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Sayings of the Fathers (Systematic Collection, Latin)
tr. Chadwick, 1958; selections
2. Part 2: Of Quiet
Abba Antony said: “Fish die if they are long out of water. So monks who dally long outside their cell or with men of the world, lose their will to solitude. As a fish can only live in the sea, so we must run back to our cells. Perhaps, if we dallied outside, we might lose our inner guard.”1
He also said: “The man who abides in solitude and is quiet, is delivered from fighting three battles—those of hearing, speech and sight. Then he will have but one battle to fight—the battle of the heart.”
When Abba Arsenius was still at the palace, he prayed the Lord saying: “Lord, show me the way to salvation.” And a voice came to him: “Arsenius, run from men and you shall be saved.” He went to become a monk, and again prayed in the same words. And he heard a voice saying: “Arsenius, be solitary: be silent: be at rest. These are the roots of a life without sin.”
Once Theophilus the archbishop of blessed memory came to Abba Arsenius with a judge. And the archbishop, wishing to hear him talk, asked questions. For a short time the old man was silent. Then he replied: “If I tell you anything, will you obey it?” They promised they would obey it. And the old man said to them: “Wheresoever you hear of Arsenius, do not come nigh him.”
Another time, the archbishop wanted to see him, but first sent to see if he would open to him. And Arsenius sent a message to him, saying: “If you come, I will open to you. But if I open to you, I open to everyone: and then I shall not abide here any more.” When the archbishop heard this, he said: “If I go to persecute the holy man, I shall go to him no more.”
Once Abba Arsenius came to a place where was a bed of reeds, and the reeds were shaken with the wind. And the old man said to the brothers: “What is this rustling?” And they said: “It is the wind in the reeds.” The old man said to them: “Truly, if a man sits in silence and hears the cry of a bird, he will no longer have the same quiet in his heart. How much less can we attain quiet while we listen to the rustle of these reeds?”
They used to say about him that his cell was thirty-two miles away, and that he seldom left it, and his needs were served by others. When all the monks were driven from the place called Scete, he went out weeping, and saying: “The world has lost Rome, and the monks have lost Scete.”
Once when Abba Arsenius was staying at Canopus, there came a virgin lady from Rome to see him, very rich and God-fearing. Theophilus, the archbishop, received her. She asked him to arrange with the old man for her to see him. Theophilus went to Arsenius and asked, saying: “A lady has come from Rome, and wants to see you.” The old man would not allow her to come to him. When the lady heard of the refusal, she ordered her beasts to be saddled, and said: “I believe through God’s help I shall see him. In my city of Rome there are many inhabitants: but I have come here to see prophets.” And when she reached the old man’s cell, by God’s providence he was found outside it. When the lady saw him, she fell at his feet. He helped her up indignantly, and looking at her said: “If you want to see my face, look close: here it is.” But for shame she did not dare to lift her eyes to his face. And the old man said to her: “Have you not heard what I do? A man’s actions are what you should try to look at. Why have you dared to come all this way across the sea? Do you not know that you are a woman, and ought not to go out at all? Or have you done it to go back to Rome and say to the other women: ‘I have seen Arsenius’?—then you will turn the sea into a highroad for women coming to see me?”
She said: “If God will that I return to Rome, I will not let any other woman come here. But pray for me, and ever remember me.”
He replied: “I pray God that he will blot the memory of you from my heart.”
When she heard that, she went away troubled. And when she came to Alexandria, she began in her sorrow to be ill of a fever. And the archbishop was told that she was ill, and came to comfort her. And he asked her what was the matter. She said: “I would I had never come here. I said to the old man, remember me: and he said: ‘I pray God that your memory may be blotted from my heart’—and now I am dying of sorrow.” And the archbishop said to her: “Do you not realize that you are a woman, and the enemy uses women to attack holy men? That is why the old man said what he said. He prays for your soul all the time.”
And so her mind was healed, and she went away happily to her home.
Abba Evagrius said: “Cut out of your heart the desire for many things, and so prevent the mind being disturbed, and the quiet wasted.”
In Scete a brother went to Abba Moses to ask a word. And the old man said to him: “Go and sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything.”
Said Abba Moses: “A man who avoids men is like a ripe grape. A man who companies with men is like a sour grape.”
Said Abba Nilus: “The arrows of the enemy cannot touch him who loves quiet. But he who moves in a crowd will be often wounded.”
Abba Poemen said: “The beginning of evil is to spread the mind.”
He said also: “It is good to fly from the things of the body. When a man is engaged in conflict over the body, he is like a man standing on the very edge of a deep pool, into which his enemy can knock him the moment he sees him. But when he has put aside bodily things, he is like a man standing a long way from the pool, where, if the enemy drags him along to throw him in, God will help him while he is being dragged.”
Once Abraham, the disciple of Abba Sisois, said to him: “Father, you have grown old. Let us go into the world for a short time.” Abba Sisois said to him: “Yes, provided that we go where there are no women.” The disciple said: “But where is there a place without women, except in the desert?” The old man said: “Then take me to the desert.”
Said the abbess Matrona: “Many people living secluded lives on the mountain have perished by living like people in the world. It is better to live in a crowd and want to live a solitary life than to live a solitary life but all the time be longing for company.”
Said an old man: “A monk ought to buy himself quiet, and so be able to despise any bodily expense which may happen.”
This story was told.
There were three friends, earnest men, who became monks. One of them chose to make peace between men engaged in controversy, as it is written: “Blessed are the peace-makers.” The second chose to visit the sick. The third chose to be quiet in solitude.
Then the first, struggling with quarrelling opponents, found that he could not heal everyone. And worn out, he came to the second who was ministering to the sick, and found him flagging in spirit, and unable to fulfil his purpose. And the two agreed, and went away to see the third who had become a hermit, and told him their troubles. And they asked him to tell them what progress he had made. And he was silent for a little, and poured water into a cup. And he said: “Look at the water.” And it was cloudy. And after a little he said again: “Now look, see how clear the water has become.” And when they leant over the water, they saw their faces as in a glass. And then he said to them: “So it is with the man who lives among men. He does not see his own sins because of the turmoil. But when he is at rest, especially in the desert, then he sees his sins.”
Notes
- Cf. Vita Antonii, 85.