The abba begot spiritual sons chiefly through the seed that is the word. Young men thirsting for salvation and the experience of God came to him as to a tested veteran. What they asked for was “a word” (rhēma): “Father, give me a word.” The request sometimes envisaged a particular problem and asked for specific advice; sometimes it was put in the most general terms: “How can I be saved?” The genuine fathers were the ones who did not seek to be fathers and whose humility made them hesitant to accept the role. Sometimes the disciple had to wait several days for an answer; sometimes the elder spotted him as a fraud and would not answer at all. The “words” were usually brief, pithy pronouncements containing insights of profound wisdom under an appearance of great simplicity. They are preserved in the collections of apophthegmata, which have been compared to the “pronouncement stories” of Jesus in the Synoptic Gospels. Their teaching is the fruit of experience.
The desert monks had a strong sense of tradition, which was identified with “the teaching of the elders.” This was no systematized body of doctrine, but a kind of unsophisticated unwritten law that prescribed the best way to do things. Its inspiration was strongly evangelical, and it was most probably rooted in the ascetical and charismatic groupings of the pre-monastic period, but it developed out of actual practice in the first monastic generation. Each abba, in his own teaching, felt that he was handing on the tradition, and the tradition thus became incorporated in wise sayings that were remembered and propagated. The disciple, formed by the master’s teaching, received the tradition from him; when he became an abba himself, he passed it on to his disciples. The sayings of the fathers were eventually collected and set down in writing. They have been among the favored reading of monks ever since and have often served to recall monasticism to the purity and simplicity of its origins. When the traditional teaching of the fathers was absorbed by learned intellectuals such as Evagrius of Pontus and John Cassian, they systematized it on the foundations of Greek philosophy and Origen’s theories about the development of the spiritual life. But they were very conscious of the obligation to be faithful to tradition.
The elder became a spiritual father through a very personal relationship to an individual disciple. He could have more than one disciple at the same time, and they might all live under the same basic regime, but each was treated as a unique individual. They made their problems known to him through manifestation of thoughts (logismoi); this included not merely the bad thoughts by which they were tempted but whatever occupied their interior faculties. It was therefore more inclusive than simply confession of sins or evil thoughts, or even manifestation of conscience in the modern sense. The disciple, who was not yet liberated from slavery to his passions and from the darkness of sin, was often unable to distinguish in himself between what was healthy and positive and what was dangerous and deceptive. He therefore humbly opened his inner self to examination by the spiritual father. The latter’s ability to make sound judgments about what the disciple revealed to him was called “discernment of spirits” and was regarded as a charismatic gift.22 The conflicting forces that compete for control of a man’s heart were personified as “spirits” the demons on the one hand (which Evagrius classified into eight principal types) and the Spirit of God on the other. Since the demons disguise themselves as angels of light (see 2 Cor 11:14), they can deceive the uninitiated, but not the abba who has the gift of discernment.23
The theme of discernment or discretion appears often in the desert literature.24 The omnipresence of demons, which appears so alien and disconcerting to the modern mind, is a fundamentally mythological way of stating profound spiritual and psychological insights into the human heart. The unmasking of illusions conducted by the fathers is in some respects an anticipation of the procedures of modern psychotherapy, but its purpose was entirely pastoral and spiritual.25 The elder aimed at helping the disciple to come to a knowledge of himself: by patiently and objectively examining the forces that clamored for control, he showed the youth what he must do if he really wished to extirpate the roots that sin and selfishness had sunk in him, perhaps even masquerading under virtuous pretenses, and to surrender himself in total abandonment to the Spirit of Christ. Thus would he be enabled to know his true self and at the same time to know God. Only in this way could he find an answer to the classic question presented to the fathers: How can I be saved?
