The Institutes — Book IV

Concerning the training of those who renounce this world, and the way in which those who are received into the monasteries are taught among the monks of Tabenna and the Egyptians.

Of the training of those who renounce this world, and of the way in which those are taught among the monks of Tabenna and the Egyptians who are received into the monasteries.

Having discussed the canonical system of Psalms and prayers that should be observed in the daily services throughout the monasteries, we now move forward in our account to the training of those who renounce this world. We will first try to give a brief description of the conditions under which those who wish to turn to the Lord can be received into the monasteries. We will add some things from the rule of the Egyptians and some from the rule of the monks of Tabenna, whose monastery in the Thebaid is larger in numbers and stricter in its discipline than all others. There are more than five thousand brothers in it under the rule of one Abbot, and the obedience that this entire community of monks shows at all times to one Elder is greater than what any of us would give to another even for a short time, or would expect from him.

From the canonical system of Psalms and prayers which ought to be observed in the daily services throughout the monasteries, we pass, in the due course of our narrative, to the training of one who renounces this world; endeavouring first, as well as we can, to embrace, in a short account, the terms on which those who desire to turn to the Lord can be received in the monasteries; adding some things from the rule of the Egyptians, some from that of the monks of Tabenna, whose monastery in the Thebaid is better filled as regards numbers, as it is stricter in the rigour of its system, than all others, for there are in it more than five thousand brethren under the rule of one Abbot; and the obedience with which the whole number of monks is at all times subject to one Elder is what no one among us would render to another even for a short time, or would demand from him.

On the way in which among them men remain in the monasteries even to extreme old age.

Of the way in which among them men remain in the monasteries even to extreme old age.

I believe we should first address their tireless perseverance, humility, and submission—how these qualities endure for so long, and by what system they are developed, enabling them to remain in the monasteries until they are stooped with old age. These qualities are so remarkable that we cannot remember anyone who joined our monasteries maintaining them unbroken even for a year. By observing the beginning of their renunciation of the world, we will understand how they were able to reach such a height of perfection from such a starting point.

And I think that before anything else we ought to touch on their untiring perseverance and humility and subjection — how it lasts for so long, and by what system it is formed, through which they remain in the monasteries till they are bent double with old age; for it is so great that we cannot recollect any one who joined our monasteries keeping it up unbroken even for a year: so that when we have seen the beginning of their renunciation of the world, we shall understand how it came about that, starting from such a commencement, they reached such a height of perfection.

Concerning the trial by which someone who is to be received into the monastery is tested.

Of the ordeal by which one who is to be received in the monastery is tested.

Someone who seeks to be admitted to the discipline of the monastery is never received before he demonstrates his perseverance and desire, as well as his humility and patience, by lying outside the doors for ten days or even longer. Prostrate at the feet of all the brothers who pass by, and deliberately rejected and scorned by all of them as if he wanted to enter the monastery not for religious reasons but out of necessity, and having endured many insults and affronts, he must give practical proof of his steadfastness and show what he will be like in temptations by the way he has endured the disgrace. Once the fervor of his soul has been confirmed in this way and he is admitted, they then investigate with the greatest care whether he is tainted by even a single coin from his former possessions clinging to him. For they know that he cannot remain long under the discipline of the monastery, nor ever learn the virtue of humility and obedience, nor be content with the poverty and harsh life of the monastery, if he knows that even the smallest sum of money has been kept hidden. Rather, as soon as a disturbance arises for whatever reason, he will immediately flee from the monastery like a stone from a sling, driven to do so by his reliance on that sum of money.

One, then, who seeks to be admitted to the discipline of the monastery is never received before he gives, by lying outside the doors for ten days or even longer, an evidence of his perseverance and desire, as well as of humility and patience. And when, prostrate at the feet of all the brethren that pass by, and of set purpose repelled and scorned by all of them, as if he was wanting to enter the monastery not for the sake of religion but because he was obliged; and when, too, covered with many insults and affronts, he has given a practical proof of his steadfastness, and has shown what he will be like in temptations by the way he has borne the disgrace; and when, with the ardour of his soul thus ascertained, he is admitted, then they enquire with the utmost care whether he is contaminated by a single coin from his former possessions clinging to him. For they know that he cannot stay for long under the discipline of the monastery, nor ever learn the virtue of humility and obedience, nor be content with the poverty and difficult life of the monastery, if he knows that ever so small a sum of money has been kept hidden; but, as soon as ever a disturbance arises on some occasion or other, he will at once dart off from the monastery like a stone from a sling, impelled to this by trusting in that sum of money.

The reason why those who are received into the monastery are not permitted to bring anything in with them.

The reason why those who are received in the monastery are not allowed to bring anything in with them.

For these reasons they do not agree to take money from him even for the benefit of the monastery. First, he might become puffed up with arrogance because of this offering and not consider himself equal to the poorer brothers. Second, this pride might prevent him from submitting to the humility of Christ, and when he cannot endure the monastery's discipline and leaves, he might later—after cooling down—want in a bad spirit to reclaim what he had contributed in the early days of his renunciation when he was filled with spiritual fervor. This would cause loss to the monastery. They have been taught to maintain this rule consistently through many examples. In some monasteries where they are less careful about this, some who were received without restriction have later tried most sacrilegiously to demand back what they had contributed and which had been spent on God's work.

And for these reasons they do not agree to take from him money to be used even for the good of the monastery: First, in case he may be puffed up with arrogance, owing to this offering, and so not deign to put himself on a level with the poorer brethren; and next, lest he fail through this pride of his to stoop to the humility of Christ, and so, when he cannot hold out under the discipline of the monastery, leave it, and afterwards, when he has cooled down, want in a bad spirit to receive and get back — not without loss to the monastery — what he had contributed in the early days of his renunciation, when he was aglow with spiritual fervour. And that this rule should always be kept they have been frequently taught by many instances. For in some monasteries where they are not so careful some who have been received unreservedly have afterwards tried most sacrilegiously to demand a return of that which they had contributed and which had been spent on God's work.

The reason why those who renounce the world, when they are received into the monasteries, must remove their own clothes and be clothed in different ones by the Abbot.

The reason why those who give up the world, when they are received in the monasteries, must lay aside their own clothes and be clothed in others by the Abbot.

When someone is admitted to the monastery, he is stripped of all his former possessions, so that he is not even allowed to keep the clothes he is wearing. Instead, he is brought forward into the assembly of the brothers and stripped of his own clothes, and the Abbot clothes him with his own hands in the monastery's garments. This shows him not only that he has been deprived of all his old belongings, but also that he has put aside all worldly pride and descended to the neediness and poverty of Christ. From now on, he will be supported not by wealth obtained through worldly pursuits, nor by anything he kept from his former life of unbelief, but will receive his provisions for his service from the monastery's holy and sacred resources. Since he knows he will be clothed and fed from this source and has nothing of his own, he should learn not to be anxious about tomorrow, as the Gospel says, and should not be ashamed to be equal with the poor—that is, with the community of brothers—among whom Christ was not ashamed to be numbered and whom he called his brothers. Rather, he should take pride in being made to share the condition of Christ's own servants.

Wherefore each one on his admission is stripped of all his former possessions, so that he is not allowed any longer to keep even the clothes which he has on his back: but in the council of the brethren he is brought forward into the midst and stripped of his own clothes, and clad by the Abbot's hands in the dress of the monastery, so that by this he may know not only that he has been despoiled of all his old things, but also that he has laid aside all worldly pride, and come down to the want and poverty of Christ, and that he is now to be supported not by wealth sought for by the world's arts, nor by anything reserved from his former state of unbelief, but that he is to receive out of the holy and sacred funds of the monastery his rations for his service; and that, as he knows that he is thence to be clothed and fed and that he has nothing of his own, he may learn, nevertheless, not to be anxious about the morrow, according to the saying of the Gospel, and may not be ashamed to be on a level with the poor, that is with the body of the brethren, with whom Christ was not ashamed to be numbered, and to call himself their brother, but that rather he may glory that he has been made to share the lot of his own servants.

The reason why the steward preserves the clothes that the renunciants wore when they joined the monastery.

The reason why the clothes of the renunciants with which they joined the monastery are preserved by the steward.

The clothes he set aside are given to the steward for safekeeping until, through various temptations and trials, they can assess the quality of his progress, life, and endurance. If they see that he can continue in this way as time passes and maintain the same enthusiasm with which he began, they give the clothes to the poor. But if they find that he has committed any fault of complaining or even the slightest act of disobedience, they remove from him the monastic clothing he had been wearing, dress him again in his old clothes that had been confiscated, and send him away. For it is not right for him to leave with the clothes he had received, nor do they allow anyone to continue wearing them once they have seen him lose his commitment to the rule of their community. Therefore, no one is given permission to leave openly, unless he runs away like a fugitive slave under cover of the darkest night, or is judged unworthy of this order and calling and removes the monastic clothing and is expelled in shame and disgrace before all the brethren.

But those clothes, which he laid aside, are consigned to the care of the steward and kept until by different sorts of temptations and trials they can recognize the excellence of his progress and life and endurance. And if they see that he can continue therein as time goes on, and remain in that fervour with which he began, they give them away to the poor. But if they find that he has been guilty of any fault of murmuring, or of even the smallest piece of disobedience, then they strip off from him the dress of the monastery in which he had been clad, and reclothe him in his old garments which had been confiscated, and send him away. For it is not right for him to go away with those which he had received, nor do they allow any one to be any longer dressed in them if they have seen him once grow cold in regard to the rule of their institution. Wherefore, also, the opportunity of going out openly is not given to any one, unless he escapes like a runaway slave by taking advantage of the thickest shades of night, or is judged unworthy of this order and profession and lays aside the dress of the monastery and is expelled with shame and disgrace before all the brethren.

The reason why those who are admitted to a monastery are not permitted to mix immediately with the congregation of the brethren, but are first assigned to the guesthouse.

The reason why those who are admitted to a monastery are not permitted to mix at once with the congregation of the brethren, but are first committed to the house.

When someone has been received and tested through the persistence we have spoken of, and has laid aside his own clothes and been dressed in the monastery's garments, he is not allowed to mix immediately with the congregation of the brethren. Instead, he is placed under the care of an Elder who lives separately, not far from the monastery's entrance, and is responsible for strangers and guests, devoting all his attention to receiving them kindly. After serving there for a full year without any complaint and demonstrating service toward strangers, he is thus trained in the first elements of humility and patience. Once his long practice in this has been recognized and he is to be admitted into the congregation of the brethren, he is handed over to another Elder who is in charge of ten junior monks. These are entrusted to him by the Abbot, and he both teaches and governs them according to the arrangement we read about in Exodus that was made by Moses.

