turn, might provide us with insight not only into how

3 While it will not play a significant role in my arguments here, there has been debate over Athanasius’ authorship of the Life, though I find the arguments in favor of Athanasius to be convincing. For discussion of developments within the debate over Athanasius’ authorship, see: Timothy Barnes, “Angel of Light or Mystic Initiate? The Problem of the Life of Antony,” Journal of Theological Studies 37 (1986): 353-68; Andrew Louth, “St. Athanasius and the Greek Life of Antony,” Journal of Theological Studies 39 (1988): 504-09; David Brakke, Athanasius and the Politics of Asceticism, p. 15n31. For a summary of the debate, see William Harmless, Desert Christians: an Introduction to the Literature of Early Monasticism, pp. 111-13.

4 Athanasius’ own statements regarding the text’s purpose are instructive. In the text’s introduction, he states, “I know that even in hearing, along with marveling at the man, you will want also to emulate his purpose, for Antony’s way of life provides monks with a sufficient picture for ascetic practice” (Vita Antonii pref. (PG 26:837). On perceptions of Antony amongst other Christians during the time in which Athanasius was writing, see Brakke, Athanasius and the Politics of Asceticism, pp. 203-16. The best analysis of Antony’s own writings and their relationship to the Life can be found in Samuel Rubenson, The Letters of St. Antony: Monasticism and the Making of a Saint (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1995).

90 Palladius understood the utility of his own writings, but also insight into how he reimagined the desert life in light of his uneasiness regarding his actual time spent living there.

The Life of Syncletica, along with the associated sayings attributed to Amma Syncletica found in the Apophthegmata Patrum, will provide us with a counter to the ascetic ideal of the

Life. This critique self-consciously presents the Life as an ascetic path fraught with potential failure rather than success and displays a greater sense of acute reflection on ascetic experience than that found in the Life. The Life of Syncletica was a text designed to benefit those who had already set out on this life and is instructive in the manner in which it presents the best possible manner to succeed in that life. While, as we shall see, the Life can easily appeal to Christians more generally, even those outside the desert, the Life of Syncletica would probably not be as easily transferrable. Its ideal of giving priority to monastic obedience over the ascetic regimen fits most naturally within the coenobitic life, though it would also have applications for those living in desert communities removed from society.

A collective biography like Palladius’ History manages to straddle the line between the ascetic applicability of the Life of Syncletica and the general applicability of the Life of Antony.

The varieties of life depicted – urban, monastic, small ascetic communities, and solitaries – allows Christians of varying social positions and inclinations to find within Palladius’ narratives an applicability that best approaches their own ideals. In comparison with the writer(s) of the

Historia Monachorum, the immediate predecessor and contemporary of the Lausiac History,

Palladius took his text a step further. By using autobiographical details, rather than only narrating the lives of others, Palladius constructed a text both personal and expansive in its depictions and content, creating an environment where successes and failures went hand-in-hand.

91 The interiorized asceticism that was his focus came through best because he used his own thoughts and recollections rather than only piecing together second-hand accounts or biographical narratives about others. Thus, it was a text that could be read by those outside the desert – by people who sought to understand the motives and ideals of desert Christians (even if they did not wish to imitate them) – while remaining beneficial to those living in the desert.

The hardships Palladius underwent stemmed from the ascetic tradition within which he lived while in the desert; a tradition that emphasized removal of societal impulses as a means to spiritual perfection. But what happened when those means failed? Was this a failure of the ascetic himself and his manner of praxis? Or was this a failure of the basic ideal of withdrawal from society and control of the body? These will be the points of focus in these next two chapters. As he thought and wrote about his time in the desert, Palladius found his questions mirrored, and sometimes even answered, in the lives of those he had encountered in the desert.

Isolation magnified human ills and presented the ascetic with an acute understanding of his inner self, but this magnification of human error could ultimately lead the ascetic Christian away from

God. It was this other side of the desert life, a side of the desert seemingly ignored by literature like the Life of Antony, that Palladius revealed through his narratives of failure. What should become clear in the analysis below is the way in which Palladius’ critique of the desert life meshed with his narrative presentation so as to depict an image of the ascetic that differed significantly from the image of Antony found in the Life. Palladius’ desire to promote the lives of Egyptian ascetics to those living in urban centers like Constantinople, and to make those ascetic lifestyles practicable within the cities, relied upon a different means of literary transmission of the ascetic tradition. Rather than construct an ascetic model reflective of Christ’s

92 redemptive power and triumph over death, as seen in the Life, Palladius developed an image of

Christ reflective of His ministry and His suffering. For that image, Palladius drew upon the model of Paul’s abandonment, and as a result Palladius’ text could be utilized in a manner that was insulated from the persistent problems of pride, which Palladius had encountered amongst those living in the desert.

The Egyptian Desert

Walking to church as he usually did, Antony thought about the apostolic life: how the

Apostles had given away what they owned and went off to follow Christ. Around nineteen years old and with both of his parents recently deceased, Antony, an uneducated Christian of relative affluence, was then responsible for the care of his home and his sister. Immersed in these thoughts of the Apostles, Antony entered his church and heard part of that day’s Gospel reading:

“If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven.”5 The verse seemed specifically intended for his ears and Antony immediately [εὐθὐς] put these words into action. He either sold or gave away his possessions, entered his sister into a convent, and then he took on a life of discipline. Athanasius wrote with a specific purpose: Antony’s life was to be imitated; his reasons for withdrawal were pure and his level of discipline would take him beyond what was the norm at that time. As Athanasius states:

“There were not yet many monasteries in Egypt, and no monk knew at all the great desert, but each of those wishing to give attention to his life disciplined himself in isolation, not far from his

5 Vita Antonii 2 (PG 26:841), Life of Antony, tr. Gregg, p. 31. The biblical text he heard was Mt. 19.21.

93 own village.”6 Beginning with this fortuitous hearing of the Gospel, Antony would take his discipline farther into the desert than those who had preceded him, moving beyond the outskirts of his village and out into the great desert.

Antony’s withdrawal from society, as Athanasius has described it, seems almost over- simplified given the movements taking place within the larger Egyptian society of the time. The development of monasticism and its literature during the fourth century occurred at a time of significant change in Egypt, and in the empire more generally.7 The Egyptian people were experiencing a time of increased mobility that helped to mix urban and country settlements, thus increasing communication and facilitating the exposure of diverse populations to an equally diverse section of religious movements. This integration, however, also brought with it tension and difficulty. Roman societal reforms placed the Egyptian population under an economic strain that forced some individuals to abandon their properties in cities and towns as a means of avoiding tax burdens in particular. The flight of these individuals, however, was not necessarily out of society and into the desert, but rather they left their community and sought refuge on the lands of wealthier land-owners.8 Unfortunately, the effect of this flight was to increase the tax burdens of those remaining within the community, and as these burdens continued to build, more and more members of the community may have been forced to flee, creating a process that, once begun, could be very difficult to reverse. Of note for us, however, is the nature of this

6 Vita Antonii 3 (PG 26:844), Life of Antony, tr. Gregg, p. 32.

7 For a quick review of this material as it relates to Antony and asceticism, see Samuel Rubenson, The Letters of St. Antony, pp. 89-99. A more expansive treatment can be found in Roger Bagnall, Egypt in Late Antiquity (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993).

8 See, for instance, Arthur Boak and Herbert Youtie, “Flight and Oppression in Fourth-Century Egypt,” Studi in onore di Aristide Calderini e Roberto Paribeni 2 (1957): 325-37.

94 movement. These individuals were not necessarily fleeing into the desert but rather moving within the developed societies.9 Their withdrawal was, in this way, incomplete; they withdrew, giving up their land and possessions, but still remained within society, simply moving from one community to another.

It is within this milieu that Antony took up an ascetic life. The sketch of Antony that

Athanasius presents us is not of a man forced to withdraw out of need, nor would Antony remain simply on the fringes of his village, as others had done before him. Antony was not to become marginal, but rather he was to become isolated, walled off in a fortress only accessible by the demonic. His desire to take up this life stemmed not from economic hardship, but rather from a spiritual desire that he put into practice. Athanasius’ depiction of Antony as voluntarily choosing to give up all that he possessed is important as a means of setting Antony apart from other Christians that may have been forced into flight. Antony was not forced to leave his home

– he was called by Christ – and as a model fit for imitation, he would move to the farthest edges of what was humanly habitable in order to be a fitting representation of Christ’s power. In this sense, then, Antony’s withdrawal was complete: he totally stripped himself of his societal attachments so as to follow Jesus’ command to those who would be his disciples. That Antony would move his practice well beyond the outskirts of his village certainly came through this completeness: he was filled with Christ’s power and equipped to survive secluded from society.

By constructing a monk who took his discipline beyond the capabilities of other ascetics around his village, Athanasius took his Life beyond the desert and made it a text capable of

9 See Philip Rousseau, Pachomius: The Making of a Community in Fourth-Century Egypt, pp. 1-13; Rubenson, Letter of St. Antony, p. 93.

95 transforming its readers. As the narrative progresses, Antony becomes not simply a model ascetic, but a model Christian, displaying the capabilities possessed by those harnessing the fullness of Christ’s power. It is this same power that forced Augustine to look within himself and recognize God while Ponticianus told him about the Life.10 We will come to Augustine’s use of the Life shortly, but now we shall undertake a more detailed analysis of how Athanasius outlined Antony’s progressive movements farther into the desert.

The Beginning of the Ascetic Life in the Life of Antony

By choosing to live out the Gospel message in the manner in which he did, Antony was entrusting his fate to God in a manner reflective of the Israelites placing their faith in God as they fled Egypt and crossed the wilderness. He sought a disciplined life that would transform him and actualize his creation in God’s image.11 He sought to cultivate a new life of work by striving to act out the words of Scripture and direct his every action towards establishing a greater union with God. Antony’s first course of action after leaving behind his possessions was to seek out all those whose deeds and words could provide him with instruction. “And,” Athanasius writes,

“having been filled in this manner, he returned to his own place of discipline, from that time

10 Conf. 8.7.16. References to the Confessions come from Confessions, tr. Henry Chadwick, Oxford World Classics (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998). All references to the Latin text come from James J. O’Donnell, The Confessions of Augustine: An Electronic Edition (1999, Georgetown University), http://www.georgetown.edu/faculty/jod/augustine/.

11 Vita Antonii 20.

96 gathering the attributes of each to himself, and striving to manifest in himself what was best from all.”12

Once Antony had sold his possessions and walked away from his previous life, his efforts to live out the Gospel message began to transform. What started as an effort to seek out a disciplined life was gradually transformed into a persistent struggle to understand the nature of his own thoughts. Athanasius makes this clear in the early movements of his narrative. After

Antony traveled amongst the other monks taking on their attributes, the people in his village began to praise him and call him “God-loved” [θεοφιλῆ]. The devil, which “could not bear seeing such purpose in youth,”13 then began to attack Antony and we should note how

Athanasius describes the specific nature of this attack. The devil brought upon Antony memories of his possessions and family and memories of the pleasures of a relaxed life. The devil further tempted Antony with suggestions of bodily weakness and the rigors that would be involved in his newly chosen life.14 Ultimately, “[the devil] raised in [Antony’s] mind a great dust cloud of considerations, since he wished to cordon him off from his righteous intentions.”15

These early assaults were intended to remind Antony of what he had given up and what he was now going to endure. These memories promoted comfort, ease of life, and the love of family, as opposed to toilsome labor and a life of solitude. If Antony harbored any lingering doubts about his decision to leave his previous life behind, these memories were intended to draw him back.

12 Vita Antonii 4 (PG 26:845), Life of Antony, tr. Gregg, p. 33.

13 Vita Antonii 5 (PG 26:845), Life of Antony, tr. Gregg, p. 33.

14 Vita Antonii 5 (PG 26:848).

15 Vita Antonii 5 (PG 26:848), Life of Antony, tr. Gregg, p. 33.

97 In response to these assaults, Antony increased the stringency of his practice, further mortifying his body and subjecting it to his will. He moved to the tombs [μνήματα], which were situated farther away from his village, in order to keep himself one step ahead of the devil.16

Any temptations concerning the life he forsook would have little effect if Antony had already conditioned his body to survive without the luxuries of that previous life. This battle was about control: would Antony’s mind, the rational aspect of his nature imbued through creation in God’s image, have control or would it be controlled by his body, the irrational component that came from the earth. In this sense, as Athanasius illustrated Antony’s movement away from his village, he was describing Antony’s movement away from the material world and towards God.

God was found in the great desert apart from society.

In response to Antony’s increased ascetic efforts, the devil increased its efforts as well.

As their battle raged, finally a breaking point of sorts was reached. The devil ceased attacking

Antony with memories of an easier and more comfortable life. The attacks upon Antony would shift: rather than attacking him internally through memories the devil would now resort to physical attacks that were directed at Antony’s most basic instinct: the fear of death.17 Sitting alone in his cave, suddenly Antony saw images of various animals and reptiles. They howled at him, charged him, and attempted to strike him. They attacked him, causing him great bodily pain. Yet, throughout these attacks, his mind did not waver. His ascetic regimen had conditioned him to withstand physical torture and to maintain a precise control over his thoughts.

16 Vita Antonii 8 (PG 26:853).

17 On the progress of demonic attack in the Life generally see Brakke, Athanasius and the Politics of Asceticism, pp. 220-22. On the fear of death as a chief vulnerability of the ascetic, see Brakke, Athanasius and the Politics of Asceticism, pp. 221-22.

98 Antony’s rational nature was in full control and he then began to taunt his attackers.18 It was at this moment that the fruit of Antony’s labor finally was paid to him. In the midst of his struggle, an opening appeared in the roof of his tomb and a beam of light shined down upon him. His tormentors, along with the pain that they inflicted, simply vanished.

Though the contrast is not explicitly stated, Athanasius’ narrative presents the trials of an ascetic changing from an external, public, figure towards an internal, private, figure. Antony began by giving away his possessions and making arrangements for his sister to be settled in a convent. These actions stripped away the material ties and familial obligations of his previous life and his next course of action sought to replace what he gave up with a life of disciplined labor. This was an exchange designed to begin Antony on a new path. But Antony was seen outside his village and traveling amongst other ascetics, and those of his village commented upon his actions. He was marked by them as someone different. This provoked the devil to attack, who specifically sought to remind Antony of what he had given up and what he must now endure. Antony then furthered his separation, going out farther from his village, and increased the strictness of his lifestyle. These actions further distinguished his previous public life from his new private life. Yet, even as he moved farther from his village his seclusion was never complete; the devil’s attacks still came, though the manner of attack would shift. After his torment by the various beasts, Antony retreated even farther until he found a deserted fortress

[παρεμβολὴν ἒρημον].19 It was only once Antony had found this fortress and barricaded its

18 Vita Antonii 9 (PG 26:856-857).

19 Vita Antonii 12 (PG 26:861).

99 entrance that he also was able to find isolation. He was alone, away from the sight of others, whether secular or ascetic, and left to do battle with only God as witness.

When, after remaining inside for twenty years, Antony was finally coaxed out of his fortress, those who looked upon him were stunned. Antony’s ascetic practice had perfected his body and left it in pristine shape, seemingly untouched by the normal processes of bodily decay.20 His mind was in a complete state of calm. He had overcome one of the principle problems with the material world: it was ephemeral, fleeting, and subject to decay.21 Though

Athanasius claims that it was the monks’ desire to imitate Antony that led to them breaking in and forcing his emergence, these same on-looking monks were nonetheless awed by what their eyes beheld.22 Many were persuaded by the sight of him to take up a solitary life [τὸν μονήρη

βίον] and the desert was made a city by monks.23 Antony’s transformation now was more or less complete. He would still suffer assaults on occasion, most notably after taking up residence in the Inner Mountain, but Athanasius made clear that even then Antony was neither afraid nor tempted by the beasts that beset him.24 Antony’s discipline, through the solace he had taken in

20 See Andrew Crislip’s essay, “Illness and Ascetic Merit: The Moral Signification of Health and Sickness in Early Egyptian Monasticism” in Essays in Honour of Frederik Wisse: Scholar, Churchman, Mentor, Special issue of ARC: Journal of the Faculty of Religious Studies of McGill University 33 (2005), pp. 151-82. On Antony, see esp. pp. 163-68.

21 Athanasius, according to Crislip, takes this one step further by setting “up Antony’s followers as dupes.” Stunned at the perfection of Antony’s body, his followers “have failed to grasp the true significances of monastic life.” Crislip, “Illness and Ascetic Merit,” p. 168.

22 Vita Antonii 14.

23 Vita Antonii 14 (PG 26:865), Life of Antony, tr. Gregg, pp. 42-43.

24 Vita Antonii 50-51.

100 the Cross, rendered his rational nature immune from demonic temptation and in full control of his bodily desire.

It should be clear that the transformative process Antony took on when he gave up his possessions brought with it numerous challenges. By removing himself from society, Antony effectively minimized life’s necessities, but in the desert even obtaining the minimum of food and water required endless labor. His body also required sleep, but when night came to the desert it brought with it the usual host of dangers found in darkness: robbers, dangerous animals, and demonic temptation. Here, where the bare minimum to maintain life was confronted by the desire to fully invest oneself in the contemplation of God, Antony toiled and walked a fine line between destruction and salvation. How could he survive while engaged in endless prayer?

How could he maintain the focus necessary for prayer when he must survive? Dorotheus memorably remarked concerning the body, “It kills me, I will kill it.”25 By subjecting the body to physical distress, by reducing the intake of food and drink, and by limiting sleep, the ascetic conditioned his body to only seek the fulfillment of its needs out of necessity. “For [the Apostle] said the soul’s intensity is strong when the pleasures of the body are weakened.”26 Antony ate because he had to; he slept because exhaustion forced him to rest. These acts eliminated overindulgence, which further reduced his already limited attachment to the world. However, a fundamental aspect of this initial transformation was a divorce from all societal contact.

25 HL, 2.2, Butler, ed., p. 17, Meyer, tr., p. 33.

26 Vita Antonii 7 (PG 26:853), Life of Antony, tr. Gregg, p. 36. It should be noted that this statement immediately follows Athanasius’ quote of 2 Cor 12.10 in reference to Paul’s statement about the strength he finds in his weakness (“When I am weak, then I am strong.”). As will be made clear below, the manner in which Athanasius appropriates Paul’s understanding of his affliction differs significantly from the manner in which Palladius makes use of this same passage from 2 Cor 12.

101 Remaining even on the fringes of society brought with it accolades and tempting memories of the comfort of the life he had left behind. Thus, to affect the transformation necessary for alleviating the body’s physical needs required that the Christian abandon his entire community.

The overall movement at work in Athanasius’ narrative is a movement of the human person towards God through the recapturing of an original rational nature. Antony captured this through a gradual displacement of his self and the cutting away of all external stimuli until the point at which he was left alone. Without outside influence it was simply body versus mind.

Athanasius depicted Antony’s struggle taking place in the desert, but the movement itself, the ability of the Christian to reclaim the imago dei lost after the Fall, was one that could take place outside the desert. This was the important aspect of the narrative that was transferable from desert to city. So while Antony’s asceticism provided him a means for perfecting his physical body within the desert milieu, Athanasius’ readers, and here we can transition to Augustine’s conversion, need not focus specifically on the desert locale of Antony, but rather his spiritual movement away from being controlled by his body and towards the control of himself by his mind. This was the recognition of God’s presence and, especially for Athanasius’ concerns, the power facilitated by Christ’s victory over death as enacted by His incarnation, death, and resurrection.27

27 Athanasius, De Incarnatione Verbi Dei, (SVSP, 2002), pp. 92-93.

102 Augustine and the Life of Antony

Confessions is a narrative of Augustine’s gradual discovery of God’s constant presence within him. The climactic moment of this long process of discovery comes in a Milan garden and Augustine modeled it after Antony’s decision to take up a monastic life. He even recalls the specific text Antony heard in church. Augustine was well educated, living in a city rather than the desert, and, prior to Ponticianus’ account, was completely unfamiliar with Antony.28 Of perhaps even greater import, his initial fascination upon hearing of Antony was not directed at

Antony himself, but rather Augustine was amazed by how Antony attested to the action of God in the life of a Christian who had lived so recently.29 It was this active presence of God that struck Augustine and grabbed his attention. Augustine marveled at how a precise scriptural passage, seemingly come upon by chance,30 had the ability to turn Antony towards God [et tali oraculo confestim ad te esse conversum].31 After contemplating the manner of Antony’s turn towards God, Augustine picked up his text of Scripture, opened it and read: “Not in riots and

28 One of the peculiarities surrounding Augustine’s use of Antony in Confessions is the complete lack of references within the rest of his corpus. Given the importance Antony appears to play within Augustine’s Christian life, we would think Augustine would have mentioned him more frequently. Yet, outside of Confessions, Augustine only makes one other direct mention of Antony, which comes in the prologue to On Christine Doctrine, the early parts of which were written around the same time as Confessions.