The portrait of the desert fathers that the literature reveals to us is an admirable example of the exercise of spiritual fatherhood. They knew, as good natural parents do, that they were dealing with an ineffable mystery that demanded the most profound respect. They gave no advice unasked and were reluctant even to accede to entreaty, for they knew that it is no trivial matter to direct another’s life and share in God’s own fatherhood on his behalf. They showed no surprise or shock at whatever thoughts a monk might have, for one who has come to a knowledge of himself is realistic about the possibilities of fallen nature.26 They had a profound respect for every man, for they knew that he carried the image of God in him, no matter how obscured it might be by sin. Each monk was a unique creation of God who was to be dealt with as a distinctive individual. Spiritual direction was not a set of stock solutions to be applied mechanically to every problem; still less was it a subtle way of gaining control over others by manipulating them. It was an honest searching to know the other and help him to know himself, so that he might learn to wrestle on his own with the forces of darkness and surrender his life to the creative power of God. The goal of spiritual fatherhood was the growth of the son to adulthood. Once he had, through harsh experience, absorbed the traditional wisdom that was identical with holiness, he could himself become the father of sons.
Above all, what we discern in the attitude of the desert abba is charity: a sincere, personal love for each monk who came to him seeking. The elder was vitally concerned with the ultimate welfare of each disciple. He cared about him; he treated him as a father treats his son. This often comes out in the form of an exquisite tenderness, of compassion in its deepest sense of willingness to suffer with another and to make his suffering one’s own, of understanding the other without subtly conveying judgment or rebuke or superiority. It can also take the form of necessary severity, however, or of the unexpected answer that shocks the questioner back into reality.27 One who truly loves tries to provide what the other needs, not what he wants. The abba respected his disciple as a man and a child of God, and stood in awe before the mystery that every human person encompasses; hence he could love him genuinely with a divine charity that was at the same time intensely human.
If all of this is the fruit of divine grace, it is nonetheless not extraordinary, in the modern sense of “miraculous.” However, there are also in the desert literature a number of accounts of such extraordinary accomplishments of the fathers.28 Sometimes they have the gift of seeing into the heart of another (kardiognōsis) and reading his mind. They are so powerful with God that they can bring about wonders simply by intense application to prayer. Occasionally they experience ecstasy and visions and other extraordinary states. They have the gift of working wonders, such as healings, nature miracles and raising the dead to life. While these are by no means the most prominent feature of the Apophthegmata, they are intended to emphasize the charismatic nature of the abba’s gifts and are in continuity with the premonastic Christian charismatics and the New Testament. Indeed, the wonders of the fathers often reproduce biblical models and are intended to show that the elders fulfill the requirements of a Man of God, precisely as St. Gregory was later to do in his stories about St. Benedict in the Dialogues.29
Similarly, the desert fathers often taught by performing symbolic actions not unlike those of the Old and New Testament prophets (Apoph.: see Zacharias 3; Moses 2; Pior 3; Ammonas 8 and 9). This was a deliberate imitation of biblical models in a predominantly oral culture that still had much in common with that of biblical times. But it also emphasizes the point, which was so cherished by the fathers, that teaching is more a ma
tter of deeds than of words. What they had to teach was no academic discipline but a way of life. An art can be taught only by showing how to do it. Therefore, the example of the abba was his principal means of instruction, and imitation was for the disciple the chief means of learning. The fathers’ concern to give example also protected them against the danger of not practicing what they preached. The Abba Poemen once summed up the matter clearly in a memorable pronouncement. When a monk asked him if he should consent to be in charge of some brothers who had so entreated him, the Abba replied, “No. Be their model (typos), not their lawgiver (nomothetēs)” (Apoph.: Poemen 174). We shall see in the Rule how much St. Benedict absorbed this emphasis upon teaching by example.
