Friday, September 24, 2010

To the Desert and Back Again: From St. Anthony's Desert Flight to St. Basil's Urban Monasticism, Part II

 
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One of the earliest, and clearest, examples of the attempt to apply the spiritual tropes of desert spirituality to the urban context is in an anonymous hagiographical source, written around the sixth and seventh centuries, titled Life of St. Alexis the Man of God.[1] The origins of the legend are somewhat shrouded in mystery, but it seems it had its origins in Syria, at the height of desert monasticism’s greatest growth in the fifth and sixth centuries, making its way into the west around the tenth century.[2]
            The legend has all the stock elements of a traditional hagiography steeped in imitatio Christi: a childless couple of noble lineage (paralleling Christ’s royal lineage) who pray for a child, and their prayers are answered. The child’s father, Euphemian, wants him to inherit his power and wealth, and grooms him for such a moment when he will pass on all his worldly power and goods. He chooses a wife for the young man, but Alexis is more concerned with chastity and prayer than he is with power, wealth and marriage, so he, on the day of his marriage, talks his wife into adopting a life of chastity, after which he takes his leave of his father’s house and sails for Laodicea, and then Edessa, “because of an image he had heard talk of, made by angels at God’s command on behalf of the Virgin who brought salvation.”[3]
            It is here that the story takes on an unusual turn, because rather than join a monastery, he goes throughout the streets of Edessa, distributing his wealth to the poor, and once he has divested himself of all his possessions, simply “sits down with the poor.”[4] He spends his time with the poor, collecting enough alms to sustain himself, and gives all else to the poor.[5] Leading his life in such a way, he avoids monastic engagement, and at the same time, he lives out his spiritual commitment to poverty in the city of Edessa, also choosing not to live as a hermit.
Withdrawal, for  Alexis, means adopting a life of poverty, a way of life that rejects the privilege, power and wealth of his upbringing. As Euphemian’s servants sail to Edessa to look for Alexis, they find him, but do not recognize him. The story drives home the new reality, where Alexis is no longer identified as a powerful heir to a powerful dynastic family, but as a simple beggar. What Euphemian’s servants find is a man who is now dependent on them. He, who was once “their lord, now is their almsman.”[6] This, we are told, brings him great joy, since his exchange was thorough and complete: wealth and power for complete poverty.
How did  Alexis live out his poverty? The anonymous poet tells us that he lived seventeen years in Edessa, living in the steps of a church that contained a miracle-working image of the Virgin Mary, “serving his Master with ready will,” with his enemy (i.e. the devil) unable to deceive him..”[7] Like  Anthony in the desert, and for that matter, like Christ in the wilderness,  Alexis has his own unspecified conflicts and fights with the devil where he comes out victorious. He “punishes his body in the service of the Lord God,” rejects “the love of man or woman,” and turns down “honors that might have been conferred on him.” His commitment to his chosen life of poverty is unwavering, not wanting to “turn aside from it, as long as he has to live.”[8] He is content to live in the city, laboring in prayer and, presumably, ascetic discipline. The chief temptation is to return to his former life of wealth and privilege, and the sight of powerful, wealthy men he sees every day might contribute to that temptation. Nothing, however, can move him from his choice of life, nor from the city of Edessa, which has become his own arena of spiritual struggle…that is, until a rather strange series of events compel him to return to Rome.
 Alexis, purposed never to leave Edessa, is prompted to leave when the image of Christ at the altar instructs the priest to bring him into the church. After bringing him into the church, word got out that the “image spoke for Alexis.”[9] Everyone began to flock to the church to honor him as a living saint. This caused a great deal of distress for Alexis, not wanting “to be burdened again by this honor.”[10] Wishing to stay in the anonymity that he enjoyed, he wanted to maintain this state of affairs which brought much by way of opportunities to engage in ascetic self-denial and identification with the poor of the city. This would all change, as people would want to honor him and venerate him above his fellow poor. At this point, he knows exactly what he needs to do: leave Edessa, head straight for Laodicea, from there to Tarsus, and then to Rome.[11]
Why does Alexis choose to return to the city where he had wealth and honor in his father’s house? The anonymous author answers this by relating that since seventeen years had passed since  Alexis had left Rome, he was unrecognizable to his father and kinsmen.[12] This anonymity-lived out in his father’s household-would suit him very well, since, surrounded by his father’s wealth and power, he would have the opportunity to fight the temptation to reveal himself to his father. He requests of his father (who does not recognize him) to give him lodging under the stairs, and this request is granted to him, “for the love of God and for (his) dear son.”[13] So he spends the next seventeen years under his father’s stairs, “in great poverty (living) his noble life…loving God more than all his lineage.”[14] Whatever food came from the house, he would eat enough to sustain his body, and the rest he would give to the poor. He dwells in the church, and does not want to depart from it, taking communion on every feast day. His greatest desire is “to work hard in God’s service; in no way does he want to be distanced from it.”[15]
His greatest feat, however, is his dwelling under his father’s stairs, “delighting in poverty,” and enduring humiliations from the household staff, who throw their slops on his head in order to spite him, everyone considering him to be a fool. Among the many humiliations heaped upon him are water being thrown on him, so that his bedding gets soaked. His response is quite typical of him: “This most holy man does not become angry at all, instead he prays to God, in his mercy, to forgive them, for they know not what they do.”[16]
So far,  Alexis exhibits all the traits that mark a traditional desert ascetic: he eats very little food, engages in a kind of ascetic warfare against the passions, endures privations and humiliations, to the point of near martyrdom, and most importantly, exhibits that trait that is common to all martyrs and ascetics-the imitation of Christ’s sufferings. The anonymous author makes this point very clear when he puts Christ’s words on the cross on the lips of Alexis, thus identifying him as an alter Christus. In the end, Alexis has also succeeded in becoming an urban Anthony.
            The story of  Alexis exemplifies the impulse to live out a life of ascetic poverty in the cities as well, inspiring many imitators who would take up the fight against the passions of greed, avarice and lust in the major urban centers of the eastern empire. One way to do this would be to establish monastic communities within an urban environment, or at least in close proximity to an urban center, thus following closely the Pachomian and Antonian models. This would be the manner in which  Basil of Caesarea’s monastic establishment would function, with a standard rule regulating the way his monks would interact with the “world” (i.e. the city) as part and parcel of their ascetic discipline.       
The life of  Basil himself (330-379) is quite informative in regard to his ascetic choices. His own family included quite a pedigree of saints and martyrs reaching back into the early 3rd century.[17] Both of his parents were Christians, and he himself received Christian instruction from his grandmother Macrina. During the last gasp of persecution under Maximin Daia, his relatives fled to “the remote and wilder parts of Pontus, living wildly on the spoils of the hunt, and redefining (Christian) heroism in the language of survival.”[18] His father, a member of the legal profession in Caesarea, introduced him to the study of classical literature. St. Basil, thus armed with both religious and secular learning, embarked on a promising academic career in Athens, where he met his friend,  Gregory Nazianzen. There they both went on retreat on the Iris in 358 in order to work on the Philokalia, a collection of excerpts from the works of Origen, and drafted a monastic rule. But between the close of his academic studies in 355 and his first seclusion in Iris, Basil had a promising career in rhetoric. His yearning for the monastic life, however, won out (especially at the instigation of his older sister Macrina, who thought his holy purpose would be stifled by his secular career).[19]
            The rest of  Basil’s early monastic career (most important for this study) was spent studying and observing the lives of the desert ascetics of Egypt, Syria and Palestine (especially St. Anthony), in search of a guide who could mentor him in the discipline of spiritual combat. Upon his return home from Egypt he took up the life of solitude in Pontus, with a daily round of prayer, reading and physical labor. At this stage, his life was somewhat akin to that of SAnthony, taking on spiritual labors as an anchorite. He would later establish monasteries in Pontus, Caesarea and Sebaste, channeling the impulses of the Pachomian and Antonian monastic ideals into a disciplined coenobitic structure that was more tightly regulated. Gone were the “ascetic rivalries” that characterized much of Egyptian monasticism.  Basil would insist upon spiritual direction under a spiritual guide, and obedience was to be the guiding principle in the monk’s relationship to his superior. But what was even more remarkable about St. Basil’s monastic establishments (and pertinent to this study) was that they were to be placed not in desolate deserts, but in the urban centers. Many of the monks under Basilian regulation were to undertake their ascetic struggles in a structured community, within the walls of the city.[20]
            The corpus of his ascetic works, including the three short treatises addressed to ascetics, is intended to give regulatory guidance to the monastic communities under his care. The Moralia, on the other hand, are addressed to monks, priests and laity living in the world, and since many of the communities he founded would include such monks living in the cities, there is an organic unity, in thematic terms, between his ascetical corpus and the Moralia. It is this organic unity that I wish to explore in these works.
             Basil begins his Introduction to the Ascetical Life with a decidedly martial appeal, pointing out the connection between a soldier and a monk:
Noble are the ordinances decreed by a king for his subjects, but nobler and more regal are the commands he addresses to his soldiers. As if military orders are being proclaimed, therefore, let that man give ear who wishes what is of great and celestial worth, who wishes to be ever Christ’s comrade in battle, who heeds that mighty word: “If any man minister to me, let him follow me; and where I am, there also shall my minister be.” Where is Christ, the King? In heaven, to be sure. Thither it behooves you, soldier (of Christ) to direct your course. Forget all earthly delights. A soldier does not build a house; he does not aspire to the possession of lands; he does not concern himself with devious, coin-purveying trade.[21]