29 Conf., 8.6.14.

30 When Augustine writes about his life, there are no chance events, or unintentional events. An event that seemed to come about by chance actually served to reveal the working of God. It is by chance that Antony hears the perfect scriptural quotation, just as it is by chance that Augustine hears the child’s voice imploring him to pick up his scriptures. Similarly, it was a ‘surprise visit’ from Ponticianus that lead to Augustine’s first knowledge of Antony and Ponticianus’ telling of those who were converted by ‘finding’ the text of the Life (Conf., 8.7.14). It is in this sequence that Augustine finally learns the power of Scripture and of God’s constant presence. Cf. Geoffrey Galt Harpham, The Ascetic Imperative in Culture and Criticism, p. 97.

31 Conf., 8.12.29.

103 drunken parties, not in eroticism and indecencies, not in strife and rivalry, but put on the Lord

Jesus Christ and make no provision for the flesh in its lusts.”32 Just as when Antony heard the

Gospel command to sell his possessions and give to the poor, this text seemed specifically intended for Augustine’s eyes and immediately [statim] the doubts he had long harbored were dispelled.

Augustine’s text and its relationship to the Life are helpful to us in two ways. First,

Augustine sheds light onto how Antony’s biography could transform readers who were outside the desert and lead them towards a life that was closer to God without ever bothering to venture into the desert. Second, the way in which Augustine reacted to hearing about Antony’s life, the manner in which he reflected and turned inward, might provide us with a glimpse into how

Palladius approached and understood these texts within the context of self-examination and his own desire for asceticism. Here we might also see the role of ascetic texts more generally and the effect they brought about within Christians seeking a closer relationship with God.

When Ponticianus told Augustine of Antony and how his companions had been converted by the Life, Augustine states that God turned him back upon himself [domine, inter verba eius retorquebas me ad me ipsum].33 The implications of his statement are clear: he was now forced to do what he had hesitated to do previously. He was forced to observe himself. Hearing of

Antony forced Augustine to acknowledge his weakness and his vanity. He also, and this is more significant, was forced to acknowledge his deception. Augustine had long tried to convince himself that he was something other than what he was. He hid behind his success as a rhetor, his

32 Conf., 8.12.29, Chadwick, tr., p. 153. The biblical passage is Rom 13.13-14.

33 Conf., 8.7.16.

104 high education, and his great learning. He was taken aback by Antony’s illiteracy and lack of culture. Everything Augustine seemed to hold dear appeared of no benefit for achieving the happiness that came with knowledge of God. As Ponticianus relayed the account of how Antony had given up his worldly ambitions and turned to God, Augustine was forced to acknowledge everything that he hoped he could ignore. While hearing of Antony Augustine now stood naked to himself.34

The significance of the actions here lies in Augustine’s interpretation of God’s action occurring while he listened to the story of Antony. This was a spontaneous and contemporaneous process. Augustine transposed his self onto the text and recognized his own deficiencies relative to it. In this sense, the text was actively performing work on him. The more

Ponticianus revealed about Antony, the deeper Augustine was plunged into his interior and the more he began to uncover his true nature. Later, during the process of writing his narrative,

Augustine reflected upon this event and concluded that it was precisely this turning that finally had enabled his conversion. Previously, he had failed to see himself; he had failed to turn to inner wisdom, which he will discuss in Conf. X as being the constant presence of God. This was an inward turn that had begun with his reading of the platonicorum libri, which had been translated by Marius Victorinus35 whose conversion began Augustine’s sequence of conversion narratives in Conf. VIII. That inward turn only became revelatory, however, once Augustine heard of God’s active work in converting Christians and turning others toward God.

34 Conf., 8.7.18.

35 Conf., 8.2.3.

105 For Augustine, the Life was a model worthy of imitation because it revealed the transformative nature of God’s presence, both as it affected Antony and as it affected those who read the Life. Furthermore, it was a model that provided Augustine with a dialogue in the form of an interior meditation on God’s presence. Augustine, however, provided a crucial modification to the model of Antony. Rather than being alone, Augustine was surrounded by others. Alypius was with him in the garden; it was because of children singing that he picked up his scriptures. External stimuli pushed Augustine rather than serving as constant distractions.

His interior turn then led him to understand those stimuli in a new manner. He could now find

God. Ultimately, very much like Antony, Augustine’s isolation occurred within him, but unlike

Antony he was never physically isolated from the world.

Summary

To summarize: the Life, while illustrating the creation of an ascetic figure of such stature that he made the desert a city, provided Athanasius a means for demonstrating the ways in which a Christian could move towards reclaiming the image of God that had been imprinted within creation. It also showed the resulting manifestation of Christ’s power within a particular

Christian. Antony lived within the world but his ascetic practice enabled him to live in the world while being in complete mastery of his body. His passions did not control him, but rather he subjected his passions to his will. Through the process by which Antony achieved this success he discovered God’s constant presence as a guiding force that provided him with power over demonic forces.

106 Augustine’s use of the Life shows us the ways in which the text is not simply a model for living in the desert, while remaining capable of facilitating the revelation of God’s guiding presence at work within Christians. The Life possessed the transformative capabilities that

Athanasius intended, but those capabilities were not limited to bringing Christians out of society and into the desert. Yet Antony’s influence upon the desert life remains large for those who did choose to divest themselves of their possessions and try to find God in the desert. This dualism of locales (desert versus city) created a tension within the transmission of the ascetic tradition.

We saw in the previous chapter that while extreme forms of austerity were, indeed, physically humbling, they could instill pride within the ascetic who became obsessed with the appearance of holiness. These practices could, and at times did, serve as external signs illustrating the greatness of an ascetic’s practice. This was the primary reason for Antony’s need to move farther away from his village and eventually isolate himself from even other ascetics. When the villagers who saw him proclaimed that Antony was “God-loved” they validated his practice, but that had the negative implication of drawing attention to Antony himself, a result that would be nearly the opposite of what was desirable after withdrawing from society. What perhaps was at stake in the early days of Antony’s ascetic life was whether asceticism could really be practiced while remaining within society.

To close out this chapter, we shall discuss how the picture of Antony in the Life and

Augustine’s use of the Life can be helpful for our understanding of Palladius’ ascetic criticism.

For our concerns here, the broader question will be how Palladius understood the best manner in which to appropriate the ideals by which Antony lived. Palladius’ questions about sickness and ascetic failure suggest that he may have been one of those influenced by this ideal of the

107 perfection of the physical body that had been subjected to the ascetic’s will. For Palladius, however, this ideal of perfection had perverse repercussions: the ascetic striving for bodily perfection might actually be moving away from God. The route Palladius would advocate relied on a moderated form of mortification that focused on internal movements of the ascetic’s will, yet a moderated form of asceticism brought with it questions over the necessity of withdrawal and the utility of the desert life more generally.

The Desert Tradition Encountered by Palladius

When Augustine wrote Confessions he set out to perform a task not entirely different from that which Palladius set for himself. Granted, each writer had different objectives, different audiences, and Augustine was certainly the greater theologian. Yet, behind these differences lay a similar process of reflection as each author interpreted his current station in life within the context of his previous stations in life. Palladius produced a travelogue that recounted his travels amongst the ascetics of the desert: what he saw, what he heard, and what he experienced. Within those narratives is weaved an account of his own failure to adapt to the harshness of the desert and to both the physical and mental demands of the desert life. By now, those points should be clear. What may be less clear are the specific means Palladius envisioned for working through the various problems he encountered in the desert, as well as understanding the sort of ascetic life for which Palladius would advocate. For that analysis it should be useful to understand how the manner of living promoted by the Life and the style of that text were both ill-suited to

Palladius’ purpose.

108 We know that Palladius was familiar with the Life.36 What is less clear is when he became familiar with it. We do not know whether it was something he had read prior to setting out for the desert, and thus might have impelled him to seek out a solitary life, or whether

Palladius became familiar with the text while living in the desert. It does appear, however, that his familiarity with the text was more than passing. While he only makes a single reference to the Life itself, that one reference provides a specific description of one of the Life’s narratives as part of the depiction of the life of Amoun of Nitria.37 Broader narratives of Antony’s time in the desert had also been passed to Palladius. While he chose not to devote a specific chapter in his

History to Antony, Palladius did recount numerous anecdotes within other chapters of the work.38 Of note among the anecdotes Palladius tells of Antony is his presentation within the chapter on Paul the Simple. The chapter itself is of general interest for the manner in which it presents the process an ascetic would undertake as he moved from being in the world to being a man who possessed the ability to expel demons, but the juxtaposition of Paul’s simplicity with

Antony’s austerity is of particular import for our concerns here.

36 HL, 8.6. We might also interpret Palladius’ statement in his chapter on Elpidius, chorbishop of a monastery on a mountain outside Jericho, as an allusion to Athanasius’ famous line about the awe Antony created among the desert monks. Palladius states that Elpidius “was like a king of the bees in the midst of the brotherhood dwelling there, and I lived there, too. He transformed the mountain into a city [οὓτω τὸ ὂρος ἐπόλισε] and one could see various types of living there” (HL, 48.2, Butler, ed., p. 142, Meyer, tr., p. 131). In VA, 14 (PG 26:865) Athanasius stated: ἡ ἒρημος ἐπολίσθη ὑπὸ μοναχῶν.

37 Somewhat ironically he uses the excerpt as a means to flesh out and valorize Amoun of Nitria rather than Antony himself. The excerpt in question is from Vita Antonii 60, which tells of a vision Antony received of Amoun’s soul being carried into the air following his death. VA, 60 continues with an account of Amoun’s miraculous crossing of a river, which is the portion of the narrative that Palladius recounts in his chapter on Amoun.

38 The most thorough accounts of Antony in the History come in successive chapters: HL, 21 – Eulogius and the Cripple – and HL, 22 – Paul the Simple.

109 Paul sought out Antony after discovering that his wife had been unfaithful to him. Upon coming to Antony’s cell, Antony turned him away. Paul was sixty years of age and Antony felt that he was too old to “endure the trials and tribulations of the desert [τὰς θλίψεις τῆς ἐρήμου].”39

But Paul refused to depart even as Antony continued his attempts to scare him away by reiterating that Paul would be unable to endure such hardship. As readers we learn why

Antony’s concerns are so heightened. The narrative reveals that the manner of life Antony was living at the time Paul sought him out was “more severe than he had ever practiced in his younger days.”40 Given the austerity Antony was known to have endured, we can understand his concern over a novice ascetic of such advanced age attempting to take on such a life. Paul remained unswayed and remained outside Antony’s door. As the narrative progresses we discover that after witnessing Paul’s perseverance, Antony eventually relented. Paul then lived with him and obediently followed Antony’s commands. After sufficient time Paul had developed such great discipline so as to be deemed worthy of power over demons. His abilities developed to such a degree that he even appears to have surpassed Antony himself! As an example Palladius provided the following tale of Paul’s power:

One most dreadful, possessed as it were by the very Prince of Demons, one who cursed heaven itself, was brought to Antony. Antony looked him over and said to those who had him: ‘This is not my duty, for I have not yet been deemed worthy of

39 HL, 22.2, Butler, ed., p. 70, Meyer, tr., p. 77. The term Antony uses here for tribulations [θλίψεις] is the same term used by John of Lycopolis to warn Palladius against becoming a bishop: “If indeed you would flee the tribulations, you would not leave the desert [εἰ τοίνυν φεύγεις τὰς θλίψεις, μὴ ἐξέλθῃς τῆς ἐρήμου]” (HL, 35.11, Butler, ed., p. 104, Meyer, tr., p. 102).

40 HL, 22.4, Butler, ed., p. 71, Meyer, tr., p. 78.

110 power over the ruling order, but this is Paul’s task.’ Antony left and led them to Paul, to whom he said: ‘Father Paul, cast out this demon from the man so that he may return healed to his people.’41

Paul would eventually rid this man of this demon and it is the demon itself that provides the key line of the narrative: As Paul stood in the baking heat of the Egyptian desert, calling upon Christ to cast this spirit out of this man, the demon cried out, “O violence! I am carried off. The simplicity [ἡ ἁπλότης] of Paul drives me out!”42 Palladius stated that the narrative of Paul the

Simple was told to him by “Cronius and the Blessed Hierax and many others.”43 I bring up this narrative not to suggest that Palladius intended it as a means to denigrate Antony, but rather to illustrate the prevalence of a narrative that highlighted a means of attaining spiritual perfection that went beyond undergoing severe austerity. Paul’s simplicity, which was typified by his unquestioning submission to Antony’s every command, had enabled him to surpass Antony in certain matters of power. Thus, even in the limited space allotted to Antony in the History we find a tension between the paradigmatic form found in the Life compared with the greater nuance developed amongst the multiple lives of the History.

As we compare Antony’s manner of life with Palladius’ presentation of his own ascetic progress the tensions between the two texts become more readily apparent. Antony’s initial withdrawal and search for isolation shows certain analogues with Palladius’ descriptions of his own life, especially with comparisons of Antony’s demonic temptations and the struggles that afflicted Palladius. Palladius’ need to seek out John of Lycopolis stemmed from weariness over

41 HL, 22.9-10, Butler, ed., p. 73, Meyer, tr., pp. 79-80.

42 HL, 22.13, Butler, ed., p. 74, Meyer, tr., p. 81.

43 HL, 22.1, Butler, ed., p. 69, Meyer, tr., p. 76.

111 his inability to still certain desires and a resulting sense that his desire to teach would remained unfulfilled so long as he resided in the desert.44 In addition, this desire to teach was firmly rooted in concerns he had for his family, which as John revealed to him were ultimately concerns for the world outside the desert. As discussed previously, John reiterated to Palladius that distractions were most harmful in the way they drew the ascetic’s mind away from its contemplation of God and back towards the ascetic’s former life in the world. Withdrawal was thus necessary as a means of removing these intrusions of the outside world into the mind. We saw that Antony had followed precisely the path John described. He steadily increased his distance from his surrounding community, gradually dissociating himself from his previous life, until finally he found seclusion. Once there, his disturbing memories ceased.

This total isolation that finally enabled Antony to overcome his demons seemed neither possible nor desirable to Palladius. Here we might see the root causes of Palladius’ inability to bring his temptations under control. Whereas Athanasius depicted Antony’s detachment from the world and the scope of his physical regimen as methods designed to combat the devil’s attacks upon his psyche, Palladius was unable to achieve any such reprieve. However, Palladius

44 Palladius’ constant wandering is suggestive of a restlessness that itself is a problem within the desert milieu. In the Life, Antony warned the monks to avoid losing heart [ἐκκακέω] (Vita Antonii, 17 (PG 26:868)) or succumbing to weariness [ἀκήδεια] (Vita Antonii, 19 (PG 26:872)) because of the long and hard labors. Even one day of relaxed vigilance could bring about God’s wrath. Palladius seemed to be suffering from a similar loss of heart prior to seeking out John of Lycopolis. While doctors prescribed that Palladius leave the desert because of illness, the fact that he included his departure and ordination within his chapter on John, even though there was no chronological reason for doing so, might suggest that Palladius’ departure was influenced by his familial concerns rather than his need to seek “better air.” We should also recall that this was not the only time Palladius had left his companions in order to seek help from others. His discourse with Pachon occurred under similar circumstances, though in that case Palladius stated that he was troubled by desire for women [ἐπιθυμίᾳ γυναικὸς] rather than concern for his family (HL 23.1, Butler, ed., p. 75, Meyer, tr., p. 81). Inflamed passions were hardly a new development for those in the desert and yet Palladius still was disheartened enough that he considered leaving behind the desert. Perhaps Palladius knew he was not cut out for this type of life. After all, it was already in the second chapter of his History that he showed signs of developing trouble. These problems had plagued him from the beginning.

112 was rarely alone in the desert and isolation did not appear desirable to many of the ascetic figures with whom he lived any more than it did to Palladius himself. It is in this regard that Palladius’ narratives of Pachon and Moses the Ethiopian are particularly instructive. As we saw, in each narrative God was revealed as the true cause of each man’s temptation – in the sense that God permitted these temptations to occur – but neither ascetic achieved his reprieve by seeking out isolation. As a counter-narrative to Antony’s ascetic progression in the Life, Palladius’ narrative of Moses is particularly striking. Both Moses and Antony underwent a similar process of dissociation from society. Like with Antony, the inception of Moses’ practice brought with it the constant assault of demons. When initially confronted by images of his past, Moses increased the stringency of his practice, especially as it related to the mortification of the body. When that failed to prevent these attacks, he isolated himself in his cell in nightly prayer. Even there, in isolation, he still failed to gain control over these thoughts, so again he changed his way of life.

Moses followed a path of increasingly austere living and increasing isolation similar to what had been followed by Antony, yet that path clearly had failed to bring about the results Antony had achieved. Rather than bringing him closer to God, seclusion seemed to be leading Moses towards madness. Once Moses was taken to Isidore,45 he was able to find a reprieve from his torment through the reception of Communion, after which he was able to rejoin his community.

While Antony had found solace by barricading himself in a deserted fortress, Moses found it in

45 The details of the physical assault Moses sustains, which leads to him being brought to Isidore, can also be read as a continuation of the progression the demons had followed in their assault upon Antony. Just as the attacks upon Antony had shifted from the internal temptation of his thoughts to his physical assault by the beasts, the demons attacking Moses shifted from projecting images of his previous life to a physical attack upon his body. While Moses was retrieving water for some other ascetic men, a demon attacked him by striking him down with a cudgel. Moses was left unconscious, seemingly for dead, until someone found him and carried him to the local church where Isidore was the priest (HL, 19.9, Butler, ed., p. 61, Meyer, tr., pp. 69-70).

113 the hands of a priest. It would, perhaps, be too much to suggest that Palladius purposely constructed the narrative of Moses as a counter to the narrative of Antony. Yet, the manner in which bodily mortification, withdrawal into the desert, and even ascetic practice more generally, served each of these ascetics does lend some support to many of the recurrent themes within the

History revolving around Palladius’ concern over the efficacy of a life such as Antony’s. Clearly for Palladius there was something significant about Moses’ reception of Communion that went beyond any practice that Moses could perform in order to rid him of the images that haunted him.

Reading through the History we gather a very real sense that from Palladius’ perspective the narrative of Antony failed to conform to the reality of what Palladius encountered while living in the desert. That lack of conformity, along with the iconic stature of the Life, should have raised questions for him about the manner in which the ascetic tradition was being transmitted. If Christians hoped to understand the lives of those in the desert or were led to imitate Antony’s manner of life, then they might suffer disillusionment and increased hardship when confronted with the reality of that life. Furthermore, as Augustine has shown us in

Confessions, the discovery of God’s presence within did not require that any time actually was spent living in the desert. The Christian simply needed an experience that laid bare his true nature: he must stand naked before himself stripped of all worldly desires and ambitions. The

Life provided Augustine that impetus and we should remind the reader precisely of the means

Augustine’s transformation occurred. Through hearing the narrative of the Life Augustine was turned interiorly and enabled to recognize his deficiencies. Palladius, however, found the model of the Life an unsatisfactory example for the presentation of his material. According to the

114 image of Antony, Palladius’ struggles with sickness were a sign that his askesis was a failure; a sign that he might need to engage in more strenuous discipline. Yet, it was quite clear that such a simplified approach to illness failed to represent accurately a complex and problematic set of issues that confronted those in the desert. Palladius’ narrative of Benjamin could serve as a direct challenge to any notion that a sick ascetic was without virtue. Recall the aversion

Palladius and Evagrius displayed when confronted with the sight of Benjamin’s obscenely swollen body and contrast that with the spectacle of Antony’s emergence from his cave.