The abba in Egyptian cenobitism
Community forms of monastic life arose quite early in Egypt. We are best informed about the coenobia that developed in the Thebaid around Pachomius, because a substantial body of Pachomian literature has been preserved. There were, however, a number of other cenobitic developments. The Pachomian literature itself testifies to the existence of other monasteries in southern Egypt. We are informed about coenobia in northern Egypt by Cassian, Palladius and the author of the Historia monachorum. Generally it seems that they developed around a renowned abba who attracted numerous disciples. Such was the case of the coenobium of Abba Apollos, of which we are informed by the Historia monachorum (Hist.mon. 8). As the number of disciples grew, the life became more organized, with common ownership of property, common table and sometimes other common exercises. But the spiritual fatherhood of the abbot for each monk remained the constitutive basis of the coenobium as it was for the monks of Scete.
It is far from agreed, however, that every manifestation of cenobitic life was the result of this type of development. Armand Veilleux has argued that genuine cenobitism, which he believes was achieved in Egypt only by Pachomius, is in no sense an outgrowth of the solitary life, but an entirely independent development. The monasteries of northern Egypt, which, he agrees, did emerge from semi-anchoritic groups, were not truly cenobitic, but merely larger assemblies of semi-anchorites: they did not share the ideal of the common life that is the hallmark of the Pachomian institute. According to Veilleux’s thesis, the role of the apa in Pachomius’ monasteries was not that of spiritual father to each monk, but of organizer of a common regime, a subculture, that encouraged the personal development of the majority and of the community as such. It was only in Western cenobitism that the head of the community took on the functions of the spiritual father, thus fusing the cenobitic ideal with that of the desert. Veilleux regards this as a deviation due to Cassian’s misrepresentation of the northern Egyptian monasteries as genuine coenobia.30
This thesis supposes that the Pachomian literature is not homogeneous and that much of it testifies to a later development that went beyond the intentions of Pachomius himself. It further supposes that Cassian and other writers have attributed to the coenobia of northern Egypt features of the common life that in fact they did not possess. The evidence for these assumptions, however, is less than thoroughly convincing.31 It is clear, indeed, that the Pachomian texts testify to a degree of evolution in the institute, the precise determination of which is still an open question; but that there was a sharp discontinuity between Pachomius and his immediate successors scarcely seems to be supported by the evidence adduced. And while it is true that Cassian probably never visited any Pachomian monastery, he did have personal knowledge of the coenobia in the Delta area, and there is no convincing reason to suggest that he distorted their real character. It is true, moreover, that Pachomius himself only rarely speaks of his own function in terms of fatherhood, but his immediate successors attribute such a role to him, and the authors of the Lives depict him as constantly exercising it.
In fact, the most abundant testimony regarding the exercise of spiritual fatherhood by the Egyptian cenobitic apa is in the Pachomian literature. Pachomius began his own monastic career in the traditional way, by becoming a disciple of the elder Palamon. Once his training had been completed, however, and he himself began to attract disciples, he took a new direction and formed them into a community. His ideal was the primitive Christian community of Jerusalem as described in Acts. He greatly emphasized the value of brotherhood, fraternal charity and mutual assistance, and always referred to his institute as the koinōnia. The importance of the community in his monastic vision is stressed much more by him than by other cenobitic founders in Egypt, about whom, however, we know much less. It is derived from his conception of Christian values and from his reflection upon Scripture, which is the source of his inspiration and the real rule of life for his monks.32 This stress upon the value of the community, however, is not incompatible with the traditional role of the apa as spiritual father, and the evidence suggests that the two were already combined by Pachomius himself and not only by later Western founders.