When, then, any one has been received and proved by that persistence of which we have spoken, and, laying aside his own garments, has been clad in those of the monastery, he is not allowed to mix at once with the congregation of the brethren, but is given into the charge of an Elder, who lodges apart not far from the entrance of the monastery, and is entrusted with the care of strangers and guests, and bestows all his diligence in receiving them kindly. And when he has served there for a whole year without any complaint, and has given evidence of service towards strangers, being thus initiated in the first rudiments of humility and patience, and by long practice in it acknowledged, when he is to be admitted from this into the congregation of the brethren he is handed over to another Elder, who is placed over ten of the juniors, who are entrusted to him by the Abbot, and whom he both teaches and governs in accordance with the arrangement which we read of in Exodus as made by Moses.

Regarding the practices in which beginners are first trained so they may become skilled at overcoming all their desires.

Of the practices in which the juniors are first exercised that they may become proficient in overcoming all their desires.

His primary concern and the main part of his teaching—through which the younger monks brought to him may eventually be able to rise to the greatest heights of perfection—will be to teach them first to conquer their own desires. He will anxiously and carefully train them in this by deliberately giving them orders that he knows are contrary to what they want. Taught by many examples, they say that a monk, especially the younger ones, cannot control the desire of his concupiscence unless he has first learned through obedience to mortify his desires. Therefore they establish that a person who has not first learned to overcome his desires cannot possibly stamp out anger or sulkiness, or the spirit of fornication. Nor can he preserve true humility of heart, or lasting unity with the brethren, or stable and continuous harmony. Nor can he remain for any length of time in the monastery.

And his anxiety and the chief part of his instruction — through which the juniors brought to him may be able in due course to mount to the greatest heights of perfection — will be to teach him first to conquer his own wishes; and, anxiously and diligently practising him in this, he will of set purpose contrive to give him such orders as he knows to be contrary to his liking; for, taught by many examples, they say that a monk, and especially the younger ones, cannot bridle the desire of his concupiscence unless he has first learned by obedience to mortify his wishes. And so they lay it down that the man who has not first learned to overcome his desires cannot possibly stamp out anger or sulkiness, or the spirit of fornication; nor can he preserve true humility of heart, or lasting unity with the brethren, or a stable and continuous concord; nor remain for any length of time in the monastery.

The reason why younger monks are instructed not to hide any of their thoughts from the elder.

The reason why the juniors are enjoined not to keep back any of their thoughts from the senior.

By these practices, then, they hurry to impress upon and instruct those they are training with what amounts to the alphabet and first syllables in the direction of perfection, since they can clearly see from these whether the trainees are grounded in a false and imaginary humility or in a true one. And so that they may easily arrive at this goal, they are next taught not to conceal any troubling thoughts in their hearts out of false shame, but as soon as such thoughts arise, to reveal them to the senior. In forming a judgment about these thoughts, they are not to trust anything to their own discretion, but to accept on trust that what the senior's examination considers and pronounces to be good or bad is indeed so. The result is that our cunning adversary cannot in any way deceive a young and inexperienced monk or get the better of his ignorance, nor can he use any trick to mislead someone whom he sees is protected not by his own discretion but by the senior's. The devil cannot persuade such a monk to hide from his senior those suggestions which the devil has shot into his heart like fiery darts, since the devil, subtle as he is, cannot ruin or destroy a junior monk unless he has enticed him through either pride or shame to conceal his thoughts. For they lay down as a universal and clear proof that a thought is from the devil if we are ashamed to disclose it to the senior.

By these practices, then, they hasten to impress and instruct those whom they are training with the alphabet, as it were, and first syllables in the direction of perfection, as they can clearly see by these whether they are grounded in a false and imaginary or in a true humility. And, that they may easily arrive at this, they are next taught not to conceal by a false shame any itching thoughts in their hearts, but, as soon as ever such arise, to lay them bare to the senior, and, in forming a judgment about them, not to trust anything to their own discretion, but to take it on trust that that is good or bad which is considered and pronounced so by the examination of the senior. Thus it results that our cunning adversary cannot in any way circumvent a young and inexperienced monk, or get the better of his ignorance, or by any craft deceive one whom he sees to be protected not by his own discretion but by that of his senior, and who cannot be persuaded to hide from his senior those suggestions of his which like fiery darts he has shot into his heart; since the devil, subtle as he is, cannot ruin or destroy a junior unless he has enticed him either through pride or through shame to conceal his thoughts. For they lay it down as an universal and clear proof that a thought is from the devil if we are ashamed to disclose it to the senior.

How complete is the obedience of the younger monks even in those things that are matters of common necessity.

How thorough is the obedience of the juniors even in those things which are matters of common necessity.

The rule is kept with such strict obedience that the juniors do not dare to leave their cell without the knowledge and permission of their superior. They do not even venture on their own authority to satisfy their common and natural needs. They are quick to fulfill without any discussion everything their superior orders, as if God from heaven had commanded it. Sometimes, when impossible things are commanded, they undertake them with such faith and devotion that they strive with all their strength and without the slightest hesitation to fulfill and carry them out. Out of reverence for their senior, they do not even consider whether a command is impossible. But I will not speak more specifically about their obedience right now, since I plan to discuss it in the proper place a little later with examples, if the Lord carries us safely through with your prayers. We now move on to the other regulations, passing over any account of those which cannot be imposed on or kept in the monasteries in this country, as I promised to do in the Preface. For instance, they never use woolen garments, but only cotton ones, and these are not doubled. The superior gives out changes of clothing to the ten monks under his care when he sees that what they are wearing is dirty.

Next, the rule is kept with such strict obedience that, without the knowledge and permission of their superior, the juniors not only do not dare to leave their cell but on their own authority do not venture to satisfy their common and natural needs. And so they are quick to fulfil without any discussion all those things that are ordered by him, as if they were commanded by God from heaven; so that sometimes, when impossibilities are commanded them, they undertake them with such faith and devotion as to strive with all their powers and without the slightest hesitation to fulfil them and carry them out; and out of reverence for their senior they do not even consider whether a command is an impossibility. But of their obedience I omit at present to speak more particularly, for we propose to speak of it in the proper place a little later on, with instances of it, if through your prayers the Lord carry us safely through. We now proceed to the other regulations, passing over all account of those which cannot be imposed on or kept in the monasteries in this country, as we promised to do in our Preface; for instance, how they never use woollen garments, but only cotton, and these not double, changes of which each superior gives out to the ten monks under his care when he sees that those which they are wearing are dirty.

The type of food that they consider to be the greatest delicacy.

The kind of food which is considered the greater delicacy by them.

I will also pass over that difficult and exalted form of self-control in which it is considered the greatest luxury if the plant called cherlock, prepared with salt and soaked in water, is served at the brothers' meal. I will skip over many other similar practices which neither the climate nor the frailty of our physical constitution would allow in this region. I will focus only on those matters that cannot be prevented by any bodily weakness or local conditions, as long as no weakness of mind or coldness of spirit abandons them.

I pass over, too, that difficult and sublime sort of self-control, through which it is considered the greatest luxury if the plant called cherlock, prepared with salt and steeped in water, is set on the table for the repast of the brethren; and many other things like this, which in this country neither the climate nor the weakness of our constitution would permit. And I shall only follow up those matters which cannot be interfered with by any weakness of the flesh or local situation, if only no weakness of mind or coldness of spirit gets rid of them.

How they stop every kind of work at the sound of someone knocking at the door, in their eagerness to answer at once.

How they leave off every kind of work at the sound of some one knocking at the door, in their eagerness to answer at once.

So when they are sitting in their cells and devoting their energies equally to work and to meditation, and they hear the sound of someone knocking at the door and striking on each person's cell, summoning them to prayer or some work, everyone eagerly rushes out from his cell. Even someone who is practicing the writer's art, though he may have just begun to form a letter, does not venture to finish it, but runs out with the utmost speed at the very moment the sound of the knocking reaches his ears, without even waiting to complete the letter he has begun. Instead, leaving the lines of the letter incomplete, he does not aim to shorten and save his labor, but rather hurries with the utmost earnestness and zeal to attain the virtue of obedience, which they place not merely before manual labor and reading and silence and quietness in the cell, but even before all virtues. They consider that everything should be postponed to it, and they are content to undergo any amount of inconvenience if only it may be seen that they have in no way neglected this virtue.

And so, sitting in their cells and devoting their energies equally to work and to meditation, when they hear the sound of some one knocking at the door and striking on the cells of each, summoning them to prayer or some work, every one eagerly dashes out from his cell, so that one who is practising the writer's art, although he may have just begun to form a letter, does not venture to finish it, but runs out with the utmost speed, at the very moment when the sound of the knocking reaches his ears, without even waiting to finish the letter he has begun; but, leaving the lines of the letter incomplete, he aims not at abridging and saving his labour, but rather hastens with the utmost earnestness and zeal to attain the virtue of obedience, which they put not merely before manual labour and reading and silence and quietness in the cell, but even before all virtues, so that they consider that everything should be postponed to it, and are content to undergo any amount of inconvenience if only it may be seen that they have in no way neglected this virtue.

How wrong it is considered for anyone to say that anything, no matter how trifling, is his own.

How wrong it is considered for any one to say that anything, however trifling, is his own.

Among their other practices, I think it is unnecessary even to mention this virtue: no one is allowed to possess a box or basket as his special property, nor any such thing which he could keep as his own and secure with his own seal. We are well aware that they are stripped so completely that they have nothing at all except their shirt, cloak, shoes, sheepskin, and rush mat. In other monasteries as well, where some indulgence and relaxation is permitted, we see that this rule is still very strictly kept, so that no one dares to say even in words that anything is his own. It is a serious offense if such an expression as "my book," "my tablets," "my pen," "my coat," or "my shoes" slips from a monk's mouth, and for this he would have to make satisfaction by a proper penance if by chance some such expression escaped his lips through carelessness or ignorance.

Among their other practices I fancy that it is unnecessary even to mention this virtue, viz., that no one is allowed to possess a box or basket as his special property, nor any such thing which he could keep as his own and secure with his own seal, as we are well aware that they are in all respects stripped so bare that they have nothing whatever except their shirt, cloak, shoes, sheepskin, and rush mat; for in other monasteries as well, where some indulgence and relaxation is granted, we see that this rule is still most strictly kept, so that no one ventures to say even in word that anything is his own: and it is a great offense if there drops from the mouth of a monk such an expression as my book, my tablets, my pen, my coat, or my shoes; and for this he would have to make satisfaction by a proper penance, if by accident some such expression escaped his lips through thoughtlessness or ignorance.

How, even if a large sum of money is gathered through each person's labor, no one may dare to go beyond the moderate limit of what has been established as sufficient.

How, even if a large sum of money is amassed by the labour of each, still no one may venture to exceed the moderate limit of what is appointed as adequate.

And although each one of them may bring in daily through his work and labor such a great return to the monastery that he could from it not only satisfy his own moderate needs but could also abundantly supply the needs of many, yet he is in no way puffed up, nor does he flatter himself because of his toil and this large gain from his labor. Apart from two biscuits, which are sold there for scarcely threepence, no one thinks he has a right to anything more. And among them there is nothing (and I am ashamed to say this, and heartily wish it were unknown in our own monasteries) which is claimed by any of them—I will not say in deed but even in thought—as his own special property. And though he believes that the whole granary of the monastery forms his livelihood, and, as lord of all, devotes his whole care and energy to it all, yet nevertheless, in order to maintain that excellent state of need and poverty which he has secured and which he strives to preserve to the very last in unbroken perfection, he regards himself as a foreigner and an alien to them all, so that he conducts himself as a stranger and a sojourner in this world, and considers himself a pupil of the monastery and a servant instead of imagining that he is lord and master of anything.