Antony’s body was something to be gazed upon in awe, while Benjamin’s body was a source of revulsion. What exactly was Palladius supposed to take from the sight of such suffering? Surely he would not desire to imitate this man. When the narrative of Benjamin is juxtaposed with the narrative of Stephen, then any sort of straightforward appraisal of these ascetics for the value of their askesis is lost. We should remember that at the end of both the chapter on Benjamin and also the chapter on Stephen, Palladius refused to provide a concrete assessment of each ascetic.

While each chapter offers subtle hints to suggest an underlying difference between the two sick ascetics, Palladius concluded each by merely stating that he provided these chapters for his readers so as to prevent their surprise when encountering such accidents among holy people.

Palladius’ life in the desert was filled with an uncertainty seemingly absent from the Life, and, thus, those desiring to understand the lives of the desert men and women were in need of a different model.

Palladius’ brief narratives of sickness provide us with a lens onto wider shifts in the landscape of ascetic literature. Just as Palladius hoped to move the ascetic from the Egyptian desert into the city, so too did he hope to shift the model upon which the ascetic life was

115 based. In the Life, Antony's asceticism transcended the limits of bodily decay and rendered him impermeable to any sort of illness. He still struggled with demons, but those struggles appear more as a cosmic battle. They were the wayward attempts of the devil to find a means of halting the progress of someone filled with the power of Christ.46 Under the model of Antony, ascetics strived to regain a prelapsarian state bereft of the influence of sin.47 Palladius could not write such a text because his time in the desert quite simply showed little resemblance to the experience of Antony. He felt the need to explain sickness to his readers, while also making clear that sickness itself should not be seen as a strike against an ascetic’s virtue. What we can see here, and this will be made clearer in the next chapter when we look at the Life of Syncletica, is a shift in Palladius’ ascetic lives away from the transcendence of the body that we find with

Antony and towards an embrace of the body as an object of human suffering. Rather than the pristine angelic figure of Antony who radiated the power of Christ, readers would see a suffering ascetic figure more reminiscent of Christ dying on the cross.

All of which brings us back to Palladius’ use of the Apostle Paul. By positioning the ascetic as one who endured trials such as Paul’s ‘thorn in the flesh’, Palladius was able to project a model of humble endurance rather than one of exaltation. The difference here was one of movement from high-to-low rather than from low-to-high.48 As the ascetic’s discipline enabled him to overcome basic bodily need, he was naturally elevated in stature amongst Christians. He

46 Cf. Brakke, Athanasius and the Politics of Asceticism, p. 218.

47 On the Life as it fits into an Athanasian model of heavenly ascent see Brakke, Athanasius and the Politics of Asceticism, pp. 216-26. For a brief overview of the ascetic ideal as the regaining of a prelapsarian state of health, see Crislip, Thorns in the Flesh, pp. 3-5.

48 Cf. Garrett, “Paul’s Thorn,” pp. 94-96.

116 had moved from a position of weakness and subservience to the flesh into a position of power over the flesh – he was, in this way, exalted and through this he garnered power of demons, powers of healing, and prophecy. We can see in this movement a reflection of Antony’s journey away from his village and into isolation until finally he emerged, years later, to awe the crowds that had gathered around him. Antony made the desert a city by becoming a spectacle for monks to witness and imitate. For Palladius, this model was dangerous. The reliance it placed upon human effort to achieve its ascetic ends risked obscuring the role God played within human endeavor and risked throwing the ascetic into pride. Palladius’ descriptions of fallen monks who raised themselves above their communities, thinking themselves to have been exalted by God, serve as tales cautioning his readers against any such sense of exaltation.49 The model of Paul’s abandonment that was presented by Paphnutius, and to which Palladius had alluded when discussing his ordination and in the final chapter of the History,50 provided for a reversal of the image of the exalted ascetic. Rather than strive to overcome all bodily temptation, the ascetic now was brought low and humbled by the temptations that God permitted to overtake him. The narratives of Pachon and Moses the Ethiopian, Palladius’ anecdote about Macarius of

49 HL, 25-28; 53. Paul provides a similar caution in 2 Thessalonians regarding the fall of those who have exalted themselves (“3 Let no one deceive you in any way; for that day will not come unless the rebellion comes first and the lawless one is revealed, the one destined for destruction. 4 He opposes and exalts himself above every so-called god or object of worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, declaring himself to be God” (2 Thess 2.3-4 (NRSV)). See Garrett, “Paul’s Thorn,” pp. 94-95.

50 In 2 Cor 12.2 Paul states, “I know a person in Christ who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven – whether in the body or out of the body I do not know; God knows” (NRSV). Palladius’ references to this verse come on two separate occasions, which when put together refer to the whole verse. In HL, 35.12, when speaking about his ordination, Palladius states, “whether because of human eagerness or because of the good will of Him who is more powerful, I do not know; God would know” and then in HL, 71.1 he states, “I shall be finished with my history after I have said a few words about the brother who is with me from youth until this very day” (emphasis mine). The passage from 2 Cor 12 while beginning with Paul’s exaltation then moves to the thorn given to him so as to prevent him from being elated, which is, of course, precisely the comment referred to by Paphnutius. It marks Paul’s reflections upon God bringing him from these heights – the third heaven – back down low and into weakness.

117 Alexandria’s attempt to contemplate God for five consecutive days, and the biographical thread of Palladius’ life itself all provide the backbone for a presentation of the ascetic who, at the height of his discipline, was humbled by God. Much of this relied upon Paul’s opening statements in 2 Cor 12 and it is instructive to consider how Paul ends this crucial passage:

Three times I appealed to the Lord about this [thorn in my flesh], that it would leave me, but he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.’ So, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities for the sake of Christ; for whenever I am weak, then I am strong.51

Paul’s reflections upon the trials he suffered, as recounted in 2 Corinthians, also recall the opening verses of the Philippians hymn (Phil 2.6-8). There Paul exhorted the Philippians to be like Christ, who had humbled himself and had emptied himself so as to become obedient even up to death. Only then, after death, was Christ exalted. Paul presented this model of Christ’s work as the exemplar for Christians undergoing hardship. In like fashion, it was that model of Christ, rather than the triumphant figure whose power was manifest in Antony, that Palladius used to illustrate the hardships of the ascetic life. This was the image of Christ who ministered to the sick.

By shifting his imagery away from bodily perfection and onto illness, failure, and toil

Palladius also found greater literary effect. He intended his ascetic lives to provide his readers with a window into their own weaknesses and faults, an action which was precisely the effect the

Life had had on Augustine. These lives were not, however, to serve as a means of eradicating weaknesses and faults. Rather, Palladius’ narratives would allow his readers to gain strength against the weariness of the long term toil of the solitary life. By minimizing the influence these

51 2 Cor 12.8-10 (NRSV) – emphasis mine.

118 narratives had on the eradication of fault and bodily perfection, and by emphasizing the power that was gained through weakness, these lives also would serve to insulate the ascetic from pride. As will be made clear in the coming chapters, the danger of pride was greatest in the ways it estranged the Christian from his or her community. An ascetic filled with pride separated himself from others, failed to teach others, and failed to engage in the charity that was fundamental to a Christian life. These were matters of grave importance to any ascetic but especially for an ascetic who hoped to live and minister to the laity of the city.

In the following chapter we will analyze the very specific problems an ascetic might encounter by following the model espoused by the Life. These were problems that influenced the ways in which ascetics would relate to one another as well as to the Christian community writ large. Antony’s discipline had brought about his bodily perfection and, a point made equally clear by the Life, it had enabled him to effectively relate to his community.52 While Palladius certainly would have been sympathetic to Antony’s community leadership, his own experiences suggested that seclusion was not the best method to achieve that goal.

52 A point hammered home by the extended discourse Antony delivered shortly after leaving behind his cave. See Vita Antonii, 16-43.

Chapter 4

Out of Solitude and into Community

The previous chapter touched upon two basic, and related, problems within the prevailing ascetic regimen as typified by Antony in the Life of Antony. The first problem is the ascetic’s understanding of the externalization of holiness: essentially using one’s physical appearance as a means of presenting oneself as holy and thus as a model worthy of imitation. The paradigmatic form of this model is found in two aspects of the Life. On the one hand, there is Antony’s gradual movement away from the fringes of his village and into seclusion as a means of avoiding the sight of others. On the other hand, we have Antony’s emergence from his barricaded fortress with his body seemingly untouched by decay as proof of the purity of his soul. Even in the Life the externalization of holiness is held in tension. The second problem addressed was the weakness of the body, either typified through debilitating sickness or through a basic inability to survive in the desert. Palladius intertwined these two problems in his History through his conversations and narrative presentations involving pride and abandonment as he tried to understand why some ascetic men and women had failed.

Even given these potentially problematic aspects of Antony’s practice, his ideals still held great sway amongst desert communities in the mid- to late-fourth century. We have discussed already how John of Lycopolis’ views on the necessity of withdrawal and solitude for combating the demons that emerged within the ascetic’s mind are analogous to Antony’s early progress in desert living. What we will look at now is a work that attempted to shift the ascetic landscape from solitude to community. John was not the only figure to espouse ideals of solitude as we 119 120 saw in many of Palladius’ other chronicles, but there remains the question of the alternative. If solitude was ineffectual, then where could the ascetic turn? Alternatives were what Palladius sought, and in our continued efforts to understand Palladius’ reimagining of the ascetic lifestyle, we will look now at a text that is almost anti-ascetic: the Vita Syncletica.1

While the dating of Syncletica’s biography is somewhat unclear, the presence of sayings attributed to her in the Apophthegmata Patrum, most of which are extremely similar to passages from her long discourse in the biography, as well as evident influences from Evagrius and

Cassian2 suggest that the work was written sometime in the mid-fifth century.3 These influences have been taken to suggest that she lived in the desert during the late-fourth century, perhaps into the early-fifth century,4 making her contemporaneous with Palladius.5 Of greater uncertainty is the authorship of her biography. While similarities to the Life of Antony prompted early readers to attribute the text to Athanasius, dating and style do not support that attribution, which has led to the current designation of Pseudo-Athanasius as author of the text. For our purposes here, the specific authorship is of less significance relative to the dating of the text and the time in which

Syncletica herself might have lived. It should be noted, however, that with this author we may

1 Greek text can be found at PG 28.1487-1558. Unless otherwise stated, all translations are from Pseudo- Athanasius, The Life and Regimen of the Blessed and Holy Syncletica, Part One, tr. Elizabeth Bongie (Toronto: Peregrina Publishing Co., 2001).

2 On Evagrian influence, see Regnault, “Introduction,” pp. x-xiii; on Cassian pp. xiii-xiv.

3 Regnault, “Introduction,” pp. iii-iv.

4 Schaffer, Holy Syncletica: P II, pp. 9-11.

5 It is possible that Palladius and Syncletica were familiar with one another depending upon exactly when and where Syncletica resided while in the desert, though we cannot determine this with any certainty. Palladius never mentioned a female ascetic called Syncletica, though he could not have been expected to mention everyone he encountered in the desert. Regardless, there are certain similarities in the ascetic ideals of Palladius and Syncletica and it is those similarities that will be of concern to us here.

121 be dealing with someone whose intentions for his text mirror in certain ways the intentions of

Palladius, a point to be made clearer as we progress through our analysis.

Subverting Pride through Moderated Askesis

With Syncletica we shall begin with a statement found in both her biography and in the sayings attributed to her in the Apophthegmata Patrum: “When we live in community [κοινοβίῳ], sisters, let us choose obedience over askesis [τὴν ὑπακοὴν μᾶλλον τῆς ἀσκήσεως προκρίνωμεν]; for the latter teaches contempt [ὑπεροψίαν], while the former calls for humility

[ταπεινοφροσύνην].”6 Her comment suggests that there is something wrong with askesis; something about askesis harms our ability to relate to other Christians, or to other ascetics. The cause of this harm, as we shall see, is pride. What Syncletica’s arguments will reveal is that the line between perseverance as a means towards overcoming demonic temptation and the demonic temptation to persevere is so fine as to be nearly indiscernible. We must be careful, however, when trying to understand Syncletica’s approach to the ascetic life because there is a subtle distinction at work in her discourse. She lived as an ascetic and the particular saying referred to here contrasts asceticism and obedience as two forms of possible ways of living within a

6 Vita Syncleticae 100 (PG 28.1549). The translation of ὑπεροψίαν above is my own. Elizabeth Bongie translates this as “pride” but Syncletica uses ὑπερηφανια when she wishes to refer to either pride or arrogance. The sense in the passage here is the disdain for others that ascetic practice might engender amongst those living together in a monastery. The difference is perhaps subtle. Syncletica suggests in another passage (VS 54) that ὑπεροψία comes about as a result of ὑπερηφανια so there is clearly a relation between the two terms. The Apophthegmata Patrum records a nearly identical saying of Syncletica: “As long as we are in the monastery [κοινοβίῳ], obedience is preferable to asceticism [τὴν ὑπακοὴν τῆς ἀσκήσεως μᾶλλον προκρίνωμεν]. The one teaches pride [ὑπεροψίαν], the other humility [ταπεινοφροσύνην]” (Apop. Pat., Syncletica 16 (PG 65.425-428), Ward, tr., p. 234).

122 community. Her comment is thus a statement on how the Christian should approach responding to desires of her own will rather than as a particular admonishment of discipline writ large. Her concerns are fleshed out more fully as the passage continues, where she discusses a demonic form of discipline [ἂσκησις] that pushed the practitioner beyond the limits of the body’s endurance. An immoderate [ἀμετρία] focus on discipline, in this regard, functioned as a distraction just as much as would any other demonic temptation.

Syncletica’s biographer sets the stage for the description of her early ascetic endeavors by utilizing a narrative frame that resembles that of the Life of Antony: two biographical sections, one about her early life, the other about her death, bracket an extended discourse on ascetic teachings, which Syncletica delivered to her fellow nuns. However, as we shall see, while the author of the text has employed a frame that is suggestive of the Life of Antony, he moved quickly to establish fundamental contrasts between Syncletica and Antony. Athanasius had depicted Antony’s life prior to his withdrawal as that of a moderate Christian. Antony was not overindulgent, even though his parents’ affluence would have enabled him to act as such, and he was aloof and distant from the non-familial members of his community. Yet, there was little in

Antony’s actions to suggest the path on which he was about to embark. Athanasius wasted little space on these biographical details so that he could more quickly approach his primary emphasis:

Antony’s withdrawal and discipline. Syncletica’s biographer follows a different tack. In the early stages of the narrative, Syncletica’s biographer takes the time to illustrate how austerity and the avoidance of public recognition worked hand-in-hand to condition Syncletica’s mind and

123 body and prepare her for the path most likely to insure her salvation. The utility of her preparation is laid out plainly:

Those people, you see, who come to this divine mystery without training [ἀγυμνάστως] and reflection [ἀσκέπτως] do not find what they seek, since they have not first examined what is needed in detail. But just as those contemplating a journey first think about their provisions, so she also prepared herself over time with austerities and generously provided herself with the necessities for her journey to the heights.7

Syncletica was born in Alexandria to a family with Macedonian origins.8 She had three siblings: a blind sister and two brothers, one of whom died at a young age while the other, under parental pressure to marry, fled and took up a life with the saints.9 Syncletica’s ascetic inclinations had begun early. “While still in her father’s arms” she began to train her soul [τὸ

πρῶτον τὴν ψυχὴν ἠσκεῖτο] and monitor “the urgings of her nature” [τὰς τῆς φύσεως ὁρμὰς].10 As she physically developed, her beauty caught the eye of many potential suitors, but Syncletica declined to give in to the natural yearnings of her body and she ignored the pressures of her parents to seek marriage. Her discipline even went beyond this desire to avoid marriage. She began to practice controlling her body through fasting, though when circumstances warranted she would moderate the severity of her fasting so as to avoid any undue attention.11 Not only had these preparations begun to prepare her soul for ascetic practice well before she actually took

7 Vita Syncleticae 13 (PG 28.1493).

8 Vita Syncleticae 4.

9 Vita Syncleticae 5.

10 Vita Syncleticae 6 (PG 28.1489).

11 Vita Syncleticae 10.

124 up an ascetic life, but also her narrative, as her biographer states, would not contain an account of her actual ascetic living: “For she did not so much think about doing good as she did about keeping her good works private and secret.”12 In her discourse to her fellow nuns, Syncletica appealed to a similar sentiment: “For,” she states, “as a treasure is spent once it has been revealed, so virtue also vanishes once it is known and made public [γνωριζομένη καὶ

δημοσιευομένη ἀφανίζεται].”13 Like Antony, Syncletica had come from a well-to-do family, and equally similar both of her parents died while she was young, leaving her their wealth and to tend to her blind sister. Upon her parent’s death, she needed no impetus to push her towards greater discipline, but went straight out to sell her possessions and take up a solitary life, even taking her sister along with her.14 Once she had withdrawn and begun to cultivate greater discipline

Syncletica’s austere practices would not follow a progression similar to that of Antony in the

Life. Rather than following a path of ever-increasing austerity in the face of mounting adversity, such as Antony’s consistent movements further and further into the desert and his ever more stringent eating habits, Syncletica would, at times, “mitigate the severity of her asceticism. And this she used to do so that the parts of her body might not become totally debilitated – for physical collapse was a sign of defeat [Τοῦτο δὲ ἐποίει πρὸς τὸ μὴ ἀθρόως διαλυθῆναι τὰ τοῦ

σώματος μέλη. ἣττης γὰρ ἧν τοῦτο τεκμήριον].”15 Syncletica’s actions suggested that pushing the

12 Vita Syncleticae 15 (PG 28.1494). Syncletica expands upon this topic in her discourse to the nuns when she states: “There are some, you see, who feign humility through their outward appearance and submissive manner, but who are seeking fame by this very behaviour” (Vita Syncleticae 59 (PG 28.1521).

13 Vita Syncleticae 38 (PG 28.1509).

14 Vita Syncleticae 11.

15 Vita Syncleticae 19 (PG 28.1496).

125 body beyond its natural limits was not a sign of holiness, but was rather a sign of the ascetic’s pride at demonstrating her abilities.16 Each of these early preparations – from her nascent ascetic inclinations to her desire to conceal her practice – provided Syncletica with the means to avoid failure and to avoid following the wrong path.

With these preparatory points in mind, the area of particular concern to us here is the fundamental distinction in the manner in which the Life of Syncletica and the Life of Antony each portray the nature of demonic attack. The attacks that came upon Antony in the Life began as an internal assault upon his thoughts. Specifically, he was assaulted by memories. Those attacks, however, quickly transitioned to external assaults upon his body. The physical beatings and pain brought to bear upon Antony’s body by the various beasts that attacked him in the tombs required far more attention from Antony than the mere temptations of memory.17 Antony would deal with these physical assaults not only prior to his seclusion in his fortress,18 but also much later when he took up life in the inner mountain.19 In this sense, Antony handled the interior assaults with little difficulty while the control over his body, and resistance to its painful afflictions, took greater time and effort.20 Athanasius’ portrayal of this transition from the internal temptation of Antony’s thoughts to the external beatings of his body was developed

16 Andrew Crislip provides a brief overview of these ideas in his essay, ““I Have Chosen Sickness”: The Controversial Function of Sickness in Early Christian Ascetic Practice,” in Asceticism and its Critics, ed. O. Freiberger, pp. 192-196.