The Pachomian literature speaks of Pachomius himself in much the same way as the Apophthegmata speaks of the elders of the desert. He is given the titles “apa” and “man of God” and spoken of as “blessed” and “holy.” It is recognized that he possessed the charismatic gifts characteristic of a pneumatophoros : absorption in prayer, discernment of spirits, humility, extraordinary asceticism, visions, kardiognōsis, power over demons, understanding of the Scriptures. There is also a new element, for he is venerated further as founder and propagator of a way of life by his followers and as intercessor for them.33 The basis of his recognition as father, however, is certainly his exercise of spiritual fatherhood on behalf of his monks.34
To fulfill this function on behalf of others was the vocation of which Pachomius became conscious early in his career. The Lives relate that, in response to his desire to know the will of God, he was told in a visionary experience that God’s will for him was “that you serve the human race to reconcile it with him.” Pachomius, who had been living a semi-anchoritical form of life, was astonished, but then remembered the resolve he had made when he was a conscript and first experienced the charity of Christians. Consequently, he recognized the inspiration as a genuine message from the Lord. From this time onward he sought to become the servant of all, desiring to imitate Christ through diakonia and thus bring others to him.35 The Greek Life tells how he not only instructed his first candidates “according to the Scriptures,” but personally served them by preparing the meals, attending to visitors and caring for the sick. He wanted them to be free for studying the psalms and other parts of Scripture, especially the Gospel, and himself found contemplative peace (anapausis) “in serving God and you, according to God’s command” (Vita prima 24). Here we find the familiar concern to teach by example rather than by word.
The accent on service of others, however, on brotherhood and on a humility that would not permit any kind of preference in his own favor is distinctive of Pachomius’ understanding of his role. His inspiration is purely evangelical. He had no higher education and in fact shared the Coptic peasant’s suspicion of Greek learning, condemning Origen as an arch-heretic (Vita prima 3,56). But he understood the simplicity of the Gospel as a way of life and knew that to communicate it to others, he had to act as Jesus did. His overriding concern was to win souls, to deepen the religious life of each of his monks, to promote the growth of persons. The creation of a disciplinary regime was entirely secondary to this end; still lower in the hierarchy of values was the material and economic framework that sustained the temporal life of the monks, necessary as both of these considerations were for the smooth functioning of what became large communities. Pachomius insisted upon a firm, even harsh discipline and could be severe in dealing with delinquency when the case warranted such treatment. His rule at first reading seems hafsh and impersonal, but it gives only the external norms of behavior that were required, without conveying the warmth of inspiration that motivated them. The Lives and the Catecheses are needed to complete the image of Pachomius as teacher and model.
The terminology of fatherhood and sonship
is used frequently in the Lives to express the relationship of the apa to his monks. One of the Coptic Lives begins by exalting Pachomius as father: the author quotes Isaiah’s “Look to Abraham your father” (Isa 51:2), argues that Jesus’ prohibition against giving the title “father” to a man (Matt 23:9) does not apply, and apparently understands the “father of spirits” of Heb 12:9 of Pachomius. All this has been said, he continues, “so that you may know for certain that a man who begets another in the work of God is his father after God, both in this age and in the other.” He then speaks of Paul’s begetting sons “not only by the gospel, but also by good and admirable deeds,” and concludes: “Such indeed is the case of our father Pachomius, because our Father who is in heaven dwells in him. . . . All those who resemble the Apostle in their actions deserve to be called fathers because of the Holy Spirit who dwells in them” (Vita sa 3).
Pachomius himself, while he emphasized the brotherhood of all and firmly resisted any special consideration that would set him apart, seems nevertheless to have thought of himself as a father as well. The terminology appears only rarely on his own lips, as when he says to a man who has come to enter the monastery, “When we shall have seen that you have walked in the way that I shall direct you, then I am prepared to take care of you, like a father, in everything that your salvation requires” (Vita bo 115). He also spoke of other monks as fathers: when entrusting a young monk to the care of an elder, he said, “Here is your father after God: everything that you see him do, you shall do. If he fasts, you will fast with him, and you will act just as he does; if he sits at table to eat, you will sit beside him and eat; when he gets up, you will get up with him; you will do nothing without him, and go nowhere without his permission” (Vita sa 5 93). This text is reminiscent of the elder-disciple relationship of the semi-anchorites of Scete and shows the similarity of Pachomius’ concept of spiritual fatherhood to that of the desert.36
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