And although each one of them may bring in daily by his work and labour so great a return to the monastery that he could out of it not only satisfy his own moderate demands but could also abundantly supply the wants of many, yet he is no way puffed up, nor does he flatter himself on account of his toil and this large gain from his labour, but, except two biscuits, which are sold there for scarcely threepence, no one thinks that he has a right to anything further. And among them there is nothing (and I am ashamed to say this, and heartily wish it was unknown in our own monasteries) which is claimed by any of them, I will not say in deed but even in thought, as his special property. And though he believes that the whole granary of the monastery forms his substance, and, as lord of all, devotes his whole care and energy to it all, yet nevertheless, in order to maintain that excellent state of want and poverty which he has secured and which he strives to preserve to the very last in unbroken perfection, he regards himself as a foreigner and an alien to them all, so that he conducts himself as a stranger and a sojourner in this world, and considers himself a pupil of the monastery and a servant instead of imagining that he is lord and master of anything.

Of the excessive desire for possessions among us.

Of the excessive desire of possession among us.

To this, what can we wretched people say? We live in monasteries and are established under the government and care of an abbot, yet we carry our own keys. Trampling underfoot all the shame and disgrace that should come from our profession, we are not ashamed to openly wear rings on our fingers to seal what we have stored up. Not only boxes and baskets, but even chests and closets are not enough for the things we collect or kept back when we renounced the world. We sometimes get so angry over trivial and worthless things—which we nevertheless claim as our own—that if anyone dares to touch any of them, we become so filled with rage that we cannot keep the anger in our hearts from showing itself in our words and physical agitation. But, passing over our faults and treating with silence those things which are shameful even to mention, according to this saying: "My mouth shall not speak the deeds of men," let us follow the method of narration we have begun and proceed to those virtues practiced among them, which we ought to pursue with all earnestness. Let us briefly and quickly set down the actual rules and systems so that afterward, coming to some of the deeds and acts of the elders which we intend to carefully preserve for remembrance, we may support with the strongest testimonies what we have presented in our treatise, and further confirm everything we have said by examples and instances from life.

To this what shall we wretched creatures say, who though living in Cœnobia and established under the government and care of an Abbot yet carry about our own keys, and trampling under foot all feeling of shame and disgrace which should spring from our profession, are not ashamed actually to wear openly upon our fingers rings with which to seal what we have stored up; and in whose case not merely boxes and baskets, but not even chests and closets are sufficient for those things which we collect or which we reserved when we forsook the world; and who sometimes get so angry over trifles and mere nothings (to which however we lay claim as if they were our own) that if any one dares to lay a finger on any of them, we are so filled with rage against him that we cannot keep the wrath of our heart from being expressed on our lips and in bodily excitement. But, passing by our faults and treating with silence those things of which it is a shame even to speak, according to this saying: My mouth shall not speak the deeds of men, let us in accordance with the method of our narration which we have begun proceed to those virtues which are practised among them, and which we ought to aim at with all earnestness; and let us briefly and hastily set down the actual rules and systems that afterwards, coming to some of the deeds and acts of the elders which we propose carefully to preserve for recollection, we may support by the strongest testimonies what we have set forth in our treatise, and still further confirm everything that we have said by examples and instances from life.

On the Rules for Various Rebukes

On the rules for various rebukes.

If someone accidentally breaks an earthenware jar (which they call a baucalis), he can only make up for his carelessness through public penance. When all the brothers are gathered for the service, he must lie on the ground and ask for forgiveness until the prayers are finished, and he will receive it when the Abbot commands him to rise from the ground. The same satisfaction must be given by someone who arrives rather late when called to some work or to the usual service, or who hesitates even slightly when singing a Psalm. The same applies if he answers unnecessarily or roughly or disrespectfully, if he is careless in carrying out the tasks assigned to him, if he makes even a slight complaint, if he is slow in performing his appointed duties because he prefers reading to work or obedience, if he does not hurry back to his cell immediately when service is over, if he stops for even a short time with someone else, if he goes anywhere else even for a moment, if he takes anyone else by the hand, if he dares to discuss anything however small with someone who is not his cellmate, if he prays with someone who is suspended from prayer, if he sees any of his relatives or friends from the world and talks with them without his superior's permission, if he tries to receive a letter from anyone or to write back without his Abbot's permission. Spiritual discipline extends to such matters and faults like these. But as for other things which, when committed indiscriminately among us, are also treated by us as blameworthy—namely: open quarreling, obvious contempt, arrogant contradictions, freely leaving the monastery without restraint, familiarity with women, anger, fighting, jealousies, disputes, claiming something as one's own property, the infection of greed, the desire and acquisition of unnecessary things that the other brothers do not possess, taking food between meals and secretly, and things like these—these are dealt with not by that spiritual discipline we spoke of, but by beatings, or are atoned for by expulsion.

If then any one by accident breaks an earthenware jar (which they call baucalis), he can only expiate his carelessness by public penance; and when all the brethren are assembled for service he must lie on the ground and ask for absolution until the service of the prayers is finished; and will obtain it when by the Abbot's command he is bidden to rise from the ground. The same satisfaction must be given by one who when summoned to some work or to the usual service comes rather late, or who when singing a Psalm hesitates ever so little. Similarly if he answers unnecessarily or roughly or impertinently, if he is careless in carrying out the services enjoined to him, if he makes a slight complaint, if preferring reading to work or obedience he is slow in performing his appointed duties, if when service is over he does not make haste to go back at once to his cell, if he stops for ever so short a time with some one else, if he goes anywhere else even for a moment, if he takes any one else by the hand, if he ventures to discuss anything however small with one who is not the joint-occupant of his cell, if he prays with one who is suspended from prayer, if he sees any of his relations or friends in the world and talks with them without his senior, if he tries to receive a letter from any one or to write back without his Abbot's leave. To such an extent does spiritual censure proceed and in such matters and faults like these. But as for other things which when indiscriminately committed among us are treated by us too as blameworthy, viz.: open wrangling, manifest contempt, arrogant contradictions, going out from the monastery freely and without check, familiarity with women, wrath, quarrelling, jealousies, disputes, claiming something as one's own property, the infection of covetousness, the desire and acquisition of unnecessary things which are not possessed by the rest of the brethren, taking food between meals and by stealth, and things like these — they are dealt with not by that spiritual censure of which we spoke, but by stripes; or are atoned for by expulsion.

Concerning those who introduced the practice that the holy Scriptures should be read in the monasteries while the brothers are eating, and concerning the strict silence that is maintained among the Egyptians.

Of those who introduced the plan that the holy Lessons should be read in the Cœnobia while the brethren are eating, and of the strict silence which is kept among the Egyptians.

But we have been informed that the practice of reading the holy lessons while the brethren are eating in the monasteries did not originate in the Egyptian system but in the Cappadocian. And there is no doubt that they intended to establish it not so much for spiritual training as to stop unnecessary and idle conversation, and especially arguments, which so often arise at meals. They saw that these could not be prevented among them in any other way. For among the Egyptians, and especially those of Tabenna, such strict silence is observed by everyone that when so large a number of brethren has sat down together to eat, no one dares to talk even in a low voice except the dean. However, if he sees that anything needs to be put on or taken off the table, he indicates it with a gesture rather than a word. And while they are eating, the rule of this silence is kept so strictly that with their hoods drawn down over their eyelids to prevent their wandering eyes from having the opportunity to look around inquisitively, they can see nothing except the table and the food that is placed on it and which they take from it, so that no one notices what another is eating.

But we have been informed that the plan that, while the brethren are eating, the holy lessons should be read in the Cœnobia did not originate in the Egyptian system but in the Cappadocian. And there is no doubt that they meant to establish it not so much for the sake of the spiritual exercise as for the sake of putting a stop to unnecessary and idle conversation, and especially discussions, which so often arise at meals; since they saw that these could not be prevented among them in any other way. For among the Egyptians and especially those of Tabenna so strict a silence is observed by all that when so large a number of the brethren has sat down together to a meal, no one ventures to talk even in a low tone except the dean, who however if he sees that anything is wanted to be put on or taken off the table, signifies it by a sign rather than a word. And while they are eating, the rule of this silence is so strictly kept that with their hoods drawn down over their eyelids (to prevent their roving looks having the opportunity of wandering inquisitively) they can see nothing except the table, and the food that is put on it, and which they take from it; so that no one notices what another is eating.

How it is against the rule for anyone to take anything to eat or drink except at the common table.

How it is against the rule for any one to take anything to eat or drink except at the common table.

Between their regular common meals, they are especially careful that no one should presume to gratify his appetite with any food. So when they walk casually through gardens or orchards, where fruit hanging enticingly on the trees not only brushes against their chests as they pass through but also lies on the ground offering itself to be trampled underfoot, and where (since it is all ready to be gathered) it could easily entice those who see it to satisfy their appetite, and through the opportunity presented and the abundance of fruit, excite even the strictest and most abstemious to desire it—still they consider it wrong not merely to taste a single piece of fruit, but even to touch one with their hand, except what is placed on the table openly for the common meal of all and supplied publicly by the steward's provision through the service of the brothers for their enjoyment.

In between their regular meals in common they are especially careful that no one should presume to gratify his palate with any food: so that when they are walking casually through gardens or orchards, when the fruit hanging enticingly on the trees not only knocks against their breasts as they pass through, but is also lying on the ground and offering itself to be trampled under foot, and (as it is all ready to be gathered) would easily be able to entice those who see it to gratify their appetite, and by the chance offered to them and the quantity of the fruit, to excite even the most severe and abstemious to long for it; still they consider it wrong not merely to taste a single fruit, but even to touch one with the hand, except what is put on the table openly for the common meal of all, and supplied publicly by the steward's catering through the service of the brethren, for their enjoyment.

How throughout Palestine and Mesopotamia a daily service is undertaken by the brethren.

How throughout Palestine and Mesopotamia a daily service is undertaken by the brethren.