17 On the demonic temptations that beset Antony see David Brakke, Demons and the Making of the Monk, pp. 27-37.

18 Vita Antonii 9.

19 Vita Antonii 51-51.

20 Brakke, Demons, p. 30.

126 concurrently with Antony’s movements further and further away from his village. As Antony gained greater distance from civilization his battles against temptation became increasingly wild and war-like. Contrary to the Life where physical attack represented the most arduous stage of ascetic development, in the Life of Syncletica it is the repeated assaults of the demonic upon the thoughts and disposition of the ascetic that stood at the forefront of her discipline.21 These attacks were of such severity that they prompted her biographer, through comparison with Thecla and Job, to remark: “I do not think that the noblest martyrs suffered as bravely as did the celebrated Syncletica, for the Avenger attacked them externally.”22

Why this shift in the nature of demonic attack? The reasons revealed in Syncletica’s discourse appear to revolve around her understanding of pride as it confronts advanced ascetics engaged in severe discipline. Towards the conclusion of an extended discussion on the dangers of pride, Syncletica states: “If these thoughts23 come to the mind of a woman leading an anchorite’s [ἀναχωρούσῃ] life, she must enter a community [ἐν κοινοβίῳ εἰσερχέσθω]; and she must be forced to eat twice a day if, at least, she is caught up in this illness [πάθει] through an excess of discipline [δι’ ὑπερβολὴν ἀσκήσεως].”24 She continues, “But another evil precedes this malady [νόσου]: disobedience [παρακοή]. And thus, by means of the opposing virtue of

21 On the demonic attacks in the Life of Syncletica see Brakke, Demons, pp. 188-193.

22 Vita Syncleticae 106 (PG 28.1552).

23 Prior to this, Syncletica had been discussing the actions that might lead an ascetic to be forgetful of her previous sins, to think her discipline has surpassed others, or to seek out positions of power – teaching posts, offices of command, or designations as a healer. Any of these types of thoughts could stem from pride and would lead to the necessities discussed by Syncletica in the present excerpt.

24 Vita Syncleticae 50 (PG 28.1517).

127 obedience [ὑπακοῆς], it is possible to cleanse the festering cancer of the soul [τὴν σηπεδονώδη

νομὴν τῆς ψυχῆς], for obedience, Scripture says, is better than sacrifice.”25 Syncletica was acutely aware of the dangers of pride [ὑπερηφανια] and related it to concerns over excessive bodily mortification. The development of pride, however, was preceded according to Syncletica by a specifically non-bodily act: disobedience [παρακοή]. At first glance, the relationship between pride and obedience may not be clear, but in the following analysis we will see how the two conditions relate and why Syncletica’s solution to the problem of pride is for the nun to enter herself into a monastery.

Somewhat paradoxically, Syncletica directs her discourse against pride to those ascetics who have avoided any previous failure. It is those ascetics, rather than ascetics who have previously fallen, who are at the greatest risk of succumbing to pride. Her reasoning is straightforward: after a fall, the fallen ascetic becomes single-minded and directs all of her attention at standing back up. That distinctly focused purpose, combined with an acute awareness of her own failure, enables the ascetic to regain her footing and stand up once again.

Ascetics, however, who have remained standing, were not only at greater risk of a fall, but they also risked falling to depths from which recovery might not be possible. In her discussion,

Syncletica hoped to teach her nuns that the stimuli that beset each of them need not be of the typical distracting variety: food, money, or the opposite sex. Rather, these stimuli could be of a seemingly lesser danger such as praise, renown, or even the desire to maintain a stringent regimen, thoughts which encouraged the ascetic to seek out public gains other than increased

25 Vita Syncleticae 51 (PG 28.1517). The scriptural reference here is to 1 Sam 15.22.

128 communion with God. Syncletica’s description of these attacks demonstrates the ways in which the demonic sought to keep ascetics off balance and to challenge how ascetics perceived the nature of their own accomplishments.

When faced with an ascetic whose physical austerities were well developed, the demons shifted their attack by halting their external assaults so as to engage in more insidious activity.

After many years of arduous practice, an ascetic who had persevered through numerous assaults and maintained a stringent regimen might begin to look around her and interpret the struggles of others as failures derived from their lesser discipline, their lesser resolve, or simply because they were weaker. She might begin to look down upon them, all the while forgetful of the struggles she had worked so long and hard to overcome herself. At this point, her discipline would appear to have been successful! She has succeeded where others have failed. What the ascetic faced with such thoughts has failed to take account of is that this feeling was itself an attack. This new attack by the demons drew upon the ascetic’s success by attempting to hide sins and dispel previous memories in order to inculcate a sense of accomplishment. The demons, in this sense, even seem to have been defeated. She might then seek particular leadership offices where she would have charge of others, or she might find renown through acts of healing. In either case, her feelings and any subsequent actions that would arise from those feelings came about through her pride. To Syncletica the result of those feelings was clear and unavoidable: “Thus deceived, then, the soul perishes and is destroyed, smitten with a wound hard to heal [Ἠ οὗν οὓτως

129 ἀπαταμένη ψυχὴ φθείρεται καὶ ἀπόλλυται, δυσιάτῳ ἓλκει πληγεῖσα].”26 Τhe ascetic falls to a depth that is beyond the help of others.

Syncletica has articulated an understanding of temptation that allows for failure to be rooted within apparently holy actions. By disguising evil as a good, the demons make discipline the center of the ascetic’s attention, through which they can then entice her to kill her body.

With her mind stirred in this manner the ascetic conjures visions of a holiness that is gained through a stringent regimen and her focus gradually shifts away from God and onto herself.

Syncletica’s basic point is straightforward: anything that would make the ascetic life an end in itself, rather than a means towards union with God, could be a force devised by the devil.

Following this model, advanced ascetics are thus deceived by their own aspirations.

Syncletica’s framework for understanding the development of these faults within the ascetic regimen revolves around the relationship she articulates between external and internal assaults, and the manner in which the bodily senses serve as a meeting point of the two. External stimuli are taken in by the senses and then impinge upon the ascetic’s intellect in an attempt to draw the ascetic away from a virtuous life.27 To describe these relationships, Syncletica makes use of physical analogies. She likens the soul to a ship28 that suffers from waves battering it

26 Vita Syncleticae 49 (PG 28.1517). We find similar remarks within the sayings attributed to Amma Syncletica in the Apophthegmata Patrum. Speaking of the devil, she remarks: “If he has not won the victory by insults and disgrace, he suggests praise and glory. Overcome by health, he makes the body ill” (Apop. Pat., Syncletica 7 (PG 65.424)).

27 Castelli provides an excellent account of this aspect of Syncletica’s narrative in two short sections of her essay, “Mortifying the Body, Curing the Soul.” See pp. 142-144 and pp. 147-148.

28 While Syncletica uses a number of different analogies, the sailing analogy is the most used throughout her text for reasons she does not make entirely clear, though we might guess that part of the reason for using sailing analogies comes from the destructive forces of water and our inability to control the forces of water, which is also juxtaposed with the life-giving and baptismal qualities of water. Thus, the life-giving waters are something that must be navigated lest they lead to one’s downfall.

130 from the outside (external assaults) while water has also begun to rise within (interior assaults).

Each of these assaults provides its own individual threat and sailors must maintain vigilance against both, lest they risk the safety of their ship. Syncletica, however, articulates a crucial difference between the two forms of assault. In the case of a ship at risk from the battering of waves, sailors from other ships that might be nearby can recognize that the ship is at risk and offer assistance to help rescue the battered ship from danger. By contrast, sailors offering a ship help might fail to recognize the presence of an internal danger as water rising inside the ship threatens to sink it, even once it has been brought into calmer waters. The sailors on the threatened ship itself also might fail to take notice of this internal danger. From the outside the ship appears perfectly sound – it is sailing in calm waters under the light of the sun – but inside the waters have risen too high and the ship’s fate has been sealed.29 To culminate her analogy, and bring it back to her discussion of pride within advanced ascetics, Syncletica concludes: “We

[ascetics] seem to be sailing in the calm part of the sea while secular people sail in the dangerous parts. We also sail during the day, navigating by the sun of righteousness, while they sail by night, swept along by ignorance. It often happens, however, that the secular person has saved his ship in the midst of storm and darkness by crying out and staying awake; we, on the other hand, have drowned in calm waters through carelessness in letting go of the rudder of righteousness.”30

29 Vita Syncleticae 45. A similar analogy is used by the narrator in the opening biographical sections of the text as an explanation for Syncletica’s mitigation of the severity of her austere practices. There he states: “She would take care of her body when her ship, so to speak, was in calm waters. In actual fact, those who sail ships go without food when stormy weather and high seas overtake them, while they apply all their skill to the danger before their eyes. But when they succeed in surviving, then they take thought for a second kind of salvation” (Vita Syncleticae 19 (PG 28.1496)).

30 Vita Syncleticae 47 (PG 28.1516).

131 As Syncletica built to the climax of her discourse on pride, she made her most pointed remark regarding the appraisal of one’s own ascetic discipline: “But even if you were…successfully practicing the most extreme asceticism, do not make too much of it! For demons have in fact done and are doing more ascetic acts than yours. They do not eat, nor drink, nor sleep. They also spend their lives in a desert – in case you think that you are doing something great by living in a cave.”31 The mitigation of external assaults was a necessary step to be taken by any practitioner but the assessment of the utility of such actions had to account for these punishments as only one part of a larger battle. Diligent attention must be paid to these external assaults but it also must be recognized that their cessation did not mark a triumph but rather a caution against the raising of a more insidious internal attack.

What should be clear in regard to Syncletica’s understanding of the varying assaults coming upon the ascetic is the way in which, especially, the external assaults could serve to mask internal failings. These external assaults were easily recognizable by both outside observers and also the individual under attack and once dealt with then the ascetic began to attain an appearance of holiness. Observers might gaze in awe upon this ascetic’s ability to live in a harsh environment with few discernible resources. They might be amazed by the ability of the ascetic to maintain his or her body under such conditions. What Syncletica cautioned her nuns against was this facile understanding of a holy life. The ability to overcome external assaults did not necessarily serve as an accurate gauge of the ascetic’s closeness to God. An observer did not know the internal conflicts boiling up inside the ascetic and yet that observer might praise her for

31 Vita Syncleticae 53 (PG 28.1520). A similar saying is attributed to Macarius the Great. Meeting the devil, the devil implored Macarius, “‘All that you do, I do, too; you fast, so do I; you keep vigil, and I do not sleep at all; in one thing only do you beat me.’ Abba Macarius asked what that was. The devil replied, ‘Your humility. Because of that I can do nothing against you’” (Apop. Pat., Macarius the Great 11 (PG 65.268)).

132 her great discipline. As the ascetic sensed the admiration of others, she might then push herself into increasingly greater degrees of austerity and more severe bodily punishments. This increase in stringency, as it became coupled with the pride of the nun who had now forgotten her previous sins, caused the nun to look down upon those whose success seemed lesser than her own. Her discipline had now become her goal. Pride, in this sense, was a problem of human relatedness.

It facilitated the creation of relationships that were damaging to both the individual filled with pride and also to the other ascetics living around her.

As discussed above, Syncletica’s solution to prevent the more precipitous falls that developed through the onset of pride could not come in solitude. The woman needed chastisement from other ascetics. If we return to the passage previously discussed on the need to enter a monastery, we should note an interesting juxtaposition that helps explain Syncletica’s reasons for viewing a communal life as the antidote to pride. She states, “But another evil precedes this malady [νόσου]: disobedience [παρακοή]. And thus, by means of the opposing virtue of obedience [ὑπακοῆς], it is possible to cleanse the festering cancer of the soul [τὴν

σηπεδονώδη νομὴν τῆς ψυχῆς], for obedience, Scripture says, is better than sacrifice.”32 By viewing the vices of pride and disobedience as illnesses of the soul Syncletica associates them with her understanding of how we must combat illnesses of the body, that is, through submission, a battle she was particularly suited to discuss.33

32 Vita Syncleticae 51 (PG 28.1517).

33 For a brief overview of ascetic critiques related to sickness see Crislip’s article, “I Have Chosen Sickness.” On Syncletica specifically, see pp. 192-96 of that article.

133 At the age of eighty a serious illness overtook Syncletica, infecting her lungs and other inner organs.34 The disease, brought upon her by the devil as an attack against her extreme piety, ravaged her body for three-and-a-half years, inflicting tortuous pains upon her almost constantly.

Yet, Syncletica suffered on, refusing treatment and withholding any attempts to combat the illness itself, which she must have sensed would be terminal. Her illness was another of the

“external battles” the devil would throw at her and her mind recognized its failing body but openly ignored it. However, Syncletica’s choice to ignore her body was not due to any lack of effect that the illness had on her, on the contrary she was said to have been suffering greatly.

She chose to ignore her suffering body because she was aware that the illness had been brought on by the devil. To acquiesce to her need for treatment, then, would be to give in to this demonic influence.35 While sick, she defied the devil’s assaults by continuing to teach, even as her fellow nuns struggled to comprehend her ability to withstand such anguish. Sensing this failure, the devil devised another torment, rotting Syncletica’s teeth and bringing about numerous sores in her mouth so that she could no longer speak. If physical pain could not prevent Syncletica from teaching, then perhaps the inability to speak would. Even though the devil had prevented her from teaching through words, Syncletica now taught through her perseverance.36 She did, begrudgingly, consent to allow doctors to provide her with medical treatment, but only because the stench from her wounds was preventing her fellow nuns from sitting in the same room with

34 Vita Syncleticae 104-109.

35 Vita Syncleticae 107.

36 Vita Syncleticae 112.

134 her.37 Shortly thereafter, Syncletica began receiving visions, foretold her death, and then at the appointed time, she died.

As a final testament to her perseverance, Syncletica’s response to her illness served as an illustration of her ability to reverse the manner in which the devil had tried to deceive ascetics.

Throughout the ordeal the devil had only seen Syncletica’s flawed body and thought that through debilitation her resolve could be destroyed. But now, it was the devil that was blind.

What is remarkable about Syncletica’s relationship to her illness is the way in which illness served to promote her ascetic practice.38 As the body succumbed to illness it brought with it a stilling of the passions that was similar to what was desired through discipline. There would be no reason to fast or avoid sexual temptations while sick as the illness itself tamped these passions. “If then,” says Syncletica, “disease has dulled these pleasures, austerity is superfluous

[περιττὸς ὁ πόνος].”39 A crucial distinction not addressed by Syncletica in this passage is the difference between voluntarily choosing to abstain from bodily pleasures and the involuntary abstention brought about by sickness. Voluntary engagement in the ascetic life was of vital importance to the ascetic’s endeavor, a point Syncletica herself had made clear earlier in her discourse.40 Yet, Syncletica’s failure to take up this issue when addressing sickness was intentional. The repression of desire brought on by sickness could serve as a means to prevent

37 Vita Syncleticae 111.

38 Vita Syncleticae 99. Crislip, “I Have Chosen Sickness,” pp. 195-96.

39 Vita Syncleticae 99 (PG 28.1548).

40 See Vita Syncleticae 33-35 where Syncletica speaks of voluntary poverty as the surest sign of an aspiring ascetic’s commitment. We should also recall Antony’s voluntary poverty as the first step he took before departing for the desert (Vita Antonii 2).

135 the ascetic from suffering the sorts of fatal lapses that arose from overly stringent practice. It was, thus, paramount that the ascetic did not attempt to resist her sickness nor take it as a sign to increase her ascetic stringency. Syncletica hoped this example would emphasize to her fellow nuns the limitations of ascetic practice and to help them realize it was not their practice that was important. Their practice itself could be rendered pointless. Askesis provided a worthwhile starting point for the ascetic life, but a life that became solely focused on one’s practice could lead to immoderation, a form, which Syncletica argued, was encouraged by the devil and practiced by his disciples. The true ascetic life was a life of moderation.41

Syncletica’s own illness, thus, served to highlight her moderate regimen by demonstrating her submission to her suffering. She neither tried to fight against the illness through austere practices nor did she seek out treatments to mitigate the pain she felt. She simply submitted to its effects and continued teaching. As an approach to combating illness,

Syncletica’s submission provides an instructive example of how she understood the way the advanced ascetic was to avoid succumbing to the build-up of pride. By viewing pride as an illness threatening the soul we then see that it is not to be dealt with through a more rigorous application of discipline, for this will simply increase the ascetic’s pride just as stringent activity would tire out a sick body. The ascetic needed to combat the illness of pride through submission and obedience to others. From this we grasp the reasoning behind Syncletica’s statement that the woman suffering from pride in her discipline must enter herself into a monastery. This woman was suffering from a malady whose cure could come only through the admonishments and reprimands of other ascetics. She must be reminded that her ability to overcome the body, to

41 Vita Syncleticae 100.

136 fast, to sleep on a mat, and to resist her passions, was nothing. She had to be reminded of her previous failures so that she could avoid feeling any sense of accomplishment. In that sense, other ascetics could unveil what the demons had tried to cover up.

We can now return to Syncletica’s statement with which we began this section: “When we live in community, sisters, let us choose obedience over discipline; for the latter teaches contempt, while the former calls for humility.” The obedient nun submits her will to the will of her superior and even the will of her fellow nuns. Life in the monastery surrounded the would- be ascetic with other Christians of similar disposition, who had spent years cultivating the type of wisdom that enabled them to avoid lapses into demonic temptation. By living in that environment and submitting to the will of those within it, this removed some possibility of acting out of pride in a vain search for a perceived holiness. The monastery certainly did not eliminate these problems – at points in her discourse Syncletica specifically addressed the temptations that arose within the monastery itself – but the monastery at least provided some seclusion from pride by limiting the praise that might be showered upon any ascetic through public recognition.

While it would be too much to suggest that Syncletica is anti-ascetic, it is not at all unreasonable to suggest that she recognized a severe problem with the ideal of the ascetic life that was lived out in solitude and withdrawn from a larger community.

What Syncletica has articulated is a fairly different conception of the body compared with what was found in the Life of Antony. Being embodied seems to mean something slightly different in each case. Within the Life the mind and body appear at opposition: the apparent purpose of the body goes little beyond trying to tempt and control the mind into fulfilling the body’s desires. Antony reclaimed his mind by divesting himself of bodily urges and in the

137 process transformed himself such that he became impervious to natural processes of decay.

Through this he was able to perfect his body such that it remained in a pristine state seemingly untouched by time during his seclusion. His body was subjected to his will and through that subjection it was brought into harmony with Antony’s interior discipline. For Syncletica, while the body was certainly a window through which stimuli might pass so as to lead the ascetic astray, the temptations themselves were such that they could also originate internally, promoting a slavish adherence to bodily mortification that Syncletica viewed as potentially more damning than any threat from external temptation. The desire for asceticism became, when pushed too far, a form of gluttony. Just as the glutton who eats more, craves more food, the ascetic who develops a strict regimen, craves a stricter regimen. In this sense, the desire to overcome the body became a source of pride and estrangement; an estrangement not only from God, but also from other Christians. Danger could also arise when the increasingly austere life of the ascetic overcame the body’s abilities and the body itself was degraded. That degradation then prevented the ascetic from any sort of contemplation or communion with God. This is a subtler form of transgression. Rather than engaging in ethically transgressive behavior (adultery, robbery, harming others, etc.) the ascetic transgressed God’s sovereignty by placing an ascetic desire over the desire for God. While obviously licentious thoughts might be easily recognized as sinful and quickly pushed aside by the seasoned ascetic, thoughts of ascetic success were not so easily viewed in the same manner. These subtle demonic suggestions could potentially plague the ascetic at any time, but especially during times when her askesis was going particularly well. If the regimen itself could become the downfall of the ascetic, then, from Syncletica’s point of view, a reappraisal of the ascetic enterprise was necessary.