To avoid leaving out any of the practices of the monastic communities, I think it's worth briefly mentioning that in other countries as well, the brothers maintain a daily service. Throughout all of Mesopotamia, Palestine, Cappadocia, and the entire East, the brothers take turns each week performing certain duties, with the number serving determined by the total number of monks in the community. They carry out these duties with such zeal and humility that no slave shows this level of service even to the harshest and most powerful master. Not content with only the services required by the canonical rule, they actually get up at night in their zeal to help those whose specific duty it is, and secretly go ahead of them to complete the tasks those others would have had to do. Each person who takes on these weekly duties serves until supper on Sunday, and when that meal is finished, his duty for the entire week is complete. Then, when all the brothers gather to chant the Psalms (which they customarily sing before going to bed), those whose turn has ended wash the feet of everyone in turn, faithfully seeking from them the reward of this blessing for their week's work—namely, that the prayers offered up together by all the brothers may accompany them as they fulfill Christ's command, the prayer that intercedes for their ignorances and for sins committed through human weakness, and may commend to God their complete devotional service like a rich offering. So on Monday after the morning hymns, they hand over to the others who replace them the vessels and utensils they have used in their ministry. Those who receive them keep them with the utmost care and concern, so that none of them may be damaged or destroyed, since they believe they must give an account for even the smallest vessels as sacred objects, not only to the present steward but to the Lord, if any are damaged through their carelessness. You can see from one example I'll give just how strictly this discipline is maintained and how faithfully and carefully it is kept. For while we want to satisfy your enthusiasm, which leads you to ask for a full account of everything and to have even what you already know perfectly well repeated in this treatise, we're also concerned about exceeding the proper limits of brevity.

In order that we may not appear to omit any of the Institutes of the Cœnobia I think that it should be briefly mentioned that in other countries as well there is a daily service undertaken by the brethren. For throughout the whole of Mesopotamia, Palestine, and Cappadocia and all the East the brethren succeed one another in turn every week for the performance of certain duties, so that the number serving is told off according to the whole number of monks in the Cœnobium. And they hasten to fulfil these duties with a zeal and humility such as no slave bestows on his service even to a most harsh and powerful master; so that not satisfied only with these services which are rendered by canonical rule, they actually rise by night in their zeal and relieve those whose special duty this is; and secretly anticipating them try to finish those duties which these others would have to do. But each one who undertakes these weeks is on duty and has to serve until supper on Sunday, and when this is done, his duty for the whole week is finished, so that, when all the brethren come together to chant the Psalms (which according to custom they sing before going to bed) those whose turn is over wash the feet of all in turn, seeking faithfully from them the reward of this blessing for their work during the whole week, that the prayers offered up by all the brethren together may accompany them as they fulfil the command of Christ, the prayer, to wit, that intercedes for their ignorances and for their sins committed through human frailty, and may commend to God the complete service of their devotion like some rich offering. And so on Monday after the Mattin hymns they hand over to others who take their place the vessels and utensils with which they have ministered, which these receive and keep with the utmost care and anxiety, that none of them may be injured or destroyed, as they believe that even for the smallest vessels they must give an account, as sacred things, not only to a present steward, but to the Lord, if by chance any of them is injured through their carelessness. And what limit there is to this discipline, and what fidelity and care there is in keeping it up, you may see from one instance which I will give as an example. For while we are anxious to satisfy that fervour of yours through which you ask for a full account of everything, and want even what you know perfectly well to be repeated to you in this treatise, we are also afraid of exceeding the limits of brevity.

Concerning the three lentil beans that the Steward discovered.

Of the three lentil beans which the Steward found.

During the week when a certain brother was serving, the steward happened to pass by and saw three lentil beans lying on the ground. These had slipped from the hand of the monk on duty for the week as he was hurriedly preparing them for cooking, along with the water in which he was washing them. The steward immediately brought this matter to the abbot, who judged the monk to be a thief and careless with sacred property, and so suspended him from prayer. The offense of his negligence was only pardoned after he had made amends for it through public penance. For they believe not only that they themselves do not belong to themselves, but also that everything they possess is consecrated to the Lord. Therefore, if anything whatsoever has once been brought into the monastery, they hold that it must be treated with the greatest reverence as a holy thing. They handle and arrange everything with great faithfulness, even in the case of things considered unimportant or regarded as common and worthless, so that if they change something's position and put it in a better place, or if they fill a bottle with water, or give someone something to drink from it, or if they remove a little dust from the oratory or from their cell, they believe with complete faith that they will receive a reward from the Lord.

During the week of a certain brother the steward passing by saw lying on the ground three lentil beans which had slipped out of the hand of the monk on duty for the week as he was hastily preparing them for cooking, together with the water in which he was washing them; and immediately he consulted the Abbot on the subject; and by him the monk was adjudged a pilferer and careless about sacred property, and so was suspended from prayer. And the offense of his negligence was only pardoned when he had atoned for it by public penance. For they believe not only that they themselves are not their own, but also that everything that they possess is consecrated to the Lord. Wherefore if anything whatever has once been brought into the monastery they hold that it ought to be treated with the utmost reverence as an holy thing. And they attend to and arrange everything with great fidelity, even in the case of things which are considered unimportant or regarded as common and paltry, so that if they change their position and put them in a better place, or if they fill a bottle with water, or give anybody something to drink out of it, or if they remove a little dust from the oratory or from their cell they believe with implicit faith that they will receive a reward from the Lord.

On the Voluntary Service of Some of the Brothers.

Of the spontaneous service of some of the brethren.

We have heard of brethren whose week of service faced such a shortage of wood that they did not have enough to prepare the usual food for the community. The Abbot ordered them to make do with uncooked food until more wood could be brought and gathered. Everyone agreed to this, and no one could expect cooked meals. Yet these men felt as though they were being robbed of the fruit and reward of their labor and service if they did not prepare food for their brethren in the customary way during their assigned turn. They took on this unnecessary labor and concern: in those dry and barren regions where wood cannot possibly be obtained unless cut from fruit trees (since there are no wild shrubs there as we have), they wandered through the vast deserts, traveling across the wilderness that extends toward the Dead Sea. They gathered in their laps and the folds of their clothing the sparse stubble and brambles that the wind scattered here and there. Through this voluntary service, they prepared all the usual food for the brethren, ensuring that nothing was taken away from the ordinary provision. They carried out these duties toward their brethren with such faithfulness that although the wood shortage and the Abbot's order gave them a legitimate excuse, they still refused to take advantage of this permission out of concern for their own spiritual profit and reward.

We have been told of brethren in whose week there was such a scarcity of wood that they had not enough to prepare the usual food for the brethren; and when it had been ordered by the Abbot's authority that until more could be brought and fetched, they should content themselves with dried food, though this was agreed to by all and no one could expect any cooked food; still these men as if they were cheated of the fruit and reward of their labour and service, if they did not prepare the food for their brethren according to custom in the order of their turn — imposed upon themselves such uncalled-for labour and care that in those dry and sterile regions where wood cannot possibly be procured unless it is cut from the fruit trees (for there are no wild shrubs found there as with us), they wander about through the wide deserts, and traversing the wilderness which stretches towards the Dead Sea, collect in their lap and the folds of their dress the scanty stubble and brambles which the wind carries hither and there, and so by their voluntary service prepare all their usual food for the brethren, so that they suffer nothing to be diminished of the ordinary supply; discharging these duties of theirs towards their brethren with such fidelity that though the scarcity of wood and the Abbot's order would be a fair excuse for them, yet still out of regard for their profit and reward they will not take advantage of this liberty.

The system of the Egyptians, which is established for the daily service of the brothers.

The system of the Egyptians, which is appointed for the daily service of the brethren.

These things have been told in accordance with the system, as we remarked before, of the whole East, which we also say should be observed as a matter of course in our own country. But among the Egyptians, whose chief concern is for work, there is no rotation of weekly service, for fear that the demands of office might hinder everyone from keeping the rule of work. Instead, one of the most approved brothers is given responsibility for the pantry and kitchen, and he holds that office permanently as long as his strength and age allow. For he is not worn out by great physical labor, because no great effort is spent among them in preparing or cooking food, since they rely so heavily on dried and uncooked food. Among them, leek leaves cut each month, along with cherlock, table salt, olives, and tiny little salt fish which they call sardines, form the greatest delicacy.

These things have been told in accordance with the system, as we remarked before, of the whole East, which also we say should be observed as a matter of course in our own country. But among the Egyptians whose chief care is for work there is not the mutual change of weekly service, for fear lest owing to the requirements of office they might all be hindered from keeping the rule of work. But one of the most approved brethren is given the care of the larder and kitchen, and he takes charge of that office for good and all as long as his strength and years permit. For he is exhausted by no great bodily labour, because no great care is expended among them in preparing food or in cooking, as they so largely make use of dried and uncooked food, and among them the leaves of leeks cut each month, and cherlock, table salt, olives, tiny little salt fish which they call sardines, form the greatest delicacy.

The obedience of Abbot John, through which he was raised up even to the grace of prophecy.

The obedience of Abbot John by which he was exalted even to the grace of prophecy.

Since this book is about training someone who renounces the world—how, by starting with true humility and perfect obedience, he can go on to reach the heights of other virtues as well—I think it is good to include some examples of the deeds of the elders by which they excelled in this virtue, as we promised. I will select just a few cases out of many, so that if anyone desires to aim for even greater heights, they can not only receive encouragement toward the perfect life from these examples, but can also have a model of what they intend to pursue. Therefore, to keep this book as short as possible, we will present and record two or three examples from among all the Fathers. First of all is Abbot John, who lived near Lycon, a town in the Thebaid. He was raised even to the grace of prophecy because of his remarkable obedience, and became so famous throughout the whole world that through his merits he became renowned even among earthly kings. For although, as we said, he lived in the most remote parts of the Thebaid, the Emperor Theodosius still did not dare to declare war against the most powerful tyrants before being encouraged by his words and answers. Trusting in these as if they had been brought to him from heaven, he gained victories over his enemies in battles that seemed hopeless.

And since this book is about the training of one who renounces this world, whereby, making a beginning of true humility and perfect obedience, he may be enabled to ascend the heights of the other virtues as well, I think it well to set down just by way of specimen, as we promised, some of the deeds of the elders whereby they excelled in this virtue, selecting a few only out of many instances, that, if any are anxious to aim at still greater heights, they may not only receive from these an incitement towards the perfect life, but may also be furnished with a model of what they purpose. Wherefore, to make this book as short as possible we will produce and set down two or three out of the whole number of the Fathers; and first of all Abbot John who lived near Lycon which is a town in the Thebaid; and who was exalted even to the grace of prophecy for his admirable obedience, and was so celebrated all the world over that he was by his merits rendered famous even among kings of this world. For though, as we said, he lived in the most remote parts of the Thebaid, still the Emperor Theodosius did not venture to declare war against the most powerful tyrants before he was encouraged by his utterances and replies: trusting in which as if they had been brought to him from heaven he gained victories over his foes in battles which seemed hopeless.

Of the dry stick which, at the command of his elder, Abbot John kept watering as if it would grow.

Of the dry stick which, at the bidding of his senior, Abbot John kept on watering as if it would grow.