138

Ascetic Transformation: Antony, Syncletica, and Palladius

When Augustine took the narrative of Antony and spun its ideals into a conversion narrative, he was able to locate the root of his estrangement from God. Outside of the desert, where demons were no longer vicious beasts and searing heat but philosophical books and circus acts, Augustine heard of Antony’s life and used that narrative as a means to see himself stripped bare of his attachments and laid naked before his eyes. Augustine was never made perfect like

Antony, but the revelation of his innermost flaws and temptations serves as a basic understanding of the goal of any transformative practice. The ascetic desires to reveal, comprehend, and reclaim his true nature as a means towards a reunion with God. Augustine’s long search was finally made complete through the Life of Antony even though Augustine had not lived in a manner at all reflective of Antony’s life in the desert. Yet, what each man found was remarkably similar: the discovery that God was always present guiding him and, at times, sheltering him from evil.

Augustine has shown us the basic goal that any Christian could aspire to and used a specific ascetic model to get there. Within the ascetic milieu, however, reaching that goal was certainly not defined strictly as we see within the hagiographies of Antony and Syncletica. In each, we find a different means of transforming the self within the ascetic life and a different concept of the result of that self-transformation. Antony’s contests against demons and sequestering of himself within an abandoned fortress so as to find solitude transformed him into a Christian who was in full mastery of both body and mind, with the body subjected to the

139 mind’s will. He pushed every potential distraction as far away as possible. Freed from such things his mind no longer responded to passions instigated by the devil. He was a tangible expression of the victory over death achieved by Christ’s incarnation, death, and resurrection, who delivered discourses and performed miracles once he rejoined his community. But in order to apprehend his true being, to achieve the stripping bare of his self, he required solitude and separation. Once Antony was alone, a solitary figure in a remote fort, he could recognize demonic temptation and ultimately see the one constant presence, which previously he had not noticed: God. After realizing God’s guiding presence within him, he emerged to lead a Christian community. We must, though, take note of his emergence: his sequestering was to serve as an impetus to leadership. Athanasius did not intend for his depiction of Antony to represent a manner in which one departed from the Christian community and never returned.

Athanasius depicted the perfected Christian as someone who must separate himself from society. Only in that isolation, removed from outside temptation and distraction from other humans, was the full battle waged between the ascetic and his temptors. It was this that enabled the ascetic to transform (or in the sense of the imago dei, to regain) his nature. This was a figure juxtaposed with the larger world but one who need not live only amongst those in the desert.

Antony’s withdrawal could occur in any place. He represented someone separated, someone who was in every manner different from everyone else. That Antony became a paradigm of withdrawal into the desert may be just as much a function of the reality of society’s temptations as it was a function of the locale of the Life. The difficulties that confronted an ascetic who remained in the world were not limited to only resisting the demonic, but also, and more importantly, concerned identifying the demonic. Living on the fringes of society at least allowed

140 the ascetic to limit the external stimuli that perpetually imperiled his practice. Yet even on those fringes external temptations still occurred, until eventually he was pushed into solitude just as

Antony had been. It is when we come upon someone like Syncletica that we see the problems with this path.

Syncletica’s self-transformation relied upon recognition of complete dependence upon

God’s grace as the only means for salvation.42 While the ascetic possessed free will and could actively pursue union with God, it was only through the complete abnegation of the will that the ascetic could achieve such a union. Ascetic work would only lead so far before the work itself became the goal and the ascetic lost sight of God. While Antony too had a keen understanding of God’s abiding presence and God’s responsibility for his success, he still held to an ideal of the regimen as the means of maintaining that union. Thus, he states in his discourse to the monks,

“let us persist daily in the ascetic life, knowing that if we are lax (ἀμελήσωμεν) even one day, the

Lord will not forgive us on the basis of past performance, but will direct his wrath against us because of our neglect.”43 There is the same sense of demonic persistence as found in

Syncletica, but the means of overcoming that persistence remains firmly rooted, for Antony, in the active working of the ascetic’s will,44 rather than, as for Syncletica, in the giving up of one’s

42 Cf. Schaffer, Holy Syncletica: P II, pp. 78-79. This recognition is set up fairly early in the narrative, just after her parents died and Syncletica began the ascetic life. Syncletica states: “If in the outside world, for the sake of a transitory distinction, people throw away their whole substance, how much more necessary is it for me who have been granted so great a grace to offer my body along with what are regarded as possessions? But why do I talk about giving possessions or body when all that is belongs to him” (Vita Syncletica 12 (PG 28.1493)).

43 Vita Antonii 18, tr. Gregg p. 45 (PG 26:869).

44 In his discourse Antony provides an account of ascetic progress that closely mirrors the progression Athanasius narrated as taking place within Antony: the gradual increase and shifting in demonic temptation and the stringent regimen and faith required to deal with these demons (Vita Antonii 23). We should attend to the way Antony claims the demons are resisted: prayers, fasting, and faith.

141 will to the will of another. When Syncletica delivered her discourse to her fellow nuns she made clear that it was the abnegation of the will that was transforming. The self was transformed by, essentially, giving itself up. Perfected Christian nature thus consisted of only doing the work of others and for others, rather than working for one’s own benefit. Through this, Syncletica came to realize the necessity of community and ultimately developed the proper obedience to the will of those around her. She, then, reversed the ideal of ascetic solitude: it was not in solitude that the self was perfected, but only in communal obedience where the Christian could recognize her true being as absolutely dependent upon God and submit to that dependence.

The paradigm of Antony, while striking, led down a path that risked making asceticism a spectacle: men and women who undertook increasingly severe and dramatic actions for nothing more than rhetorical effect. These ascetics risked placing drama over communion. For those like Syncletica, this realization prompted her towards reassessment and a movement back into community. A broader understanding of the ascetic life, one that sought to develop ascetic practice through relationships with other Christians, rather than solitary practice, was needed. A communal solution also lay at the heart of Palladius’ writing. As we shall see, Palladius espoused a different sort of community, but it was with a similar sense for reappraisal that he constructed his text of ascetic lives. While Syncletica developed an understanding of pride that seems particularly influenced by a communal monastic setting and the imperative for maintenance of the community, her concerns would not have been lost on a man like Palladius.

For Palladius, however, pride, and its subsequent consequences, was something slightly different. Pride was a misconception over the attribution of one’s successful askesis. To put it plainly: an ascetic ascribed success to his own efforts rather than to God’s providence. We have

142 seen the ways in which Palladius’ arguments on pride, rooted in his narratives of failed monks and concretized in the long speech of Paphnutius Kephalas, positioned it as a type of delusion that was bordering on madness. What about a solution? Does Syncletica’s text help us in that regard?

Like Syncletica, Palladius understood the allure of the perception of holiness. He cautioned Lausus constantly through his relay of stories concerning the fall of ascetic men and women who felt their holiness placed them above others. In this vein, his prologue offers an interesting perspective on the maintenance of an ascetic’s purpose: “You have not bound your will with an oath on a sudden impulse and without full consideration simply in order to win the praise of men. Some have done so in a spirit of rivalry and out of love of glory. They enslaved their own free will by the bond of an oath not to eat or drink.”45 Underlying Palladius’ statement is a criticism of ascetic rigidity; a criticism of practices that remained inflexible in the face of hardships that necessitated a change of course.46 His juxtaposition of freedom and slavery demonstrates the ways in which the ascetic could become enslaved to the very actions that he had freely chosen to undertake. Through all of its hardships, the life of the ascetic, when successful, carried with it the consequence of praise and renown. That praise, while motivating, also created inelasticity – a desire against reducing the stringency of one’s practice. These ascetics became bound to their practice, endlessly pushing against obstacles they could not

45 HL, prol. 9, Butler, ed., p. 12, Meyer, tr., p. 26.

46 Most notably, see HL 18.17-18, the account of Macarius of Alexandria’s attempt to focus solely on God for five days. Macarius was saved from a fall only when he ceased this practice through a recognition that his actions reached too far. It should not surprise us that Macarius offered the concluding statement: “I came down to view the world lest I be thought arrogant [τῦφος]” (HL, 18.18, Butler, ed., pp. 53-54, Meyer, tr., p. 63).

143 move.47 When approached in this manner, the ascetic life itself became the source of one’s slavery. That enslavement came, of course, through pride. As we saw above, for Syncletica the means to avoid this enslavement was to divest oneself of the will through the subjection of one’s will to the will of another within the confines of a monastery.

Clearly, Palladius understood the perils of an ascetic regimen practiced in solitude. What is less clear is whether Palladius would suggest a communal life was the proper means of combating these perils. In examples Palladius provides of ascetics who were brought back from a fall, these acts were not performed voluntarily by the fallen ascetic but rather he or she was typically chained and forced into less severe forms of practice. Syncletica’s advocation of admonishments and reminders of failure as methods to cleanse a fellow nun of pride seem tame in comparison with Palladius’ statements about involuntary imprisonment. It is as if pride is a chasm that is escapable only through help from others. After an ascetic who had celebrated his own success had lost his ἂγγελον τῆς προνοίας he then slipped into a state where recovery was beyond his own ability. He had been given over to the demonic. This reasoning accords well with Palladius’ conception of God’s abandonment. Paphnutius had suggested to Palladius that those whom God has abandoned were not without hope if they could regain their humility.48 In

Palladius’ examples of fallen ascetics, however, those who were brought back and regained a

47 We should be reminded here of Isidore’s statement to Moses the Ethiopian along with Moses’ reply: Isidore told Moses, “Stop contending with demons and do not bother them, for there are limits in bravery as well as in ascetic practice.” Unable to understand the gravity of the situation clearly, Moses responded: “I shall not stop before my fantasy of demons ceases” (HL, 19.10, Butler, ed., p. 62, Meyer, tr., p. 70).

48 HL, 47.11.

144 holy life achieved this resurgence only through the help of others.49 Not a single example is given of a fallen ascetic who realized his error and corrected it on his own.50 Yet still, Palladius has not suggested that success came through the joining of a monastery. His fallen ascetics brought back into piety do not take up monastic lives. Rather, they forsake their stringent ascetic lives. The situation then seems one of faulty self-perception rather than the submission of the will. To understand Palladius’ perspective on the avoidance of such faults requires that we attend to the later chapters of the History, which demonstrate that Palladius was thinking about ways of living a holy life other than the ascetic life of the desert. While a full analysis of

Palladius’ intent for these narratives will come in the next chapter, some concluding remarks here should provide us with a stepping-off point for that material.

We discussed in our opening chapter the import of the later chapters of the History for understanding how Palladius’ thoughts on the ascetic life may have evolved in the years between his exile and the writing of his History, in part due to the cooling of tensions between those who had deposed John Chrysostom and Chrysostom’s supporters. These later chapters consist primarily of ascetics that Palladius encountered during his exile and whatever roads he traveled as he returned to Galatia, but they seem to lack any narrative continuity and Palladius himself rarely makes an appearance.51 While some tell short anecdotes of solitary ascetics, many of

49 Palladius even tells of how he would “mourn over those who had fallen into evil, and in such cases he often brought the fallen one back to conversion” (HL 71.4, Butler, ed., p. 168, Meyer, tr., p. 154).

50 The closest example is that of Heron (HL, 26) whose fallen state is eventually restored without the help of others. However, his restoration comes through a disease that caused his genitals to rot away. Only after this does he eventually regain his formerly pious nature. In this case, we can hardly assert that Heron recognized his error and turned back on his own.

51 Here I follow the chronology deduced by Butler pp. 2.237-47. The narratives that tell of Palladius’ life after he left the desert, during his exile, and during his return to Galatia are likely: HL 32-34, 41, 45, 58-62, 66-69. HL 36 on

145 these chapters chronicle Palladius’ visits to monastic communities52 and of various urban men and women, sometimes of great wealth, who lived holy lives supporting other ascetics or the poor.53 These were individuals living a life of virtue that was neither reliant on a specific regimen nor did it require that they live in the desert. Some even were married. Amongst these chapters, he also tells of great ascetics who gave up a solitary life in order to start communities of ascetics.54

Palladius makes no specific remarks comparing the lives of these men and women with the lives of the ascetics whose narratives he told earlier in his account. These narratives stand on their own as if Palladius himself is not quite sure what to make of them. But clearly he is investigating the viability of paths to God that follow lines other than life in the desert. We should also consider that there is a certain self-conscious ideal of reassessment that Palladius displays in his work more generally. His comments about the proper nature of teaching and learning, along with the multiple narratives in which Palladius makes statements such as, “I have included tales such as this so that…”, suggest that he was not entirely happy with the ways in which teaching on the ascetic life had previously been conveyed. That Palladius may not have had an exact sense of the proper ascetic path (and perhaps there was no singular path) does not

Posidonius comes from sort of a middle-period in which Palladius spent a year in Bethlehem after he left Egypt but prior to his consecration as bishop of Helenopolis. The time of HL 48-52, when Palladius was in Jericho is unclear. Most likely his time there was either just after arriving at the Mt. of Olives, so from 386-388 CE, or contemporaneous with his time in Bethlehem.

52 Most prominent are chapters 58-59 on the monasteries of Antinoë. It also seems likely that his visit to the monasteries of the Tabennisi, chronicled in HL 32-34 on Pachomius, occurred during Palladius’ exile as well.

53 As noted by Philip Rousseau in his Ascetics, Authority, and the Church in the Age of Jerome and Cassian, p. 106. Also see n. 30 on that same page.

54 HL, 48; 49.

146 dull the sense that he did think a reappraisal of the ideal was necessary. The ascetic needed others for help and support, that much was clear, but was that support best found in the monasteries, or amongst the charitable Christians of the city, or did it not even matter? Was the maintenance of God’s grace all that need be secured?

Given his audience, any solution Palladius might present had to lie somewhere in an urban ideal. Yet, urban asceticism is rife with its own complications, complications illustrated poignantly by a saying on Abba Apphy from the Apophthegmata Patrum:

They used to say of a bishop of Oxyrrynchus, named Abba Apphy, that when he was a monk he submitted himself to a very severe way of life (πολλὰς σκληραγωγίας ἐποίει). When he became a bishop he wished to practice the same austerity, even in the world, but he had not the strength to do so. Therefore he prostrated himself before God saying, ‘Has your grace left me because of my episcopate?’ Then he was given this revelation, ‘No, but when you were in solitude and there was no one else it was God who was your helper. Now that you are in the world, it is man.’55

Living within the city, away from desert solitude, placed one in constant contact with those aspects of the world which were most misleading. Yet, as this saying on Apphy reveals, there was a form of askesis that was practicable within the cities and dependent upon social engagement for the support of the ascetic and also for those of the laity to whom the ascetic ministered. God’s grace was now to be found in these human relationships rather than in the solitude of the desert. Palladius could hardly tell Lausus and his superiors to take up a monastic life, but that did not mean that Lausus could not find a means to bring the desert life into the city.

Lausus need simply find the proper means of engagement and in this regard Palladius’ History was to be his guide.

55 Apop. Pat., Apphy 1 (PG 65.133).

147 For Palladius himself there also remained an unresolved question. Like Apphy, he was a bishop, subject to other men and women as his helpers, but his ordination and the subsequent events, which resulted in his exile, had left him puzzled over the path his life had followed. Near the end of his chapter on John of Lycopolis, after finding out he must leave the desert due to his ill health, Palladius inserted a few statements about John’s cautions to him about ordination.56

Even here, obviously looking back in reflection multiple decades after the events, he was still unsure whether his ordination came about because of his overzealousness or whether it was granted to him by God. Like Apphy, he questioned whether he still had God’s grace. Palladius was unconcerned with where ascetic practice took place, but if he was to emulate Paul properly in relating his trials for the benefit of others, he had to understand pride and why ascetics were abandoned. If the ascetic unconsciously moved towards pride and those movements could only be avoided by abnegation of the will, then how was a bishop to function while maintaining

God’s grace? Could you submit to others while leading them?

56 HL 35.11-13.

Chapter 5

Ascetic Social Engagement

At the end of his long chapter on Macarius of Alexandria, Palladius, weary from boredom

[ἀκηδιάσας],1 asked Macarius, “What shall I do, Father, since my thoughts prompt me to leave, seeing I have made no progress here?”2 We discussed this in brief previously but now will work to expand on the implications of Palladius’ weariness. At the root of the question is an ethical appeal: shouldn’t ascetics be supporting the larger Christian community rather than simply working for their own betterment? While Macarius’ response to Palladius (“Tell them on

Christ’s behalf, I am holding up the walls here.”) suggested that ascetic practice had a broader reach than may immediately be recognizable, Palladius’ question, when viewed within the larger framework of the Lausiac History, reveals something more. The desert life seemed to lack something that was inherently Christian. In brief, to Palladius it seemed to lack ministry.

Certainly, ascetics engaged in ministry even while in the desert; they ministered to other ascetics but also to non-ascetics who traveled to them from local villages. Ascetic literature is filled with accounts of extremely sick, or possessed, individuals traveling to a renowned ascetic and leaving

1 In Praktikos, 12 Evagrius provides an overview of the ways in which acedia haunted the monk. Of particular interest in regard to Palladius’ concerns is Evagrius’ statement that acedia “drives [the monk] along to desire other sites where he can more easily procure life’s necessities, more readily find work and make a real success of himself. He goes on to suggest that, after all, it is not the place that is the basis of pleasing the Lord. God is to be adored everywhere. He joins to these reflections the memory of his dear ones and of his former way of life” (Praktikos, 12.14-19, Guillaumont, ed., pp. 524-26, Bamberger, tr., p. 19). Palladius struggled mightily with acedia, as should be clear from our previous analysis, and chief amongst the difficulties he presented himself with when he set out to write his History was to strike the correct balance between his desire to make the ascetic life practicable in the city while also making it clear that he had not simply given up on the desert due to this weariness.

2 HL, 18.29, Butler, ed., p. 58, Meyer, tr., p. 67. For our previous discussion of this passage see Chapter 2, pp. 64- 66.

148 149 miraculously cured. Generally speaking, however, these practices occurred when the sick came to or were brought to the ascetic man or woman. Palladius sought a more active role in reaching out to them.

The task that remains for this study is to understand how Palladius envisioned a future for the ascetic life that facilitated the intertwining of this pastoral commitment with a life conditioned to resist the influx of pride. This analysis will cover two separate, but nonetheless related, matters of concern to Palladius. First, through comparison with an account of monastic failure given by John of Lycopolis in the Historia Monachorum, we will come to a better understanding of how Palladius desired to counter these failures through ascetic socialization.

Second, we must deal with the related matter of how Palladius understood the relationship between the ascetic life and the pastoral life, chiefly in the sense of the need for bishops to leave the desert to undertake a pastoral life. This second matter is of specific concern to Palladius himself as it helps us to understand his reflections upon his own elevation to the bishopric and subsequent exile.

That Palladius’ text was intended for Lausus, the praepositus sacri cubiculi in the court of Theodosius II, served both as influence and as an opportunity governing his narrative construction. The nature of his audience provided compelling reasons for him to emphasize an ascetic ideal practicable in urban environments. It would have been of little use for Palladius to suggest to Lausus and his superiors that their efforts were fruitless if they remained in

Constantinople. Yet, Palladius’ audience served also as an opportunity. Life in the desert was not without problems and the Christianizing of the Empire created a community that was no longer one on the fringes. This needed an ideal focused on understanding ascetic practice in its

150 relation to other Christians and as a practice carried out in relation to other people. An appeal to the aristocratic hierarchy of Constantinople, especially one that seemed, on its surface, highly amenable to ascetic practice, provided Palladius the ideal avenue to present such a vision.

Humility as Communal Endeavor

Palladius’ desire for a more active ministerial role for ascetics may owe its formation to the community in which he resided while in the desert. Within the community at Cellia he participated in a shared endeavor where ascetic experience and knowledge were imparted between members of that community. Living in that environment may have instilled in Palladius an ideal of maintaining one’s humility through teaching. His letter to Lausus, which accompanied the Lausiac History, extols the virtues of teaching, and being taught, as a means towards averting madness [μανίαν νοσεῖ]3 and pride [ὑπερηφανίας].4 Therein he stated, “For the soul being trained to act in accord with God’s plan must either learn faithfully what it does not know, or teach clearly what it does know.”5 The basis for his writing was to engage in this pastoral effort to teach and it appears a similar pastoral need was what drove him to question

Macarius of Alexandria.

3 Ep. ad Lausus, 3, Butler, ed., p. 7.

4 Ep. ad Lausus, 2, Butler, ed., p. 7. As we have discussed previously, and will be clarified below, there is a relationship in Palladius between pride and madness, at least in regard to the ways in which pride deceived the ascetic. The puffed-up ascetic is, in this regard, irrational.

5 Ep. ad Lausus, 3, Butler, ed., p. 7, Meyer, tr., p. 22.

151 An emphasis on teaching certainly was not original to Palladius. The frequency with which sayings in the Apophthegmata Patrum begin with something along the lines of “Abba, give me a word.” or “Abba, what ought I to do?” further attests to this importance. The practical and experiential advice of the fathers was sought after amongst desert ascetics as a means of understanding the challenges associated with their praxis.6 Teaching from an Abba also served to instill obedience in novice monks. Attention to the precise words of the Abba reflected the ascetic’s willingness to give up his will in order to do the will of another.7 Thus, Abba Poemen stated, “Do not do your own will; you need rather to humble yourself before your brother.”8 In the teaching of Syncletica, obedience then became the hallmark of any communal ascetic practice.9 Along similar lines, Pambo, when questioned by four monks about the relative worth of their virtues (one fasted, another was poor, the third practiced charity, the fourth lived in obedience to an old-man) said, “I tell you, the virtue of this last one is the greatest. Each of the others has obtained the virtue he wished to acquire; but the last one, restraining his own will, does the will of another. Now it is of such men that the martyrs are made, if they persevere to the end.”10 Obedience was not an action simply undertaken by novices, but was seen as the

6 Douglas Burton-Christie, The Word in the Desert, pp. 134-35. For an in-depth discussion of desert teaching and learning also see, Gould, The Desert Fathers on Monastic Community, pp. 26-87.

7 Gould, The Desert Fathers on Monastic Community, pp. 52-58.

8 Apop. Pat., Poemen 158 (PG 65:360-361), Ward, tr., p. 189.

9 We might compare her statement with that of Poemen, who stated: “Life in the monastery demands three things: the first is humility, the next is obedience, and the third which sets them in motion and is like a goad is the work of the monastery” (Apop. Pat., Poemen 103 (PG 65:348), Ward, tr., p. 181).

10 Apop. Pat., Pambo 3 (PG 65:369), Ward, tr., p. 196. Pambo was also involved in a similar case of adjudicating relative virtues in Palladius’ narrative of the brothers Paesius and Isaias (HL 14). We should recall in that instance the brothers, one of which practiced asceticism while the other engaged in charity, were deemed of equal virtue.

152 paradigmatic form of the ascetic combat against pride. Perfect obedience to an Abba or Amma reflected a perfect obedience to God; abnegation of the will enabled the ascetic to perform God’s work without questioning the utility or fruitfulness of that work.11

Palladius was following in the tradition of those who emphasized the use of teaching as a means to develop and maintain obedient humility. Ascetics were to follow in Christ’s footsteps when he stated: “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”12 Palladius pushes further, however, emphasizing not only a beginner’s need to seek out the learned but also an advanced ascetic’s need to impart what he has learned. It was through this communal work of ascetics learning from one another that the ascetic advanced to a state of humble obedience and withstood any temptations to pride.

We have seen this in the way he ended his Prologue, counseling Lausus to converse with holy men and women as a cure for weariness [ἀκηδία]. Their speech, their faces, and their demeanor, filled with pious language and free from arrogance [ἀτυφία], would reinvigorate Lausus and fulfill his love of learning.13 When Palladius sought out Macarius, he sought this contact and this conversation as a cure for his own acedia. This was the failing of the life of solitude – by sequestering himself and not providing guidance to others the solitary ascetic was placing himself above others and failing to provide ministry to ascetics in need of guidance. Through learned conversation humility became a shared endeavor maintained through mutual relationships of counsel and piety.

11 Cf. Apop. Pat., Poemen 54 (PG 65:333-336).

12 Mt. 11.29 (NRSV). Referred to by Palladius in Ep. ad Lausus, 3.

13 HL, prol.15-16, Butler, ed., p. 14, Meyer, tr., pp. 28-29.

153 We also can see a relationship between teaching and the corrective role of abandonment as illustrated in Paphnutius’ discourse. Abandonment served to demonstrate the true capabilities of human self-reliance: without God’s protection, and left to one’s own devices, the rifts in human nature bubbled to the surface and revealed the truly flawed condition in which the ascetic lived.14 As such, abandonment brought about, according to Paphnutius, the reinstatement of knowledge [γνῶσις]15 – knowledge here being the proper understanding of one’s worth relative to God as the source of all goodness. Teaching, and being taught, could serve as a similar corrective by the imparting of, and maintenance of, knowledge of God, which would foster in the ascetic the proper understanding of his relative worth. Ideally, this would also prevent abandonment.16 Palladius hoped to take these ideals of teaching and learning, which had served as basic foundations of desert communities, and instill them in his text in such a manner that the act of reading could itself promote humility. Like Syncletica’s cure for pride, narratives about ascetic successes and failures reminded the reader about his or her own faults and provided a caution to anyone intent on leading a fruitful Christian life.

14 Brakke, in Demons and the Making of the Monk, makes a similar statement, “the monk must always consider at least part of himself to be demonic” (p. 7). In this way, ascetic practice could reduce the monk’s subservience to passionate temptation, but temptation could never be completely eradicated. It was through God’s grace that the monk manifested this resistance. Once abandoned, no longer possessing God’s support, even the smallest latent passion would grow into something irresistible and overcome the ability of the ascetic to overcome temptation on his own. Askesis, thus, had limits to how far it could take a monk unless that askesis was accompanied by God’s grace.

15 HL, 47.11, Butler, ed., p. 140, Meyer, tr., p. 128.

16 Here we might also see the importance of recognizing an ascetic whose pride has convinced him that he is the one responsible for his success. Because teaching played a vital role in maintaining humility, an ascetic who falsely attributed success to himself rather than to God posed a threat that extended beyond his own misunderstanding. Any teaching such an ascetic might provide would serve only to hinder the progress of those listening. Through communal correction those individuals were brought back to the proper knowledge of God’s providence, and then could return to the community.

154

Life on the Fringes versus Life in Society

As he narrated the details of his post-exilic travels, Palladius began to expand the range of his discourse to take in an increasingly diverse sort of ascetic. Among these are a small group of narratives concerning individuals he encountered in Ancyra during his time as bishop of

Aspuna. These narratives find their unity precisely in the diverse ways in which these individuals approached an ascetic life. They were, in that regard, unified by the different means by which these ascetics came to live a life of virtue. The narratives express, however, a particular note of caution. Palladius concludes his narrative of Verus, the ex-Count, with the following: “they [Verus, his wife and children] wear cheap clothing and live simply, practicing moderation [σωφροσύνην] for God’s sake, being associated with country life rather than the crowded cities so that they might not fall in the enticing snares of city ways and fall short of their purpose.”17 Verus and his wife had six children. The entire family spent their time distributing food and providing possessions to the churches and to the poor.18 Palladius’ statement about their manner of dress and their lifestyle was meant to illustrate the austerity under which they lived, even though it appears that the family owned a significant portion of land and may have been quite wealthy. This marked them as socially different: land-owners who used their food and income to provide for the poor rather than to secure their children’s future. Palladius followed the narrative of Verus with three others, each of which showed the ways urban life

17 HL, 66.2, Butler, ed., p. 163, Meyer, tr., p. 148.

18 HL, 66.

155 could facilitate distractions and how the people Palladius describes overcame those distractions and made use of their urban milieu as a means to virtue. There was the woman, Magna, who was forced into marriage but kept herself from her husband and then, following his death, secretly gave away all of her money to assist the poor.19 Palladius also tells of a nun who was enticed by a man. After she became pregnant with the man’s child, she prayed for God to take this child away from her. The child died shortly after birth and then the nun committed herself to strict fasting, providing for the sick and the crippled, which would result in a priest hearing from God that “this [woman] has pleased me more in her conversion than in her virginity [ἐν τῇ μετανοίᾳ ἢ

ἐν τῇ παρθενίᾳ].”20 Another narrative tells of an anonymous monk (referred to as ‘the compassionate monk’) who, for reasons that remain unknown, chose not to be ordained to the priesthood but ministered to all those, rich and poor, in the prisons and the hospitals, offering words and support in whatever way the people he encountered needed his help.21 Palladius even tells us that this monk’s mercy was so great that he felt no squeamishness at serving as the mid- wife to a woman in labor. He was, as Palladius puts it, physically unaffected [ἀναισθησίαν] by such things.22

In each of these accounts, Palladius used the ascetic’s charitable works as a means of describing the ways in which he or she responded to the challenges posed by urban life. These were not simply men and women of noble character, but rather men and women whose character

19 HL, 67.

20 HL, 69.2, Butler, ed., p. 165, Meyer, tr., p. 150.

21 HL, 68.2.

22 HL, 68.3, Butler, ed., p. 164, Meyer, tr., p. 149.

156 enabled them to overcome particular adversities that they may have been insulated from had they lived in this manner in a different locale. As such, their ascetic lives, while dependent on the interior dispositions they had cultivated, were manifested not in withdrawal from society but in ministering to society. Rather than imitate the specific feats these individuals performed as demonstrations of their power over the demonic, Palladius showed us individuals who should be imitated for the help they provided in bringing others to Christ, and supporting them in their path. These men and women served as examples of God’s grace, and through their example they allowed others to experience more vividly the instilling of God’s grace within themselves.

Palladius’ attempts to illustrate how various ascetics overcame the stresses of urban life reflect a certain wariness on his part about these ascetic movements. It was, after all, the life of the desert, a life comprised mostly of solitary living, which many of Palladius’ predecessors deemed of supreme importance. We have discussed previously the warning John of Lycopolis issued to Palladius on the consequences of leaving the desert to become a bishop and as we begin to analyze Palladius’ arguments in favor of an urban ascetic ideal it should be worthwhile to look at the full details of John’s perception of the necessity for living in the desert. Palladius claims that he had forgotten John’s warning when the time came for his ordination, but after he was exiled to Syene, he “remembered that blessed man and suffered everything he had foretold.”23

Palladius took John’s warning seriously. He also should have been familiar with Evagrius’ warnings regarding the way in which acedia would tempt a monk to seek out a life outside the desert.

23 HL, 35.12, Butler, ed., p. 105, Meyer, tr., p. 102.

157 The chapter devoted to John in the Historia Monachorum concludes with an extended narrative that brings together and expands upon many of the previous anecdotes in what is a long and flowing chapter. In his final discourse, John made a fundamental distinction on the manner of the ascetic life:

And so you too, my children, should cultivate stillness [ἡσυχίαν] and ceaselessly train yourselves for contemplation [τὴν θεωρίαν], that when you pray to God you may do so with a pure mind [καθαρὸν κτήσησθε νοῦν]. For an ascetic [ὁ ἀσκητὴς] is good if he is constantly training [γυμναζόμενος] himself in the world, if he shows brotherly love and practices hospitality and charity, if he gives alms and is generous to visitors, if he helps the sick and does not give offence to anyone. He is good, he is exceedingly good, for he is a man who puts the commandments into practice and does them. But he is occupied with earthly things. Better and greater than he is the contemplative [ὁ θεωρητικὸς], who has risen from active works to the spiritual sphere [ὁ ἀπὸ τῶν πρακτικῶν ἐπὶ τὴν νόησιν ἀναδραμὼν] and has left it to others to be anxious [φροντίζειν] about earthly things. Since he has not only denied himself [ἑαυτὸν ἀπαρνησάμενος] but even become forgetful of himself [ἑαυτοῦ λήθην], he is concerned with the things of heaven. He stands unimpeded in the presence of God, without any anxiety holding him back [ὑπ ’ οὐδεμιᾶς φροντίδος ἑτέρας ὂπισθεν κατασπώμενος]. For such a man spends his life with God; he is occupied with God, and praises him with ceaseless hymnody.24

This excerpt serves as the conclusion to a long anecdote John told concerning the trials of a monk he knew in the desert. That narrative extolled the utility of the desert life over against a life in society and provides a more detailed explanation for certain aspects of John’s warning to

Palladius. John is clear that a life of ministry was a noble endeavor for any Christian. It was, however, incomplete. John’s narrative provides us an incremental account of monastic failure that in many ways resembles the narratives of monastic failure found in the History. His narrative is particularly instructive for our concerns in its appreciation for the nuances of an

24 HM, 1.62-63, Festugière, ed., pp. 33-34, Russell, tr., p. 62.

158 ascetic’s slide away from his contemplation of God. Compared with Palladius, however, what we find with John appears to be a very different solution for combating and overcoming failure.

The anonymous monk in question lived for many years a life of solitude in the desert.

Devoted to a life of stillness [ἡσυχὶαν], he spent his days in prayer and contemplation, regularly offering hymns to God. Sustained only by the bread that God made appear to him every three days, the monk never worried where he would find sustenance.25 Slowly, without realizing, he began to think of himself as superior to most men and to trust in himself and this thought grew until his attention to his prayers and his hymns were affected. His prayers grew more taxing; his singing was less prolonged. He was weary [ἡ ψυχὴ βουλομένη, φησίν, ἀναπαύεσθαι]26 and his thoughts became prone to distraction [οἱ λογισμοὶ ῥεμβασμούς τινας ἒπασχον].27 During the initial stages of his weariness the monk’s habitual routine insulated him from suffering too much harm. His practice, however, slowly continued to slip as the time he devoted to prayer and psalms gradually was diminished. As his practice diminished so did the quality of the bread he received from God. The bread still came to him every three days, but it was no longer fresh nor did it seem well prepared.28

The monk was slowly sliding away from his regular askesis, and even though he reacted with surprise at the less-than-pristine bread he now found on his table, he still ate it and was nourished. Drawing upon memories from his previous life, the thoughts that had previously

25 HM, 1.45-47, Festugière, ed., pp. 26-28.

26 HM, 1.49, Festugière, ed., p. 29.

27 HM, 1.49, Festugière, ed., p. 29.

28 HM, 1.50-51, Festugière, ed., pp. 29-30.

159 presented merely a distraction to the monk’s attempts to pray and sing his hymns now coalesced into the image of a woman. This image proved far more difficult to rebut and the monk could no longer engage in prayer or contemplation with a pure mind. John’s description demonstrates the full depth into which the monk had fallen. A once calm man, freed from worry, and focused only upon God had become a restless, anxious man, whose eyes dart about.29 All of this was caused by “the memories of his reflections [αἱ μνῆμαι τῶν ἐνθυμημάτων].”30 Unable to work, he returned to his cave and now discovered that the bread he had received from God was this time reduced to morsels. At this discovery, the monk wept. As his thoughts [λογισμοὶ] continued to plague him he could no longer sleep and finally left his cave to go back into the world [τὴν

οἰκουμένην].31

As the monk journeyed the great distance from the desert back into more populated areas he came upon a monastery. Since he was in need of a respite from the burning sun, he entered the monastery and was treated by the brothers to the customary hospitality. After they had all partaken of a meal, the monastic brothers asked the traveling monk for some words of edification. The monk’s words were encouraging, but also admonishing as he warned the brothers of the trials through which they must persevere in the ascetic life. At once, he seemed struck by his own words. As he reflected on the counsel he had offered to those in the monastery, the monk realized his error and fled. He ran back to his cave, all the while bewailing

29 HM, 1.52, Festugière, ed., p. 30. οὐκέτι καθαρὰς ἒχων τὰς ἐνθυμήσεις, ἀλλὰ πυκνὰ μεταστρεφόμενος ἐμετεωρίζετο τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς ὧδε κἀκεῖ ἀκοντίζων.

30 HM, 1.52, Festugière, ed., p. 30, Russell, tr., p. 60.

31 HM, 1.54, Festugière, ed., p. 31.

160 his ignorance. Upon returning, he repented fully and continued to lament his failure until in a dream he heard the voice of an angel. The angel said to him, “God has accepted your repentance and has had mercy on you. In future take care that you are not deceived [ὃρα μὴ ἀπατηθῇς]. The brethren to whom you gave spiritual counsel will come to console you, and they will bring you gifts. Welcome them, eat with them, and always give thanks to God.”32

John presented this monk’s struggles as part of the natural ebb and flow of life in the desert – he even provided a short anecdote following this narrative of how similar trials would hound him periodically as part of his desert life. The way he concluded his narrative suggests that the anonymous monk’s over-confidence may have sprung from his lack of human contact.

Even in the desert, counsel from, but also of, others remained an important buttress against the incursions of pride and by teaching the monks of the monastery, this monk was made aware of his own faults, which served to reinvigorate his fervor for his practice.

For John, the monk’s correction came through a modified regimen that was still undertaken within his continued life of solitude. Rather than remain at all times alone, as he had done before, now he had to welcome visitors from the monastery where he had edified the monks. Yet, even with this modification, the monk’s solitary life still held great importance because of its relation to his confessional life. In John’s account, after he told of the monk’s weeping he tacked on an interesting addendum, stating that the monk did not weep “as much as he should have done, not as much as was needed to check the evil.”33 Here John suggests that

32 HM, 1.58, Festugière, ed., p. 32, Russell, tr., p. 61.

33 HM, 1.53, Festugière, ed., p. 30, Russell, tr., pp. 60-61.

161 the monk had not made a full confession of, and acknowledgement of, his sinful thoughts.34

That the monk’s response upon realizing his error was to immediately run back to his cave and engage in lamentation and repentance further testifies to the ultimate cause of the monk’s fall.

Once fully repentant he heard the words of the angel and understood the full ramifications of the changes that he must make in order to avoid subsequent falls. The importance of the monk’s confession hits at the heart of the interior discipline of the ascetic more generally.

In solitude, the ascetic was stripped of every other association and this afforded him an intimate look at the movement of his thoughts. That clarity revealed to the ascetic that sin was in no way restricted to physical action but rather that it also encompassed the persistent stray thoughts that tempted him into indulgence. Ascetic beginners confessed these passionate thoughts to the Abba, through which they avoided indulgence in them and began the slow process of learning to resist these diversions.35 In part, the purpose of such revelations was to

34 See Irénée Hausherr, Penthos: The Doctrine of Compunction in the Christian East, tr. Anselm Hufstader (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1982). On the importance of confession and its relation to ascetic interior discipline see Graham Gould, The Desert Fathers on Monastic Community, pp. 30-33. On penthos as a form of spiritual renewal see Burton-Christie, The Word in the Desert, pp. 185-92. On ascetic remembrance of penthos see Harmless, “Remembering Poemen Remembering,” pp. 490-93. Burton-Christie describes penthos as a double movement where the monk experiences both God’s judgment and mercy simultaneously. He continues, “Penthos, like the call to repentance in the Gospels, demanded a fundamental reorientation of one’s entire being, so that one would be prepared to enter the world of the kingdom of God. As such, acquiring the spirit of penthos involved dying to oneself, at least to those inner habits and addictions which prevented a single-minded devotion to God” (The Word in the Desert, pp. 185). It was this death of the self that concerned John in regard to the monk’s need for solitude. Within the world, those inner habits constantly would be stimulated by associations with potential temptations. Furthermore, that constant contact with the world built up the monk’s memories rather than breaking them down and allowing the monk to disassociate himself from that life.

35 The Apophthegmata Patrum provides numerous examples. In one saying, Abba Poemen was asked by a disciple, “If I see something, do you want me to tell you about it?” To which Poemen responded, “It is written: ‘If one gives answer before he hears, it is his folly and shame.’ If you are questioned, speak; if not, remain silent” (Apop. Pat., Poemen 45 (PG 65:332-333), Ward, tr., p. 173). More pointedly, in a saying on Abba Antony, Antony stated, “Nine monks fell away after many labors and were obsessed with spiritual pride, for they put their trust in their own works and being deceived they did not give due heed to the commandment that says, ‘Ask your father and he will tell you.’”