This blessed John, from his youth until full maturity, was subject to his elder as long as the elder lived, and carried out his commands with such humility that the elder himself was utterly amazed at his obedience. Because the elder wanted to verify whether this virtue came from genuine faith and deep simplicity of heart, or whether it was merely pretended and forced, only displayed in the presence of the one giving commands, he often gave him many unnecessary and almost pointless or even impossible tasks. From these I will select three examples to show those who want to know how perfect his attitude and submission were. The old man took from his woodpile a stick that had been cut and prepared earlier for making fire, which had been lying around unused for so long that it was not just dry but moldy from the passage of time. He stuck it into the ground right in front of John and ordered him to bring water and water it twice a day so that through this daily watering it might take root and come back to life as a tree, as it had been before, spreading out its branches and providing a pleasant sight for the eyes as well as shade for those sitting under it in the summer heat. The young man received this order with his usual reverence, never questioning its impossibility, and day after day carried it out, constantly hauling water for nearly two miles and never stopping his watering of the stick. For an entire year, no physical illness, no festival services, no necessary business that might reasonably have excused him from carrying out the command, and finally no harsh winter weather could interfere with or prevent him from obeying this order. The old man secretly watched his dedication for several days without saying anything and saw that he kept this command with sincere willingness of heart, as if it had come from heaven, without any change of expression or thought about whether it made sense. Approving the genuine obedience shown by his humility and at the same time feeling compassion for his tedious labor, which in his devoted zeal he had continued for a whole year, the old man came to the dry stick and said, "John, has this tree put down roots or not?" When John said he did not know, the old man, as if seeking the truth of the matter and testing whether it was yet held by its roots, pulled up the stick in front of him with a slight disturbance of the earth, threw it away, and told him that from now on he could stop watering it.

And so this blessed John from his youth up even to a full and ripe age of manhood was subject to his senior as long as he continued living in this world, and carried out his commands with such humility that his senior himself was utterly astounded at his obedience; and as he wanted to make sure whether this virtue came from genuine faith and profound simplicity of heart, or whether it was put on and as it were constrained and only shown in the presence of the bidder, he often laid upon him many superfluous and almost unnecessary or even impossible commands. From which I will select three to show to those who wish to know how perfect was his disposition and subjection. For the old man took from his woodstack a stick which had previously been cut and got ready to make the fire with, and which, as no opportunity for cooking had come, was lying not merely dry but even mouldy from the lapse of time. And when he had stuck it into the ground before his very eyes, he ordered him to fetch water and to water it twice a day that by this daily watering it might strike roots and be restored to life as a tree, as it was before, and spread out its branches and afford a pleasant sight to the eyes as well as a shade for those who sat under it in the heat of summer. And this order the lad received with his customary veneration, never considering its impossibility, and day by day carried it out so that he constantly carried water for nearly two miles and never ceased to water the stick; and for a whole year no bodily infirmity, no festival services, no necessary business (which might fairly have excused him from carrying out the command), and lastly no severity of winter could interfere and hinder him from obeying this order. And when the old man had watched this zeal of his on the sly without saying anything for several days and had seen that he kept this command of his with simple willingness of heart, as if it had come from heaven, without any change of countenance or consideration of its reasonableness — approving the unfeigned obedience of his humility and at the same time commiserating his tedious labour which in the zeal of his devotion he had continued for a whole year — he came to the dry stick, and John, said he, has this tree put forth roots or no? And when the other said that he did not know, then the old man as if seeking the truth of the matter and trying whether it was yet depending on its roots, pulled up the stick before him with a slight disturbance of the earth, and throwing it away told him that for the future he might stop watering it.

Of the unique vase of oil thrown away by Abbot John at his senior's command.

Of the unique vase of oil thrown away by Abbot John at his senior's command.

The young man, trained through exercises of this kind, grew daily in this virtue of obedience and shone forth more and more with the grace of humility. When the sweet fragrance of his obedience spread throughout all the monasteries, some of the brothers came to the elder either to test him or rather to be edified by him, and they marveled at his obedience about which they had heard. The elder suddenly called him and said, "Go up and take this jar of oil"—which was the only one in the desert and provided a very meager supply of the precious liquid for their own use and for visitors—"and throw it out the window." When summoned, he rushed upstairs and threw it out the window, casting it to the ground and breaking it into pieces without any thought or consideration of the foolishness of the command, their daily needs, bodily weakness, their poverty, or the hardships and difficulties of the harsh desert where, even if they had money for it, oil of that quality, once lost, could not be obtained or replaced.

Thus the youth, trained up by exercises of this sort, daily increased in this virtue of obedience, and shone forth more and more with the grace of humility; and when the sweet odour of his obedience spread throughout all the monasteries, some of the brethren, coming to the elder for the sake of testing him or rather of being edified by him, marvelled at his obedience of which they had heard; and so the older called him suddenly, and said, Go up and take this cruse of oil (which was the only one in the desert and which furnished a very scanty supply of the rich liquid for their own use and for that of strangers) and throw it down out of window. And he flew up stairs when summoned and threw it out of window and cast it down to the ground and broke it in pieces without any thought or consideration of the folly of the command, or their daily wants, and bodily infirmity, or of their poverty, and the trials and difficulties of the wretched desert in which, even if they had got the money for it, oil of that quality, once lost, could not be procured or replaced.

How Abbot John obeyed his elder by trying to roll a huge stone that a large number of men were unable to move.

How Abbot John obeyed his senior by trying to roll a huge stone, which a large number of men were unable to move.

When some other people wanted to learn from his example of obedience, the elder called him and said: John, run and roll that stone over here as quickly as possible. He immediately used his neck and then his whole body, trying with all his strength to roll an enormous stone that a large crowd of men would not be able to move. Not only were his clothes soaked with sweat from his body, but the stone itself was wetted by his neck. In doing this, he never considered how impossible the command and task were, because of his reverence for the old man and the genuine simplicity of his service, since he believed completely that the old man could not command him to do anything pointless or without reason.

Again, when some others were anxious to be edified by the example of his obedience, the elder called him and said: John, run and roll that stone hither as quickly as possible; and he immediately, applying now his neck, and now his whole body, tried with all his might and main to roll an enormous stone which a great crowd of men would not be able to move, so that not only were his clothes saturated with sweat from his limbs, but the stone itself was wetted by his neck; in this too never weighing the impossibility of the command and deed, out of reverence for the old man and the unfeigned simplicity of his service, as he believed implicitly that the old man could not command him to do anything vain or without reason.

Concerning the humility and obedience of Abbot Patermucius, which he did not hesitate to make complete by throwing his little boy into the river at the command of his superior.

Of the humility and obedience of Abbot Patermucius, which he did not hesitate to make perfect by throwing his little boy into the river at the command of his senior.

I have already told you a few stories out of many concerning Abbot John. Now I will share a memorable deed of Abbot Patermucius. When he wanted to renounce the world, he lay for a long time outside the monastery doors until his persistent determination convinced them to receive him together with his little son, who was about eight years old—contrary to all the rules of the community. When they were finally admitted, they were immediately placed under the care of different supervisors and assigned to separate cells. This was so that the father would not be constantly reminded by seeing his child that, out of all his possessions and earthly treasures he had given up and renounced, at least his son still remained to him. Just as he was already learning that he was no longer a wealthy man, so too he might forget that he was a father. To test more thoroughly whether he would value affection and love for his own flesh and blood more than obedience and Christian self-denial—which all who renounce the world should prefer out of love for Christ—the child was deliberately neglected and dressed in rags instead of proper clothes. He was so covered and disfigured with dirt that he would disgust rather than delight his father's eyes whenever he saw him. Moreover, the child was subjected to blows and slaps from different people. The father often saw these inflicted without any reason on his innocent child right before his eyes, and he never saw his son's cheeks without dirty tear stains. Although the child was treated this way day after day before his eyes, the father's heart remained firm and unmoved out of love for Christ and the virtue of obedience. He no longer regarded the boy as his own son, since he had offered him equally with himself to Christ. He was not concerned about his present sufferings but rather rejoiced because he saw they were endured with profit. He gave little thought to his son's tears but was anxious about his own humility and perfection. When the Superior of the community saw his steadfastness of mind and unshakable constancy, and in order to thoroughly test the firmness of his resolve, one day when he saw the child crying, he pretended to be annoyed with him and told the father to throw him into the river. The father, as if this command had come from the Lord himself, immediately snatched up the child as quickly as possible and carried him in his arms to the riverbank to throw him in. In the fervor of his faith and obedience, this would have been carried out in deed had not some of the brothers been deliberately stationed to watch the riverbanks very carefully. When the child was thrown in, they somehow snatched him from the riverbed and prevented the command—which was truly fulfilled by the obedience and devotion of the father—from being completed in actual result.

So far let it suffice for me to have told a few things out of many concerning Abbot John: now I will relate a memorable deed of Abbot Patermucius. For he, when anxious to renounce the world, remained lying before the doors of the monastery for a long time until by his dogged persistence he induced them — contrary to all the rules of the Cœnobia — to receive him together with his little boy who was about eight years old. And when they were at last admitted they were at once not only committed to the care of different superiors, but also put to live in separate cells that the father might not be reminded by the constant sight of the little one that out of all his possessions and carnal treasures, which he had cast off and renounced, at least his son remained to him; and that as he was already taught that he was no longer a rich man, so he might also forget the fact that he was a father. And that it might be more thoroughly tested whether he would make affection and love for his own flesh and blood of more account than obedience and Christian mortification (which all who renounce the world ought out of love to Christ to prefer), the child was on purpose neglected and dressed in rags instead of proper clothes; and so covered and disfigured with dirt that he would rather disgust than delight the eyes of his father whenever he saw him. And further, he was exposed to blows and slaps from different people, which the father often saw inflicted without the slightest reason on his innocent child under his very eyes, so that he never saw his cheeks without their being stained with the dirty marks of tears. And though the child was treated thus day after day before his eyes, yet still out of love for Christ and the virtue of obedience the father's heart stood firm and unmoved. For he no longer regarded him as his own son, as he had offered him equally with himself to Christ; nor was he concerned about his present injuries, but rather rejoiced because he saw that they were endured, not without profit; thinking little of his son's tears, but anxious about his own humility and perfection. And when the Superior of the Cœnobium saw his steadfastness of mind and immovable inflexibility, in order thoroughly to prove the constancy of his purpose, one day when he had seen the child crying, he pretended that he was annoyed with him and told the father to throw him into the river. Then he, as if this had been commanded him by the Lord, at once snatched up the child as quickly as possible, and carried him in his arms to the river's bank to throw him in. And straightway in the fervour of his faith and obedience this would have been carried out in act, had not some of the brethren been purposely set to watch the banks of the river very carefully, and when the child was thrown in, had somehow snatched him from the bed of the stream, and prevented the command, which was really fulfilled by the obedience and devotion of the father, from being consummated in act and result.

How it was revealed to the Abbot concerning Patermucius that he had performed the same deed as Abraham; and how when that Abbot died, Patermucius succeeded him in leadership of the monastery.

How it was revealed to the Abbot concerning Patermucius that he had done the deed of Abraham; and how when the same Abbot died, Patermucius succeeded to the charge of the monastery.

This man's faith and devotion were so pleasing to God that they were immediately confirmed by divine testimony. For it was immediately revealed to the Superior that through his obedience he had imitated the deed of the patriarch Abraham. And when shortly afterward the same Abbot of the monastery departed from this life to Christ, he chose him over all the other brothers and left him as his successor and as Abbot of the monastery.

And this man's faith and devotion was so acceptable to God that it was immediately approved by a divine testimony. For it was immediately revealed to the Superior that by this obedience of his he had copied the deed of the patriarch Abraham. And when shortly afterwards the same Abbot of the monastery departed out of this life to Christ, he preferred him to all the brethren, and left him as his successor and as Abbot to the monastery.

About a brother's obedience who, at the Abbot's command, carried ten baskets around in public and sold them one at a time.

Of the obedience of a brother who at the Abbot's bidding carried about in public ten baskets and sold them by retail.

We will also speak of a brother we knew who came from a high-ranking family in worldly terms, for his father was a count and extremely wealthy, and he had received a liberal education. When he left his parents and fled to the monastery, his superior immediately ordered him to load his shoulders with ten baskets (which did not need to be sold publicly) and carry them through the streets for sale, in order to test the humility of his character and the fervor of his faith. This condition was added to keep him at the work longer: if anyone wanted to buy all the baskets at once, he was not to allow it, but had to sell them to buyers one at a time. He carried this out with the greatest zeal, and trampling underfoot all shame and embarrassment out of love for Christ and for His name's sake, he put the baskets on his shoulders and sold them individually at the set price, bringing the money back to the monastery. He was not at all troubled by the strangeness of such a lowly and unusual task, and paid no attention to the degrading nature of the work, the nobility of his birth, or the disgrace of selling in this way, since he was aiming to gain through the grace of obedience that humility of Christ which is the true nobility.

We will also not be silent about a brother whom we knew, who belonged to a high family according to the rank of this world, for he was sprung from a father who was a count and extremely wealthy, and had been well brought up with a liberal education. This man, when he had left his parents and fled to the monastery, in order to prove the humility of his disposition and the ardour of his faith was at once ordered by his superior to load his shoulders with ten baskets (which there was no need to sell publicly), and to hawk them about through the streets for sale: this condition being attached, so that he might be kept longer at the work, viz.: that if any one should chance to want to buy them all together, he was not to allow it, but was to sell them to purchasers separately. And this he carried out with the utmost zeal, and trampling under foot all shame and confusion, out of love for Christ, and for His Name's sake, he put the baskets on his shoulders and sold them by retail at the price fixed and brought back the money to the monastery; not in the least upset by the novelty of so mean and unusual a duty, and paying no attention to the indignity of the thing and the splendour of his birth, and the disgrace of the sale, as he was aiming at gaining through the grace of obedience that humility of Christ which is the true nobility.

Concerning the humility of Abbot Pinufius, who left a very famous coenobium where he served as presbyter and leader, and out of love for being subject to others sought a distant monastery where he could be received as a beginner.

Of the humility of Abbot Pinufius, who left a very famous Cœnobium over which he presided as Presbyter, and out of the love of subjection sought a distant monastery where he could be received as a novice.

The limits of this book force us to draw to a close, but the virtue of obedience, which holds the first place among other good qualities, will not allow us to pass over in complete silence the deeds of those who have excelled in it. Therefore, appropriately combining these two things—consulting both brevity and the wishes and benefit of those who are earnest—we will add just one example of humility. Since it was demonstrated by someone who was not a novice but already perfect and an abbot, it may not only instruct the younger but also stir the elders toward the perfect virtue of humility as they read it. We saw Abbot Pinufius, who was presbyter of a huge monastery in Egypt not far from the city of Panephysis. He was held in honor and respect by everyone out of reverence for his life, his age, or his priesthood. When he saw that for this reason he could not practice the humility he longed for with all the passion of his character, and had no opportunity to exercise the virtue of subjection he desired, he fled secretly from the monastery and withdrew alone to the furthest parts of the Thebaid. There he laid aside the habit of the monks and put on secular dress, and sought out the monastery of Tabenna, which he knew to be the strictest of all. He thought that he would not be recognized there because of the distance, or else that he could easily remain hidden because of the monastery's size and the number of brothers. He remained for a long time at the entrance, and as a suppliant at the knees of the brothers, he sought with most earnest prayers to gain admission. When he was at last admitted with much scorn as a feeble old man who had lived all his life in the world and had asked in his old age to be allowed to enter a monastery when he could no longer gratify his passions—they said he was seeking this not for the sake of religion but because he was compelled by hunger and need—they gave him the care and management of the garden, since he seemed an old man not especially fitted for any particular work. He performed this under another and younger brother who kept him as one entrusted to him. He was so subordinate to him and cultivated the desired virtue of humility so obediently that he daily performed with the utmost diligence not only everything that had to do with the care and management of the garden, but also all those duties that were looked on by the other as hard, degrading, and disagreeable. Rising also by night, he did many things secretly without anyone looking on or knowing, when darkness concealed him so that no one could discover who had done the deed. When he had hidden himself there for three years and had been sought high and low by the brothers all through Egypt, he was at last seen by someone who had come from the parts of Egypt, but could scarcely be recognized because of the meanness of his dress and the humble character of the duty he was performing. He was stooping down and hoeing the ground for vegetables and bringing dung on his shoulders and laying it around their roots. Seeing this, the brother hesitated for a long time about recognizing him, but at last he came nearer, and taking careful note not only of his looks but also of the tone of his voice, he immediately fell at his feet. At first all who saw it were struck with the greatest astonishment that he should do this to one who was looked upon by them as the lowest of all, being a novice and one who had only lately forsaken the world. But afterward they were struck with still greater wonder when he immediately announced his name, which had been well known among them also by reputation. All the brothers asked his pardon for their former ignorance because they had for so long classed him with the juniors and children, and brought him back to his own monastery against his will and in tears, because by the envy of the devil he had been cheated out of a worthy mode of life and the humility which he was rejoicing in having discovered after his long search, and because he had not succeeded in ending his life in that state of subjection which he had secured. So they guarded him with the utmost care lest he should slip away again in the same way and escape from them also.

The limits of the book compel us to draw to a close; but the virtue of obedience, which holds the first place among other good qualities, will not allow us altogether to pass over in silence the deeds of those who have excelled by it. Wherefore aptly combining these two together, I mean, consulting brevity as well as the wishes and profit of those who are in earnest, we will only add one example of humility, which, as it was shown by no novice but one already perfect and an Abbot, may not only instruct the younger, but also incite the elders to the perfect virtue of humility, as they read it. Thus we saw Abbot Pinufius who when he was presbyter of a huge Cœnobium which is in Egypt not far from the city of Panephysis, was held in honour and respect by all men out of reverence either for his life or for his age or for his priesthood; and when he saw that for this reason he could not practise that humility which he longed for with all the ardour of his disposition, and had no opportunity of exercising the virtue of subjection which he desired, he fled secretly from the Cœnobium and withdrew alone into the furthest parts of the Thebaid, and there laid aside the habit of the monks and assumed a secular dress, and thus sought the Cœnobium of Tabenna, which he knew to be the strictest of all, and in which he fancied that he would not be known owing to the distance of the spot, or else that he could easily lie hidden there in consequence of the size of the monastery and the number of brethren. There he remained for a long time at the entrance, and as a suppliant at the knees of the brethren sought with most earnest prayers to gain admission. And when he was at last with much scorn admitted as a feeble old man who had lived all his life in the world, and had asked in his old age to be allowed to enter a Cœnobium when he could no longer gratify his passions — as they said that he was seeking this not for the sake of religion but because he was compelled by hunger and want, they gave him the care and management of the garden, as he seemed an old man and not specially fitted for any particular work. And this he performed under another and a younger brother who kept him by him as entrusted to him, and he was so subordinate to him, and cultivated the desired virtue of humility so obediently that he daily performed with the utmost diligence not only everything that had to do with the care and management of the garden, but also all those duties which were looked on by the other as hard and degrading, and disagreeable. Rising also by night he did many things secretly, without any one looking on or knowing it, when darkness concealed him so that no one could discover the author of the deed. And when he had hidden himself there for three years and had been sought for high and low by the brethren all through Egypt, he was at last seen by one who had come from the parts of Egypt, but could scarcely be recognized owing to the meanness of his dress and the humble character of the duty he was performing. For he was stooping down and hoeing the ground for vegetables and bringing dung on his shoulders and laying it about their roots. And seeing this the brother for a long time hesitated about recognizing him, but at last he came nearer, and taking careful note not only of his looks but also of the tone of his voice, straightway fell at his feet: and at first all who saw it were struck with the greatest astonishment why he should do this to one who was looked upon by them as the lowest of all, as being a novice and one who had but lately forsaken the world: but afterwards they were struck with still greater wonder when he immediately announced his name, which was one that had been well known among them also by repute. And all the brethren asking his pardon for their former ignorance because they had for so long classed him with the juniors and children, brought him back to his own Cœnobium, against his will and in tears because by the envy of the devil he had been cheated out of a worthy mode of life and the humility which he was rejoicing in having discovered after his long search, and because he had not succeeded in ending his life in that state of subjection which he had secured. And so they guarded him with the utmost care lest he should slip away again in the same sort of way and escape from them also.

When Abbot Pinufius was brought back to his monastery, he stayed there for a short time and then fled again to the regions of Syrian Palestine.

How when Abbot Pinufius was brought back to his monastery he stayed there for a little while and then fled again into the regions of Syrian Palestine.

And when he had stayed there for a little while, he was again seized with a longing and desire for humility. Taking advantage of the silence of night, he escaped in such a way that this time he did not seek a neighboring area, but regions that were unknown and strange and separated by a wide distance. He boarded a ship and managed to travel to Palestine, believing that he would be more safely hidden if he went to places where his name had never been heard. When he arrived there, he immediately sought out our own monastery, which was not far from the cave in which our Lord consented to be born of a virgin. Although he concealed himself there for some time, yet like a city set on a hill (to use our Lord's expression) he could not long be hidden. Soon some of the brothers who had come from Egypt to the holy places to pray there recognized him and recalled him with the most fervent prayers to his own community.

And when he had stopped there for a little while, again he was seized with a longing and desire for humility, and, taking advantage of the silence of night, made his escape in such a way that this time he sought no neighbouring district, but regions which were unknown and strange and separated by a wide distance. For embarking in a ship he managed to travel to Palestine, believing that he would more securely lie hidden if he betook himself to those places in which his name had never been heard. And when he had come there, at once he sought out our own monastery which was at no great distance from the cave in which our Lord vouchsafed to be born of a virgin. And though he concealed himself here for some time, yet like a city set on an hill Matthew 5:14 (to use our Lord's expression) he could not long be hid. For presently some of the brethren who had come to the holy places from Egypt to pray there recognized him and recalled him with most fervent prayers to his own Cœnobium.

The instruction that Abbot Pinufius himself gave to a brother whom he admitted into his monastery while we were present.

The charge which the same Abbot Pinufius gave to a brother whom he admitted into his monastery in our presence.