162 prevent the beginning monk from growing confident in his abilities, while also providing an avenue for the Abba to give the novice instruction.36 However, the disciple’s revelation of his passions to his Abba was not only to prevent overconfidence, but it was also liberating. By divulging his troubling thoughts, the ascetic was freed from this temptation by making the presence of the demonic known to others.37 These demons were brought out into the open, rather than allowed to remain hidden within.

For advanced ascetics who lived in solitude, God took the place of the Abba and the ascetic made contrite confession through weeping. God then poured His grace upon the penitent ascetic, providing forgiveness and strengthening his resolve so that he could push aside these thoughts and return to his contemplation free from such errors. When an ascetic was distracted, however, he could be drawn into these temptations and begin to relish in the images formed by his memory. His thoughts were now divergent: partly engaged in contemplation of God and partly engaged in contemplation of these images. As the images built up, then lust for them could be transformed into a lust for the actual object, further diverging the ascetic’s ability to contemplate God until focus upon God was lost completely. When the anonymous monk of

John’s narrative wept over his struggles, his weeping was insufficient because he lacked the awareness for a complete understanding of the errors into which he had fallen. His distractions

36 Gould, The Desert Fathers on Monastic Community, pp. 32-33.

37 The Fathers, in a way, served as mediators between God and the novice monks. Prayers offered in support of their disciples could rid the disciple of temptation, even in times when the disciple did not directly reveal his thoughts to his Abba. See Gould, The Desert Fathers on Monastic Community, p. 32n24. As Gould illustrates, see Apop. Pat., Sisoes 12; Antony 14 provides another example, also interesting for its presentation of weeping in lamentation as a confessionary act. See Apop. Pat., Antony 38 (PG 65:88) as an example of the necessity of even mundane divulgences: “If he is able, a monk ought to tell his elders confidently how many steps he takes and how many drops of water he drinks in his cell, in case he is in error about it” (Ward, tr., p. 9).

163 had grown so great that his diminished contemplation of God now resulted in a diminished reception of God’s grace – as revealed by the diminished quality of the bread the monk divinely received. Once he chose to leave his cave, his practice was on a precipice: he would either find the guidance needed to save him or he would reach the city and find a means to relish in his rapidly escalating passions.

It was through the ascetic’s confession of his innermost thoughts and through the recognition of his sin – as also the recognition of his need for grace – that grace came upon the ascetic. John favored the contemplative, who spent his days in solitary communion with God, over those who practiced charity, almsgiving, and generosity within the world, because of the instillation of grace made possible through these solitary confessional acts. The contact with others facilitated by the anonymous monk’s modified regimen would allow his mind to remain pure and enable him to maintain full contrition and a full instillation of grace from God. As John stated, the ascetics in the world were exceedingly good, but the contemplative who remained solely focused on God, who was no longer tied to the activity of the world, was the only one who could experience the revelatory understanding of his innermost thoughts and be granted the forgiveness that came through the repentance of those thoughts. For John, this was a practice only feasible within the withdrawn life of the desert.

The manner in which this anonymous monk reacted to his failure provides us with our primary contrast between Palladius and John of Lycopolis. That the monk came to his realization through social interaction, and specifically through teaching, would not have surprised Palladius. To respond, however, by retreating back into his solitary life, even given the modifications commanded by the angel, failed to adequately address the cause of his failure in

164 the first place. If the monk was responsible for his own correction following his abandonment, then that responsibility placed too great an emphasis on his own abilities.

In contrast, Palladius’ understanding of the proper means of correction flowed naturally from his understanding of ascetic abandonment. Abandonment, regardless of how and why it came about, was intended to yield a positive result. Even for those monks filled with pride who sought to indulge their licentious passions, abandonment by God was intended to reveal their failing to them and bring them back into proper practice. The basic sequence of events which befell these monks followed a trajectory similar to that narrated by John. When a monk began to succeed in overcoming temptation, he needed, at times, an illustration of the depth of his sin and the persistence of the demonic lest he begin to take his battle too lightly. Abandonment provided just such an illustration. However, not every monk recovered, and that Palladius was witness to monks who failed to recover from their fall may have given him pause when thinking through an ascetic’s battle to overcome a fall. Did God willfully allow for a monk to fall into a state without recourse, abandoning him to eternal damnation? Recall that for Palladius, pride and arrogance were forms of delusional blindness not necessarily apprehensible to the one suffering such madness and it was precisely due to witnessing the fall of ascetics who had failed to recover that stimulated Palladius, Evagrius, and Albanius to seek out Paphnutius and learn the reasons for these falls. Abandonment, to Paphnutius, served as a symptom of error, and like any symptom, a proper diagnosis would reveal the necessary steps for treatment and a return to a healthy state.

The monk needed only recognize his symptoms. In retrospect, Palladius sought a way to understand this differently. Given that the ascetic’s fall was probably precipitated by too extreme a course of self-reliance, it was important that the solution should not be similarly

165 marred. Designed to avoid such a possibility, Palladius’ solution revolves around the community bringing the fallen ascetic back and the ascetic’s participation in the Communion of the

Mysteries. Through this the ascetic could once again participate in the life of Christ while maintaining the humility necessary to insulate him from becoming over-boastful.

John and Palladius both recognized the important corrective function that contact with other Christians could play in the ascetic life of a monk. Yet, as we have seen, John still fell back on the withdrawn life of solitude as the most effective means of maintaining engagement with God. While we have seen how, for Palladius, John’s solution was flawed we must still address the manner in which John understood the life of solitude to be an inherently greater life than the life of charity practiced in the world. John’s concern with the charitable life was that regardless of how noble a life it may seem, it remained of the earth rather than of heaven. The

‘anxieties’ with which the ascetic dealt grounded him within humanity and as a model of heavenly ascent the ascetic who remained in the world could never complete his movement towards God. This was the fundamental distinction between the ἀσκητὴς and the θεωρητικὸς that

John hoped to articulate. Palladius’ account of Macarius of Alexandria’s attempt to contemplate

God for five days demonstrates the troubling outcome of such contemplation. In that account,

Macarius revealed that he chose to cease his attempt after recognizing that to continue such contemplation was to act only out of arrogance.38 Palladius’ concerns stretched even further. As

38 These concerns were raised again by Palladius in a conversation he had with Diocles, one of the monks living in the monasteries of Antinoë. During their discussion Diocles argued: “Mind divorced from the thought of God becomes either a demon or a brute [Νοῦς ἀποστὰς θεοῦ ἐννοίας ἢ κτῆνος γίνεται ἢ δαίμων].” Palladius asked for a clarification and Diocles reiterated his statement, though this time he altered it slightly to add that “desire was beastlike, but anger was demonlike.” In response, Palladius asked “how a man’s mind could always be with God.” To which Diocles responded, “Whenever the soul is concerned with a thought or deed that is pious of godlike, then it is with God” (HL, 58.3-4, Butler, ed., p. 152, Meyer, tr., p. 139). Palladius’ question to Diocles suggests that he remained uncertain about the ability of an ascetic’s mind to remain focused on God, a significant uncertainty given

166 a bishop, naturally he was concerned about the estrangement created by these solitary endeavors.

Not only were they a risk to the ascetics engaged in such practice, but ultimately they were hollow. Palladius’ pastoral concerns necessitated that the ascetic life served a greater role than simply the development of the individual. This was Athanasius’ concern in the Life as well, though as we saw that model was based on a very different presentation of the ascetic. Palladius used his Pauline model to emphasize an ascetic life based on ministry practiced through humility. This was a model fit for lay ascetics but also clergy, whether priests or bishops, whose ascetic preparation had to be furthered once they became engaged in city life. As we shall see below, for Palladius, grace came through the working with and teaching of other people as an act of spreading the Christian life. The Christian must act in service, through obedience, and help perpetuate the Gospel by ministering to others. These were acts to be carried out by the clergy, but also with the clergy, as a means to develop a stronger Christian community. As we continue this analysis, we also will be helped to understand how Palladius’ articulation of an urban ideal served to combat acedia without simply being a means of fleeing the desert for an ‘easier’ life.

As Paul revealed, and perhaps as Palladius began to understand following his exile, God could provide strength to the ascetic through hardship and persecution.

It has been reiterated over the pages of this study that the autobiographical sections of

Palladius’ History serve the purpose of uniting the shorter individual narratives. These sections represent Palladius’ attempt to understand his own failure to live in the desert. As he gradually

his experience with Macarius of Alexandria. Diocles’ answer, however, provided a subtly different way of understanding this sort of contemplation. Diocles, unlike Macarius, hinted that the mind could be with God in ways that went beyond Macarius’ attempt at fixed contemplation, which appeared to divorce Macarius from the larger world. It is this participatory sense of remaining engaged with the world while fixated upon God that would have struck Palladius as most significant.

167 made his way back from exile, took up his responsibilities as bishop of Aspuna, and set out to write his History, Palladius seems to have been plagued by a question: Was his suffering a matter of God’s will or was it a consequence of his desire to be a leader of the Church? God’s providence would be at work in both scenarios, but like Abba Apphy, Palladius was unsure how to comprehend God’s providence and that lack of understanding raised barriers in his struggle to assess his desert life and the events that led to his departure from it.

The answers Palladius sought from Paphnutius’ teaching on abandonment did not come readily; God could consent to the abandonment of an ascetic who became filled with pride, but

God could also abandon an ascetic as a means towards His own glory, the latter of which

Paphnutius classified as coming about through the good pleasure of God [εὐδοκίαν θεοῦ]. How was the ascetic to discern the difference? When observing himself it would be nearly impossible for Palladius to recognize the form of abandonment that served as the cause of his own suffering.

Ascetic failure (when God consented) arose most commonly through delusion – tempting visions tricked the ascetic into thinking that his actions were right and holy, when, in fact, they were self-serving and aggrandizing – and that delusion prevented an ascetic’s self-perception from properly diagnosing errors in his practice. If the ascetic lived alone, then these problems were compounded by his lack of the corrective recognition of others, which could have allowed him to maintain balance and come to the realization that he was deluded.

As he reflected upon his ordination, Palladius would have been particularly concerned about the passion of vainglory.39 A consistent refrain in the lives of Palladius’ failed monks is

39 See particularly the brief anecdote that comes as almost an aside within the narrative of ‘The Monks of Antinoë’ (HL, 58). To conclude this chapter Palladius states: “We also saw another anchorite among them living like him in a cave. He was deluded in dreams by the madness of vainglory [ὃς οἲστρῳ κενοδοξίας ἐμπαιζόμενος ὑπὸ ὀνείρων]; then

168 that these were noble ascetic men (or women), seemingly of virtuous character and conduct, who came to view themselves as above others, even other well-known ascetic teachers. Those failed monks suffered from vainglory and it would have been natural for Palladius to compare the cause of their fall with the probable cause of his own exile. If he desired the bishopric because of the authoritative standing it would grant to him, then his fall came about through a failing on his part, a deception of which he was unaware. These were thoughts that might certainly have plagued him while in exile reflecting upon John’s prophetic warning about the relationship between the ascetic life and the pastoral life of a bishop.

Yet, Palladius could testify to the ability of an ascetic to avoid a fall even without being surrounded by the desert and had provided an example of the model monk-bishop. In the

Dialogue, Palladius described Chrysostom’s ascetic preparation, the cause of his ordination, and

Chrysostom’s activities as a bishop. Of note is the way in which Palladius described the beginning and end of his own desert life in a manner akin to his description of Chrysostom.

Both men – John and Palladius – needed greater control over their youthful, passionate, dispositions (Palladius used σφριγώσης in each text) and each took up a life removed from society so as to accomplish this feat. Each man also was forced to forsake the desert due to illness, though in the case of Chrysostom, Palladius ascribed John’s sickness to providence. It was God who called John out of seclusion.

he mocked those who were themselves deceived, feeding the winds. Yet he held his body in check [κατὰ σῶμα σωφροσύνην], both because of his age and the season, perhaps also because of his vainglory. However, his thinking powers were utterly deranged by the great evil of vainglory [διέφθαρτο δὲ αὐτοῦ τὸ φρονοῦν τῇ ἀκολασίᾳ τῆς κενοδοξίας]” (HL, 58.5, Butler, ed., p. 153, Meyer, tr., p. 140).

169 John began life in the bustling city, but due to his youthful exuberance he was in need of a discipline that could not be cultivated amongst the myriad diversions of urban life. So he departed the city and took his life to the nearby mountains, where he followed the austere practices and self-discipline [ἐγκράτειαν] of his teacher Syrus.40 Palladius then wrote of

Chrysostom:

He never relaxed for that two-year period, not in the days nor at night, and his gastric organs became lifeless and the proper functions of the kidneys were impaired by the cold. Since he could no longer take care of himself alone, he went back once more to the haven of the Church. And this is proof of the Savior’s providence that he was taken away from the ascetic life by his sickness brought on by such strict habits, forcing him to leave his caves for the benefit of the Church.41

Chrysostom’s desire to develop greater restraint had led him to leave behind the city of Antioch in order to seek retreat in the mountains nearby. The harsh life he lived took a toll on his body and eventually John succumbed to sickness and was forced to forsake his lifestyle and return to the city where he would begin his life in service to the Church. Though sickness had forced his retreat from solitude, Chrysostom’s self-control had developed to such a degree that the discombobulating life of the city no longer presented him with much of a challenge. In this sense, being forced to give up his life of solitude had little impact on John’s ability to maintain his ascetic rigor.

As Palladius moved further into his defense of Chrysostom his emphasis shifted to the charitable actions John undertook as bishop.42 Chrysostom had been sent by providence to serve

40 Dial. 5.25, Malingrey ed., p. 110, Meyer, tr., p. 35.

41 Dial. 5.25-33, Malingrey ed., p. 110, Meyer, tr., p. 35.

42 For a more in depth account of events leading up to John leaving Antioch, as well as a more thorough account of the aspects of his ascetic life that Palladius presents, see Kelly, Goldenmouth, pp. 24-35. Also see Andrea Sterk’s

170 as the model ascetic bishop: the manner in which he conducted himself within the city was to serve as a guide for other bishops to emulate as spiritual and ascetic leaders amongst the urban populace.43 Palladius makes clear that though he was forced to leave his ascetic retreat,

Chrysostom still maintained his imitation of the fathers while also assisting those suffering from the passions along a path towards a stricter way of life. John Chrysostom took the desert life and brought it into the city, using his ecclesial authority as a means to bring others into an ascetic manner of living.

Ascetic preparation served an important purpose for Christian bishops. A bishop invested with a certain degree of spiritual authority prior to ordination was important not only for the bishop’s authoritative presence but also to ensure that the bishop remained humble even while serving as an authoritative figure. An ideal bishop would, in this regard, first live as a monk. However, these preparatory endeavors could not be set aside once he left the desert for a clerical career. His ascetic life was to be furthered once the ascetic was in the city. Palladius had composed an ideal portrait, but that portrait becomes problematized within the context of the

History. Ascetics dwelling in the desert were not always keen to set aside their desert lives for ordination.

discussion of Palladius’ presentation of John as the ideal bishop in her work, Renouncing the World Yet Leading the Church, pp. 141-60. On Palladius specifically, see pp. 156-58. For arguments in favor of a reassessment of Palladius’ portrayal see Wendy Mayer, “John Chrysostom as Bishop: The View from Antioch,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 55 (2004): 455-66; idem, “What Does It Mean to Say that John Chrysostom Was a Monk?”, Studia Patristica 41 (2006): 451–55.

43 Dial. 18-19.

171 Ascetics and Ordination

Ammonius,44 a student of Pambo and one of the four Tall Brothers, was well known for his severe austerity. From youth, his diet consisted of only raw foods and bread. To assuage desires of the flesh he heated an iron and burned himself, which left his skin covered in ulcers.

Evagrius, Palladius claims, stated that he had “never seen a man more free from passion

[ἀπαθέστερον] than [Ammonius] was.”45 Curiously, Palladius chose to withhold these details from his readers until the end of his narrative on Ammonius’ life and after he had narrated the failed attempts to bring Ammonius in for ordination. The account of Ammonius’ resistance to ordination provides its own drama that further testifies to the seriousness with which Ammonius approached his ascetic life. When a certain city, Palladius does not tell us which city, sought out

Ammonius to be its bishop due to his great learning,46 Ammonius begged the envoys, which had been sent to bring him back to the city, not to elect him. As he knew that once he was made a bishop that he would be required to leave the desert, Ammonius swore he would not leave.

When the envoys remained unswayed by Ammonius’ protests, he simply cut off his ear, knowing full well that this violation of Jewish law would render him unsuitable for ordination. Hearing of

Ammonius’ actions, Bishop Timotheus, whom the people of the city had begged to ordain

Ammonius, asserted that such laws did not apply to the ordination of Christians, so his envoys

44 HL, 11.

45 HL, 11.5, Butler, ed., p. 34, Meyer, tr., p. 47.

46 Palladius will later reveal that Ammonius had memorized both Old and New Testaments along with six million(!) [μυριάδας ἑξακοσίας] verses from other reputable writers (HL, 11.4).

172 returned and once again sought to bring in Ammonius for ordination. Upon their return,

Ammonius now threatened to cut out his tongue. It was only after this threat, which obviously would have made him incapable of serving as a bishop, that the envoys left him and he was able to continue his desert life.

The account of Ammonius describes the dramatic attempt of an ascetic to avoid becoming a bishop. Ammonius’ concerns reflect similar concerns to those espoused by John in his prophetic warning to Palladius. Ordination required that a bishop leave the desert, presumably with the added assumption of becoming entangled in political affairs with possibly little to no spiritual merit. Palladius narrates little else in the History involving bishops specifically. There are a couple of other bishops mentioned, with one chapter specifically concerned with the maiden who provided Bishop Athanasius shelter.47 Other than telling of his own ordination, the chapter on Ammonius is the only chapter in the History that deals directly with the situation of ascetics being made bishops,48 and the outlook from that chapter certainly cannot be interpreted as being in favor of a bishop’s ability to lead an ascetic life once he had departed from the desert. While we might discount the narrative of Ammonius as being a single anecdote, and of a famous ascetic marginalized by the Origenist persecutions whom Palladius

47 HL, 63.

48 The Coptic Life of Evagrius contains a similar anecdote about Evagrius, which has been omitted from the History. The Coptic Life states that on numerous occasions Apa Theophilus desired to make Evagrius the bishop of Thmoui, but in each instance Evagrius refused and fled (Four Desert Fathers, tr., Vivian, p. 84). Without clear certainly on the relationship between the Coptic Life and the chapter on Evagrius in the History it is difficult to draw conclusions regarding the omission of this account from the History.

173 may have felt an increased desire to include in his text,49 we can in no way discount the narrative of John of Lycopolis and his prophetic warning against Palladius becoming a bishop.

In contrast to the sparse number of narratives of bishops, there are many narratives in the

History concerning ascetics made priests or the interactions of priests with desert ascetics. Being raised to the priesthood did not require that the ascetic leave the desert. It simply placed him in an authoritative and ministering relationship to his fellow ascetics. While that authority could also pose problems for maintaining the proper humble perspective, that risk paled in comparison to the temptations of life in the city and the machinations of political officials. It must also be noted that in Palladius’ narratives, monks who failed almost always dissociated themselves from their community and the reception of communion from the priests. Of the five monks Palladius pointedly makes mention of in the discussion with Paphnutius, only Stephen is not said to have separated himself from communion. Valens, Heron, Ptolemy, and Eucarpius each not only separated and elevated themselves above their fellow monks, but each also estranged himself from the reception of communion. These are not the only failed monks of Palladius’ History so the repetition of these specific individuals in Chapter 47 must hold especial significance to

Palladius. As has been discussed previously, that the reception of communion finally brought about a cessation to Moses the Ethiopian’s demonic temptation further serves to emphasize the effect this practice had on the maintenance of humility. While it is not clear that Palladius designated any particular importance to being elevated to the priesthood other than as a mark of spiritual authority, the priests clearly played a significant role in the community.

49 For an analysis of Palladius’ desire to defend his associations with suspected Origenists, and of particular concern here his defense of the Tall Brothers, see Katos, Palladius of Helenopolis, pp. 116-24. On Ammonius specifically see idem, p. 118.