This old man we later carefully sought out in Egypt because we had been close to him in our own monastery, and I intend to include in this work an exhortation he gave in our presence to a brother he admitted into the monastery, because I think it may be useful. You know, he said, that after lying for so many days at the entrance you are today to be admitted. First of all, you ought to know the reason for the difficulty put in your way. This may be of great service to you on this path you desire to enter, if you understand the method of it and approach the service of Christ accordingly, and as you ought.

This old man, then, we afterwards diligently sought out in Egypt because we had been intimate with him in our own monastery; and I propose to insert in this work of mine an exhortation which he gave in our presence to a brother whom he admitted into the monastery, because I think that it may be useful. You know, said he, that after lying for so many days at the entrance you are today to be admitted. And to begin with you ought to know the reason of the difficulty put in your way. For it may be of great service to you in this road on which you are desirous to enter, if you understand the method of it and approach the service of Christ accordingly, and as you ought.

How a great reward is due to the monk who labors according to the regulations of the fathers, and likewise punishment must be inflicted on an idle one; and therefore no one should be admitted into a monastery too easily.

How it is that, just as a great reward is due to the monk who labours according to the regulations of the fathers, so likewise punishment must he inflicted on an idle one; and therefore no one should be admitted into a monastery too easily.

For just as unlimited glory is promised in the future to those who faithfully serve God and hold fast to Him according to the rule of this way of life, so the most severe penalties await those who have carried it out carelessly and halfheartedly, and have failed to show Him fruits of holiness that match what they professed or what people believed them to be. For it is better, as Scripture says, that a person should not make a vow than that he should make a vow and not fulfill it; and "Cursed is the one who does the Lord's work carelessly." Therefore, we declined your admission for a long time—not because we did not desire with all our hearts to secure your salvation and the salvation of all, nor because we did not care to go out and meet even from far away those who are longing to turn to Christ, but because we feared that if we received you hastily we might make ourselves guilty before God of being irresponsible, and we might cause you to face an even heavier punishment if, after being too easily admitted by us without understanding the responsibility of this profession, you later turned out to be a deserter or lukewarm. Therefore you should first learn the actual reason for renouncing the world, and once you have grasped this, you can be taught more clearly what you ought to do, based on that reason.

For as unbounded glory hereafter is promised to those who faithfully serve God and cleave to Him according to the rule of this system; so the severest penalties are in store for those who have carried it out carelessly and coldly, and have failed to show to Him fruits of holiness corresponding to what they professed or what they were believed by men to be. For it is better, as Scripture says, that a man should not vow rather than that he should vow and not pay; and Cursed is he that does the work of the Lord carelessly. Therefore you were for a long while declined by us, not as if we did not desire with all our hearts to secure your salvation and the salvation of all, nor as if we did not care to go to meet even afar off those who are longing to be converted to Christ; but for fear lest if we received you rashly we might make ourselves guilty in the sight of God of levity, and make you incur a yet heavier punishment, if, when you had been too easily admitted by us without realizing the responsibility of this profession, you had afterwards turned out a deserter or lukewarm. Wherefore you ought in the first instance to learn the actual reason for the renunciation of the world, and when you have seen this, you can be taught more plainly what you ought to do, from the reason for it.

Concerning how our renunciation is nothing other than mortification and the image of the Crucified.

Of the way in which our renunciation is nothing but mortification and the image of the Crucified.

Renunciation is nothing but the evidence of the cross and of mortification. And so you must know that today you are dead to this world and its deeds and desires, and that, as the Apostle says, you are crucified to this world and this world to you. Consider therefore the demands of the cross under whose sign you ought from now on to live in this life, because you no longer live but He lives in you who was crucified for you. We must therefore spend our time in this life in the same manner and form in which He was crucified for us on the cross, so that, as David says, piercing our flesh with the fear of the Lord, we may have all our wishes and desires not subject to our own lusts but fastened to His mortification. For in this way we shall fulfill the command of the Lord which says: He that does not take up his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. But perhaps you will say: How can a person carry his cross continually? Or how can anyone who is alive be crucified? Hear briefly how this is.

Renunciation is nothing but the evidence of the cross and of mortification. And so you must know that today you are dead to this world and its deeds and desires, and that, as the Apostle says, you are crucified to this world and this world to you. Galatians 6:14 Consider therefore the demands of the cross under the sign of which you ought henceforward to live in this life; because you no longer live but He lives in you who was crucified for you. Galatians 2:20 We must therefore pass our time in this life in that fashion and form in which He was crucified for us on the cross so that (as David says) piercing our flesh with the fear of the Lord, we may have all our wishes and desires not subservient to our own lusts but fastened to His mortification. For so shall we fulfil the command of the Lord which says: He that takes not up his cross and follows me is not worthy of me. Matthew 10:38 But perhaps you will say: How can a man carry his cross continually? Or how can any one who is alive be crucified? Hear briefly how this is.

How the fear of the Lord is our cross.

How the fear of the Lord is our cross.

The fear of the Lord is our cross. Just as someone who is crucified no longer has the power to move or turn his limbs in any direction as he pleases, so we also ought to fix our wishes and desires—not according to what is pleasant and delightful to us now, but according to the law of the Lord, wherever it directs us. And just as someone who is fastened to the wood of the cross no longer considers present things, nor thinks about his preferences, nor is troubled by anxiety and worry for tomorrow, nor disturbed by any desire for possessions, nor inflamed by any pride or conflict or competition, does not grieve over present injuries, does not remember past ones, and while he is still breathing in the body considers himself dead to all earthly things, sending the thoughts of his heart ahead to that place where he has no doubt he will soon arrive: so we also, when crucified by the fear of the Lord, ought to be dead indeed to all these things—that is, not only to fleshly vices but also to all earthly things—having the eye of our mind fixed on the place where we hope at every moment we will soon pass. For in this way we can have all our desires and fleshly affections put to death.

The fear of the Lord is our cross. As then one who is crucified no longer has the power of moving or turning his limbs in any direction as he pleases, so we also ought to affix our wishes and desires — not in accordance with what is pleasant and delightful to us now, but in accordance with the law of the Lord, where it constrains us. And as he who is fastened to the wood of the cross no longer considers things present, nor thinks about his likings, nor is perplexed by anxiety and care for the morrow, nor disturbed by any desire of possession, nor inflamed by any pride or strife or rivalry, grieves not at present injuries, remembers not past ones, and while he is still breathing in the body considers that he is dead to all earthly things, sending the thoughts of his heart on before to that place whither he doubts not that he is shortly to come: so we also, when crucified by the fear of the Lord ought to be dead indeed to all these things, i.e. not only to carnal vices but also to all earthly things, having the eye of our minds fixed there whither we hope at each moment that we are soon to pass. For in this way we can have all our desires and carnal affections mortified.

How our renunciation of the world is of no use if we become entangled again in those things which we have renounced.

How our renunciation of the world is of no use if we are again entangled in those things which we have renounced.

Be careful, then, that you never take back any of those things you renounced and abandoned. Do not go against the Lord's command by returning from the field of gospel work and clothing yourself again in the coat you had stripped off. Do not sink back into the low and earthly lusts and desires of this world, and in defiance of Christ's word, do not come down from the roof of perfection and dare to take up again any of those things you have renounced and forsaken. Be careful that you remember nothing of your relatives or your former attachments, and that you are not called back to the cares and anxieties of this world. As our Lord says, do not put your hand to the plow and look back, making yourself unfit for the kingdom of heaven. Be careful that when you have begun to gain knowledge of the Psalms and of this life, you do not little by little become puffed up and think of reviving that pride which you have now trampled underfoot at your beginning in the fervor of faith and in complete humility. Otherwise, as the Apostle says, by building again those things you had destroyed, you make yourself a transgressor. Instead, take care to continue even to the end in that state of renunciation which you professed in the sight of God and of his angels. You should not only continue in this humility and patience with which you persevered for ten days before the doors and begged with many tears to be admitted into the monastery, but also increase and go forward in them. For it is shameful that when you ought to be carried on from the basics and beginnings and go forward to perfection, you should instead begin to fall back from these to worse things. For not the one who begins these things, but the one who endures in them to the end, shall be saved.

Beware therefore lest at any time you take again any of those things which you renounced and forsook, and, contrary to the Lord's command, return from the field of evangelical work, and be found to have clothed yourself again in your coat which you had stripped off; Matthew 24:18 neither sink back to the low and earthly lusts and desires of this world, and in defiance of Christ's word come down from the rod of perfection and dare to take up again any of those things which you have renounced and forsaken. Beware that you remember nothing of your kinsfolk or of your former affections, and that you are not called back to the cares and anxieties of this world, and (as our Lord says) putting your hand to the plough and looking back be found unfit for the kingdom of heaven. Luke 9:62 Beware lest at any time, when you have begun to dip into the knowledge of the Psalms and of this life, you be little by little puffed up and think of reviving that pride which now at your beginning you have trampled under foot in the ardour of faith and in fullest humility; and thus (as the Apostle says) building again those things which you had destroyed, you make yourself a backslider. Galatians 2:18 But rather take heed to continue even to the end in that state of nakedness of which you made profession in the sight of God and of his angels. In this humility too and patience, with which you persevered for ten days before the doors and entreated with many tears to be admitted into the monastery, you should not only continue but also increase and go forward. For it is too bad that when you ought to be carried on from the rudiments and beginnings, and go forward to perfection, you should begin to fall back from these to worse things. For not he who begins these things, but he who endures in them to the end, shall be saved. Matthew 24:13

How the devil always lies in wait for our end, and how we ought continually to watch his head.

How the devil always lies in wait for our end, and how we ought continually to watch his head.

The cunning serpent is always watching our heel—that is, lying in wait for the end—and trying to make us stumble right up to the last moment of our life. Therefore, it will not help to have made a good beginning and eagerly taken the first step in renouncing the world with great enthusiasm, if a matching end does not also honor and complete it, and if you do not preserve the humility and poverty of Christ, which you have now professed before Him, all the way to the end of your life, just as you first embraced them. And to succeed in doing this, you must always watch his head—that is, the first rise of thoughts—by immediately bringing them to your superior. In this way you will learn to crush his dangerous beginnings, if you are not ashamed to reveal any of them to your superior.

For the subtle serpent is ever watching our heel, that is, is lying in wait for the close, and endeavouring to trip us up right to the end of our life. And therefore it will not be of any use to have made a good beginning and to have eagerly taken the first step towards renouncing the world with all fervour, if a corresponding end does not likewise set it off and conclude it, and if the humility and poverty of Christ, of which you have now made profession in His sight, are not preserved by you even to the close of your life, as they were first secured. And that you may succeed in doing this, do you ever watch his head, i.e. the first rise of thoughts, by bringing them at once to your superior. For thus you will learn to bruise his dangerous beginnings, if you are not ashamed to disclose any of them to your superior.

Concerning the preparation of the renunciant against temptation, and concerning the few who are worthy of imitation.

Of the renunciant's preparation against temptation, and of the few who are worthy of imitation.

Therefore, as Scripture says, when you go out to serve the Lord, stand in the fear of the Lord, and prepare your mind—not for rest or carelessness or pleasures, but for temptations and troubles. For through much tribulation we must enter into the kingdom of God. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and few there are who find it. Consider therefore that you belong to the few and elect, and do not grow cold following the examples of the lukewarmness of many. Instead, live as the few, so that with the few you may be worthy of a place in the kingdom of God. For many are called, but few chosen, and it is a little flock to which it is the Father's good pleasure to give an inheritance. You should therefore realize that it is no light sin for one who has made profession of perfection to follow after what is imperfect. And you may attain to this state of perfection by the following steps and in the following way.

Wherefore, as Scripture says, when you go forth to serve the Lord stand in the fear of the Lord, and prepare your mind Sirach 2:1 not for repose or carelessness or delights, but for temptations and troubles. For through much tribulation we must enter into the kingdom of God. For strait is the gate and narrow is the way which leads unto life, and few there be which find it. Consider therefore that you belong to the few and elect; and do not grow cold after the examples of the lukewarmness of many: but live as the few, that with the few you may be worthy of a place in the kingdom of God: for many are called, but few chosen, and it is a little flock to which it is the Father's good pleasure to give an inheritance. You should therefore realize that it is no light sin for one who has made profession of perfection to follow after what is imperfect. And to this state of perfection you may attain by the following steps and in the following way.

Concerning the way by which we should ascend toward perfection, through which we may afterward rise from the fear of God up to love.

Of the way in which we shall mount towards perfection, whereby we may afterwards ascend from the fear of God up to love.

The beginning of our salvation and its safeguard is, as I said, the fear of the Lord. For through this, those who are being trained in the way of perfection can make a start in conversion, as well as gain purification from vices and security in virtue. And when this has entered a person's heart, it produces contempt for all things and creates a forgetfulness of family and a horror of the world itself. But through contempt for the loss of all possessions, humility is gained. And humility is shown by these signs: first, if a person has mortified all his desires; second, if he hides none of his actions or even his thoughts from his superior; third, if he places no trust in his own opinion but entirely in the judgment of his superior, and listens eagerly and willingly to his directions; fourth, if he maintains obedience, gentleness, and constant patience in everything; fifth, if he not only hurts nobody else but is also not annoyed or upset at wrongs done to himself; sixth, if he does nothing and attempts nothing that he is not urged to do by the common rule or by the example of our elders; seventh, if he is content with the lowest possible position and considers himself a bad worker and unworthy in the case of everything assigned to him; eighth, if he not only outwardly professes with his lips that he is inferior to all but truly believes it in the inmost thoughts of his heart; ninth, if he controls his tongue and is not overly talkative; tenth, if he is not easily moved or too quick to laugh. For true humility is recognized by such signs and others like them. And when this has once been genuinely secured, it immediately leads you by a still higher step to love that knows no fear, and through this you begin, without any effort and as if naturally, to keep up everything that you formerly observed with fear of punishment; no longer now out of concern for punishment or fear of it but from love of goodness itself and delight in virtue.

The beginning of our salvation and the safeguard of it is, as I said, the fear of the Lord. Proverbs 9:10 For through this those who are trained in the way of perfection can gain a start in conversion as well as purification from vices and security in virtue. And when this has gained an entrance into a man's heart it produces contempt of all things, and begets a forgetfulness of kinsfolk and an horror of the world itself. But by the contempt for the loss of all possessions humility is gained. And humility is attested by these signs: First of all if a man has all his desires mortified; secondly, if he conceals none of his actions or even of his thoughts from his superior; thirdly, if he puts no trust in his own opinion, but all in the judgment of his superior, and listens eagerly and willingly to his directions; fourthly, if he maintains in everything obedience and gentleness and constant patience; fifthly, if he not only hurts nobody else, but also is not annoyed or vexed at wrongs done to himself; sixthly, if he does nothing and ventures on nothing to which he is not urged by the Common Rule or by the example of our elders; seventhly, if he is contented with the lowest possible position, and considers himself as a bad workman and unworthy in the case of everything enjoined to him; eighthly, if he does not only outwardly profess with his lips that he is inferior to all, but really believes it in the inmost thoughts of his heart; ninthly, if he governs his tongue, and is not over talkative; tenthly, if he is not easily moved or too ready to laugh. For by such signs and the like is true humility recognised. And when this has once been genuinely secured, then at once it leads you on by a still higher step to love which knows no fear; 1 John 4:18 and through this you begin, without any effort and as it were naturally, to keep up everything that you formerly observed not without fear of punishment; no longer now from regard of punishment or fear of it but from love of goodness itself, and delight in virtue.

A monk should seek examples of perfection not from many instances but from one or very few.

That the monk should seek for examples of perfection not from many instances but from one or a very few.

To reach this goal more easily, you should look for examples of the perfect life from just one or two people living in the community whom you can imitate, rather than from too many. This is because, apart from the fact that a life that has been tested, refined, and purified is found only in a few people, there is also this benefit: a person is more thoroughly instructed and shaped toward the perfection he has set before himself—namely, that of the coenobite life—by following the example of one specific person.

And that you may the more easily arrive at this, the examples of the perfect life of one dwelling in the congregation, which you may imitate, should be sought from a very few or indeed from one or two only and not from too many. For apart from the fact that a life which is tested and refined and purified is only to be found in a few, there is this also to be gained, viz.: that a man is more thoroughly instructed and formed by the example of some one, towards the perfection which he sets before him, viz.: that of the Cœnobite life.

The outward signs of weakness that someone living in a coenobium (communal monastery) should display.

The appearance of what infirmities one who lives in a Cœnobium ought to exhibit.

To be able to attain all this and continually remain subject to this spiritual rule, you must observe these three things in the congregation: as the Psalmist says, "I was like a deaf man and heard not, and as one that is dumb who does not open his mouth; and I became as a man that hears not, and in whose mouth there are no reproofs." You should walk in the same way—as one who is deaf and dumb and blind. Setting aside your focus on the one you have rightly chosen as your model of perfection, you should be like a blind man and not see any of those things you find to be unedifying. Do not be influenced by the authority or example of those who do these things, and do not give yourself over to what is worse and what you formerly condemned. If you hear anyone being disobedient or insubordinate or disparaging another or doing anything different from what was taught to you, do not go wrong and be led astray by such an example to imitate him. Instead, like a deaf man, as if you had never heard it, you should pass it all by. If insults are offered to you or to anyone else, or wrongs are done, be unmoved, and as far as answering in retaliation is concerned, be silent as one who is dumb, always singing in your heart this verse of the Psalmist: "I said I will take heed to my ways that I offend not with my tongue. I set a guard to my mouth when the sinner stood before me. I was dumb and was humbled and kept silence from good things." But cultivate above everything this fourth thing that adorns and graces those three of which we have spoken above: make yourself, as the Apostle directs in 1 Corinthians 3:18, a fool in this world so that you may become wise, exercising no discrimination and judgment of your own on any of those matters which are commanded to you, but always showing obedience with complete simplicity and faith, judging that alone to be holy, useful, and wise which God's law or the decision of your superior declares to you to be such. For built up on such a system of instruction, you may continue forever under this discipline and not fall away from the monastery because of any temptations or devices of the enemy.

And that you may be able to attain all this, and continually remain subject to this spiritual rule, you must observe these three things in the congregation: viz.: that as the Psalmist says: I was like a deaf man and heard not and as one that is dumb who does not open his mouth; and I became as a man that hears not, and in whose mouth there are no reproofs, so you also should walk as one that is deaf and dumb and blind, so that — putting aside the contemplation of him who has been rightly chosen by you as your model of perfection — you should be like a blind man and not see any of those things which you find to be unedifying, nor be influenced by the authority or fashion of those who do these things, and give yourself up to what is worse and what you formerly condemned. If you hear any one disobedient or insubordinate or disparaging another or doing anything different from what was taught to you, you should not go wrong and be led astray by such an example to imitate him; but, like a deaf man, as if you had never heard it, you should pass it all by. If insults are offered to you or to any one else, or wrongs done, be immovable, and as far as an answer in retaliation is concerned be silent as one that is dumb, always singing in your heart this verse of the Psalmist: I said I will take heed to my ways that I offend not with my tongue. I set a guard to my mouth when the sinner stood before me. I was dumb and was humbled and kept silence from good things. But cultivate above everything this fourth thing which adorns and graces those three of which we have spoken above; viz.: make yourself, as the Apostle directs, 1 Corinthians 3:18 a fool in this world that you may become wise, exercising no discrimination and judgment of your own on any of those matters which are commanded to you, but always showing obedience with all simplicity and faith, judging that alone to be holy, useful, and wise which God's law or the decision of your superior declares to you to be such. For built up on such a system of instruction you may continue forever under this discipline, and not fall away from the monastery in consequence of any temptations or devices of the enemy.

How a monk should not expect to receive the blessing of patience in his own life as a result of the virtue of others, but rather as a consequence of his own longsuffering.

How a monk should not look for the blessing of patience in his own case as a result of the virtue of others, but rather as a consequence of his own longsuffering.

You should not expect to have patience by depending on the virtue of others, thinking you can only achieve it when no one irritates you (since you cannot control whether this happens). Instead, you should seek patience as a result of your own humility and longsuffering, which do depend on your own will.

You should therefore not look for patience in your own case from the virtue of others, thinking that then only can you secure it when you are not irritated by any (for it is not in your own power to prevent this from happening); but rather you should look for it as the consequence of your own humility and long-suffering which does depend on your own will.

Summary of the explanation of how a monk can ascend toward perfection.

Recapitulation of the explanation how a monk can mount up towards perfection.

To ensure that everything set forth in this rather lengthy discussion may be more easily impressed on your heart and firmly fixed in your mind, I will summarize it so that you can memorize all these stages because of their brevity and conciseness. Hear then in few words how you can ascend to the heights of perfection without strain or difficulty. The beginning of our salvation and of wisdom is, according to Scripture, the fear of the Lord. From the fear of the Lord comes salutary compunction. From compunction of heart springs renunciation, that is, nakedness and contempt for all possessions. From nakedness is born humility; from humility comes the mortification of desires. Through mortification of desires all faults are rooted out and destroyed. By driving out faults, virtues spring up and grow. By the budding of virtues, purity of heart is gained. Through purity of heart, the perfection of apostolic love is acquired.

And in order that all these things which have been set forth in a somewhat lengthy discourse may be more easily stamped on your heart and may stick in your thoughts with all tenacity, I will make a summary of them so that you may be able to learn all the changes by heart by reason of their brevity and conciseness. Hear then in few words how you can mount up to the heights of perfection without an effort or difficulty. The beginning of our salvation and of wisdom is, according to Scripture, the fear of the Lord. From the fear of the Lord arises salutary compunction. From compunction of heart springs renunciation, i.e. nakedness and contempt of all possessions. From nakedness is begotten humility; from humility the mortification of desires. Through mortification of desires all faults are extirpated and decay. By driving out faults virtues shoot up and increase. By the budding of virtues purity of heart is gained. By purity of heart the perfection of apostolic love is acquired.