174 The central question is whether it was of benefit to the ascetic to become part of the ordained ministry as an aspect of his practice, or whether ascetics were better off keeping themselves insulated from the potential distractions of an ecclesial life? In the case of

Ammonius, the answer was clear. For Palladius, however, there is less certainty. We should note that Palladius did not consider his own solitary life [τῷ μονήρει βίῳ] to have ended once he was made bishop. His account of his age at the time he composed the History states, “It was the thirty-third year of my being in the company of the brethren and of my own solitary life, my twentieth year as bishop, and the fifty-sixth year of my life as a whole.”50 Whatever Palladius considered the solitary life, and we should remember that it was exactly this that he begged

Isidore to teach him,51 it was a life restricted neither to the desert nor to the city. The overall sense we get from Palladius’ narratives of ordained ascetics is that the ordination itself was of far less significance than the monk’s ability to maintain his humility – as evidenced by the charitable and merciful manner in which these individuals lived. While that should not be surprising, it might suggest to us that perhaps the warnings about the bishopric have more to do with the powerful position to which those ascetics were raised rather than with the political landscape in which those bishops found themselves embroiled. Greater positions of authority entailed greater risk to one’s humility, certainly, but that risk should not bring with it a total abhorrence of the position. There is also the matter of the Eucharist and the instrumental role it played in an ascetic’s humility. If ascetics refused to be ordained, there would be no one to administer the

50 HL, prol. 2, Butler, ed., pp. 9-10, Meyer, tr., p. 23.

51 HL, 1.5.

175 Eucharist within ascetic communities. There is then, a pastoral, but also specifically ascetic role to be played by the clergy.

The concerns of Ammonius, however, were quite real. What Palladius began to learn in the years after his exile, years spent encountering a more varied form of the ascetic life, was that

Ammonius’ concerns were misguided. Here, we can return to the saying about Abba Apphy:

They used to say of a bishop of Oxyrrynchus, named Abba Apphy, that when he was a monk he submitted himself to a very severe way of life. When he became a bishop he wished to practice the same austerity, even in the world, but he had not the strength to do so. Therefore he prostrated himself before God saying, ‘Has your grace left me because of my episcopate?’ Then he was given this revelation, ‘No, but when you were in solitude and there was no one else it was God who was your helper. Now that you are in the world, it is man.’52

As discussed in the previous chapter, this saying suggests that Apphy has misunderstood his ascetic role now that he has been made bishop. Apphy sought God in his usual way but that was a manner cultivated in solitude and which not only emphasized solitude but made use of solitude as a means to spiritual progress. Because his practice was no longer of the same austerity, he felt as if he no longer possessed God’s grace. When God revealed to Apphy that as a bishop he could no longer rely on God alone as his helper, there was also the revelation of a new manner of ascetic practice. What Apphy had failed to grasp was that by leaving the desert and developing greater social engagement, he now participated in God’s grace in a manner that encompassed his fellow Christians and bettered his ascetic practice.

Palladius’ narratives from Ancyra provide us a means to see the short-sightedness of an anti-urban ideal for ascetic Christians, even while allowing that bishops clearly faced risks by living in the cities. In a way, life in the desert was more easily managed than life in the city: the

52 Apop. Pat., Apphy 1 (PG 65.133), Ward, tr., pp. 35-36.

176 natural deprivations of the desert environment limited the intrusion of society’s temptations, which enabled the would-be contemplative to condense spiritual practice to the barest essentials, engaging in contemplation of God without outside distraction.53 Moving a practice cultivated within that environment back into a bustling urban one might be, at best, counter-productive or, at worst, entirely destructive if the ascetic attempted to practice in the same manner. In the city, and especially as a member of the episcopate, ascetic practice now depended upon embracing human relationships rather than shunning them in favor of solitude. Bishops could then play an important role, conditioned by ascetic practice to resist temptation while occupying a position that placed them between the laity and the aristocracy, capable of ministering to both and interceding when necessary.

Social Engagement and God’s Grace

If we return once more to our discussion above on the reception of God’s grace, we gain an increased appreciation for why Palladius would be so concerned with maintenance of the community. Palladius’ narration of the later stages of his life, those communities and individuals with whom he stayed while in exile and along whatever roads he traveled on his return to his native Galatia, may reflect a degree of disillusionment over the circuitous route his life had

53 This was a feeling espoused by Abba Matoes in response to concerns from a monastic brother. When the brother questioned him, “What am I to do? My tongue makes me suffer, and every time I go among men, I cannot control it, but I condemn them in all the good they are doing and reproach them with it. What am I to do?” Abba Matoes first answered, “If you cannot contain yourself, flee into solitude. For this is a sickness. He who dwells with brethren must not be square, but round, so as to turn himself towards all.” Abba Matoes continued, expanding on his original answer and seemingly reversing how we would understand his statement: “It is not through virtue that I live in solitude, but through weakness [ἀσθένειαν]; those who live in the midst of men are the strong ones.” Apop. Pat., Matoes 13 (PG 65.293), Ward, tr., p. 145. Cf. Rapp, Holy Bishops, pp. 123-25.

177 taken. These reflections were indicative of a man who had spent years battling temptation but never managed to still those temptations. Palladius had even failed to maintain successfully a life in the desert. The crux is that he does not fully understand why he failed in these regards.

And the reason he does not possess that understanding is because human beings cannot fully comprehend God, and in particular they cannot comprehend fully the grace of God.54 It was

God’s grace that allowed the ascetic to withstand temptation and to triumph over temptation.

Without that grace, the ascetic was almost powerless to resist the incursions of his distracting thoughts. He might resist for a while, but the fall would happen eventually. When looking back,

Palladius remembered many monks who suffered from temptations, some of whom (Moses and

Pachon, most notably) suffered these temptations because God desired to prevent the buildup of pride within them. Other monks (the many failed monks of the History) suffered temptations after being abandoned by God because of their pride. In neither case were the monks themselves able to recognize the cause of their temptations on their own. Even Pachon and Moses had to be informed by others to understand the reason for their respective sufferings.

In one of the few texts in the History – at least of those concerning a monk who did not fail – to present an ascetic who rejected ecclesial authorities in favor of solitude, God’s providence was again at work and in this instance the inability of others to recognize this providence is of particular significance. Palladius tells us of Nathaniel, who had died prior to

54 Peter Brown, in his biography on Augustine, came to similar conclusions regarding Augustine’s reflections in the Confessions. See esp. Brown, Augustine, 2nd ed., pp. 171-75. Brown states: “For Augustine will examine himself far less in terms of specific sins and temptations, than in terms of the nature of a man’s inner world: he is beset by temptations, above all because he can hardly grasp what he is; ‘there is in man an area which not even the spirit of man knows of’” (p. 172). Conrad Leyser expanded upon Brown to analyze the relationship between Augustine’s reflections on his ‘self’ and God’s inscrutability with Augustine’s belief in community and the ways in which Christians assisted one another in their understanding of God. See Leyser, Authority and Asceticism, pp. 3-32.

178 Palladius’ arrival in the desert, and how Nathaniel was persistently mocked by the demon

[δαίμονος]. Like many ascetics, Nathaniel suffered from ἀκήδεια55 and this provoked him to move out of one cell and into another that was closer to the city. Once there, the demon revealed its ruse: he told Nathaniel that he had been responsible for Nathaniel’s move and he had come again to drive Nathaniel from his new cell as well. Realizing he had been fooled, Nathaniel returned to his original cell and was resolved always to remain inside. During the thirty-seven years he was secluded, the demon was persistent in its efforts to force him outside once again.

Nonetheless, Nathaniel maintained his resolve and never left his cell. Palladius then tells of a particular instance in which the demon attempted to capitalize on a visit paid to Nathaniel by seven bishops. Before continuing his narrative, Palladius appended a brief explanatory comment: “whether this happened through God’s foresight or the demon’s own temptation [ἢ ἐκ

θεοῦ προνοίας γενομένην ἢ ἐκ πειρασμοῦ ἐκείνου] – [the demon] nearly drove Nathaniel from his purpose [τῆς προθέσεως].”56 Palladius then continued his account: After the bishops and

Nathaniel had all said a prayer the bishops began to depart. Nathaniel, however, remained within his cell and refused to escort the bishops on their way. At Nathaniel’s apparent affront, the deacons chastised him saying, “You are committing an arrogant act [‘Υπερήφανον πρᾶγμα

ποιεῖς], Father, not escorting the bishops forth.” To which Nathaniel replied, “I am dead

[ἀπέθανον] both to my sovereign bishops and to the whole world. I have an intention which is

55 HL, 16.2, Butler, ed., p. 40, Meyer, tr., p. 52.

56 HL, 16.3, Butler, ed., p. 41, Meyer, tr., p. 53.

179 hidden [κεκρυμμένον σκοπόν], and God knows my heart, why I do not escort them forth.”57

While Nathaniel remained stout in maintaining his resolution, the other characters, even

Palladius as the narrator, show little understanding of the precise nature of these events;

Palladius held out the possibility that Nathaniel acted in this manner simply from temptation.

Even knowing that Nathaniel never again gave into the demon, still Palladius wrote with a sense of uncertainty regarding ascetics whose life consisted of such a diligent adherence to the life of solitude.

The inscrutable nature of God implies not only an inability to understand the reception or possession of God's grace, but the added difficulty of understanding when provisions for the ascetic, or angelic visions, have come from God or through demonic temptation. These difficulties were compounded for ascetics living in isolation: without any system of checks and balances these men and women could rely only upon themselves to discern the nature of certain events. As Palladius witnessed, self-reliance placed an unnecessary strain upon ascetic men and women, exposing them to risks that threatened to limit their ability to commune with God and with their fellow Christians. For Palladius, the solution was found in the Christian community writ large. While community could not insulate the ascetic from the demonic, by participating in the Mysteries, meditating on Scripture, and helping others to improve their spiritual lives through teaching and ministry, the ascetic participated in a divinely-supported community that minimized the destructive nature of relying upon flawed human endeavor.

What we find in the History is that it is not the specific actions undertaken that constituted the ascetic life, but rather the manner in which those actions were undertaken.

57 HL, 16.4, Butler, ed., pp. 41-42, Meyer, tr., p. 53.

180 Palladius intended his text to be a guide [ὁδηγὸς]58 to his readers. When he instructed Lausus to spend time in conversation with holy men and women, the intention was not that Lausus should imitate their actions or the specific manner in which they lived – neither their style of dress, nor their eating habits, nor the location in which they undertook their practice. His text was not intended to tell Lausus how he should live. What Lausus had to take note of, rather, was the intention [ὁ τρόπος τῆς προαιρέσεως]59 – the way in which these ascetic men and women carried out their relationships with their community. Palladius’ use of the historia lent itself well to this objective. The varying manner in which his chronicles illustrate the relationships of holy men and women provided Lausus with a varied manner of understanding proper intention. The many voices present in the text provide Lausus with a discourse within which he may work out proper guidance. Just as conversation with these ascetics would reveal his inner nature, so too would reading about how they lived.

“For, to be sure, neither eating nor abstinence is of any account, but it is faith which has extended itself to work done in charity that counts. For whenever faith attends every act, he who eats and drinks according to that faith is uncondemned.”60 We can now begin to see how

Palladius diverges most from someone like John of Lycopolis. Palladius recognized that the humility, piety, and grace that were imparted through teaching could come through individuals who in no way had taken up a desert and, thus, ascetic life. Those living in the cities, sometimes even married, who practiced charity and humbly lived in support of other Christians (some of

58 HL, prol. 3, Butler, ed., p. 10, Meyer, tr., p. 24.

59 HL, prol. 16, Butler, ed., p. 15, Meyer, tr., p. 29.

60 HL, prol. 13, Butler, ed., p. 13, Meyer, tr., p. 27.

181 which were groups of monks) could just as well serve as suitable exemplars of God’s grace as the men and women living in the desert. What those who lived in the cities needed was a written example of virtuous ascetic men and women that would serve as a guide and would provide a man like Lausus a means to undertake the inner reflection necessary to engage with others in this charitable and humble manner. We return here to Palladius’ use of diegesis. Palladius wrote not only to spread the ascetic life from Egypt to Constantinople but also to exhort Lausus (or anyone who might read his text) to become an exemplar of his own. The manner in which Palladius suggested that Lausus use his text – “Go to a clear window and seek for meetings with holy men and women so that you may see clearly your own heart”61 – was the manner in which Lausus was to make use of himself to others. The text was to take Lausus to the desert and then he was to take the desert back into the city.

The ascetic was, thus, not formed through seclusion from others, withdrawn to his cell, and insulated from all distractions. Rather, the ascetic was formed through the relationships he put into practice with other Christians.62 Within communities, ascetics engaged in a shared endeavor that fostered a humble life built upon the support of every member. Witnessing the reflection of one’s own failings or the sluggishness of one’s own practice within the life of another Christian served as the clarifying light to invigorate a weary ascetic.

61 HL, prol. 15, Butler, ed., p. 14, Meyer, tr., p. 28.

62 Cf. Leyser, Authority and Asceticism, pp. 10-11.

Conclusion

The Lausiac History is the culmination of a life. We do not know what became of

Palladius following its writing – presumably he lived his last few years in relative quiet – but his reflections upon the thirty-three years of τῷ μονήρει βίῳ that he distilled into the seventy-one chapters of his work made the desert seem both hostile and welcoming. As he presented himself in the final chapter, he described a man who faced numerous challenges – the temptations of food, riches, and alluring women – and who overcame all of them. The confidence he displayed in his success belies the persistent struggle that remains the hallmark of the autobiographical vignettes that form the primary thread of the History. Yet, in that final chapter Palladius maintained his emphasis: it was through God’s grace that he had overcome demonic temptation and it was God’s grace that had led Lausus to commission Palladius to write the History.

Palladius took Lausus’ request and turned it into an opportunity not only to advocate for many of his former associates, but also as an opportunity to articulate for Lausus the risks associated with the ascetic life. He cautioned Lausus most forcefully in regard to pride – a somewhat ironic focus given that pride was viewed as a threat that was greatest for accomplished ascetics, which Lausus was not. But such were the risks and difficulties in discerning pride.

For Palladius, providing Lausus an eye-witness account that would vividly portray his experiences was of paramount importance. It was through these depictions that Lausus was to encounter those who dwelled in the desert, that he was to experience their hardships, and that he was to come to a knowledge of his own weaknesses. Though he was not in a position to take up a desert life, Palladius’ text enabled Lausus to make a desert life practicable within the city of 182 183 Constantinople. Lausus would come to understand the way of life of those living in the desert and through that understanding he could impart his knowledge to those of the city.

Palladius’ experience amongst the desert communities revealed to him the precariousness and the uncertainty of the ascetic life. It was a life dependent upon God and guided by angels, but built upon human relationships that were in equal parts shunned and nurtured. Divorced from traditional social norms while residing in harsh environs required a balance between control and submission of the will that was at all times difficult to maintain. Compounding these difficulties, such efforts at control could be deceiving as the ability to resist temptation could itself become a temptation. Ascetics could be led to believe that their successes, and the failures of others, were a direct result of their sustained work. It was this deception that most intrigued

Palladius and that spurred him to develop a solution that maintained the ascetic’s need for perseverance but directed it in a manner that was less prone to arrogant behavior.

Thus, Palladius’ critique of the ascetic life was built upon his perception of the necessity of ministry, predominantly through charitable acts and teaching. As a bishop, that should not surprise us. An asceticism that remained divorced from the larger Christian community was, to

Palladius, a bit hollow. Through teaching, both in the sense of a receptivity to the teaching of others and also a willingness to serve as a teacher to others, the ascetic was provided with a means to withstand temptations towards pride. Teaching also provided for an expansion and progression of ascetic discourse, whether through writing on the ascetic life, as Palladius had done, or through direct contact with ascetic leaders.

While scholarly attention predominantly has focused on the influence of Evagrius upon

Palladius’ theology, relatively little attention has been given to the influence of Palladius’

184 encounter with John of Lycopolis. Palladius’ chapter on John occupies the central place in the

History because it was in this encounter that Palladius illustrated the conflict between his desire to live a desert life and his desire to teach on the solitary life. John cautioned Palladius that his desires to teach were nothing more than demonic temptations and during the months of his exile

Palladius would have ample time to reflect on John’s words. In the end, Palladius chose the trials and tribulations of the bishopric over the desert life and much of his work represents the difficulty inherent in articulating an ideal focused upon interior calm practiced within an environment of external turbulence.

It was, in fact, turbulence that defined Palladius’ solitary life. From his initial trials in the

Solitudes attempting to still his passions up to his final departure following his exile, Palladius rarely found solace in the desert. He battled sickness frequently, witnessed the death of numerous ascetics from illness or accident, wandered constantly, and was caught in disputes related to both ecclesial and personal strife. While writing of his life his mind came back to the

Apostle Paul. Paul’s attempts to spread the Gospel brought with them imprisonment and persecution, but through those trials he found strength. His strength served as a testimony to the power Christ had made possible through the resurrection and it came through his understanding that throughout his trials he had retained God’s grace. Palladius interpreted the circuitous path of his life through Paul’s words and used those words as a means to comprehend his inability to live in the desert. The sickness that forced him to leave the desert behind was not a sign of failure, but rather an opportunity. It presented him the means to promote the ascetic life beyond the confines of Egypt and helped to spread the ideals of these small desert communities. Once relocated, the ascetic life required some reconceptualization. No longer isolated from diversions

185 and able to spend their hours in prayer, ascetics had to seek out those in need of support and work with them in charity. This marked them as visible representations of Christ’s work and their visibility among the urban populace served to perpetuate the ideals of the ascetic communities. Whether residing in the cities or the deserts, ascetics were marked as socially different. For Palladius, distinctions of place were of no regard: “For we are concerned not with the place where they settled, but rather it is their way of life that we seek.”1

The narrative of Sarapion, nicknamed Sindonites, should provide us with a fitting anecdote with which to conclude. Palladius’ narrative reveals Sarapion to be an eccentric man whose proclivities towards strange behaviors masked the great learning and spirituality he possessed. While Sarapion was a man who was highly literate [εὐγράμματος] and of great poverty [ἀκτημοσύνης], he was also a restless man, unable to remain quiet in his cell, content to wander the world in order to perfect his virtue.2 During one of his journeys he had himself sold to some Greek actors with the express purpose of making them Christians. As their servant he would wash their feet and he never ceased discussing the Scriptures. Over time the compassion the actors felt for their slave grew until such time as they chose to be baptized. In the guise of a slave, doing nothing more than compassionate work and teaching on the Scriptures, Sarapion was able to convert these actors who gave up their career on the stage to live a holy and pious life. Feeling their own compassion, they remarked to Sarapion, “Come, brother, let us set you free, since you freed us from our shameful slavery [Δεῦρο, ἀδελφέ, ἐλευθερώσωμέν σε, ἐπειδὴ

1 HL, prol. 16, Butler, ed., p. 15, Meyer, tr., p. 29. οὐ γὰρ ὁ τόπος ἐστὶν ὁ ζητούμενος ἒνθα κατώκησαν οὗτοι, ἀλλ’ ὁ τρόπος τῆς προαιρέσεως.

2 HL, 37.1, Butler, ed., p. 109, Meyer, tr., p. 105.

186 αἰσχρᾶς ἡμυᾶς δουλείας ἠλευθέρωσας αὐτός].”3 Sarapion then revealed to them his ruse: “Since

God worked grace in your souls and saved you, I may tell you the secrets of my business. I had compassion [κατοικτειρήσας] on your souls. I am a free man, and an Egyptian ascetic, and I sold myself for your sakes so that you might be saved. Now since God brought this about and your souls have been saved through my debasement [ταπεινώσεως], take your money so that I may go and help others.”4

3 HL, 37.3, Butler, ed., p. 110, Meyer, tr., p. 106.

4 HL, 37.3-4, Butler, ed., p. 110, Meyer, tr., p. 106.

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