The message he communicates to his monastic charges is clear and precise: the monk is one who has turned his back on worldly riches, and even the possibility of worldly success, and commits himself, like a soldier, to the service of his “emperor,” Jesus Christ, in a life of voluntary poverty. Such a “spiritual soldier” shuns money, in order to be “Christ’s comrade in battle.” We see the martial aspect of voluntary poverty dictating what the life of the ascetic will look like. The Basilian monk, now under strict discipline, must be prepared to advance the ascetic life in the context of city life, with all its challenges and temptations.  Basil reinforces this emphasis on the monk’s voluntary poverty, both inside and outside the monastery walls, in the beginning of the Discourse on Ascetical Discipline [should this be italicized?]:
First and foremost, the monk should own nothing in this world, but he should have as his possessions solitude of the body, modesty of bearing, a modulated tone of voice, and a well-ordered manner of speech. He should be without anxiety as to his food and drink, and should eat in silence. In the presence of his superiors, he should hold his tongue; before those wiser than he, he should hearken to their words…He should work with his hands, be ever mindful of his last end, joyful in hope, patient in adversity, unceasingly prayerful, giving thanks in all things, humble toward everyone, hating pride, sober and watchful to keep his heart from evil thoughts. He ought to heap up treasure in heaven by observing the commandments, examining himself as to his daily thoughts and actions, not entangling himself in the occupations and superfluities of the world.[22]

The call to “heap up treasure in heaven” is key to this introduction to the ascetical life, and in this case he extends this notion of poverty to a complete rejection of pride and worldly honors. Again, the urban aspect of the Basilian monastic experience puts an interesting context around this text, since it places the monk following St. Basil’s rule right in the midst of a culture that values “pride,” position, and honor. What does he exchange these for? Heavenly honor.[23]
            In the Introduction to the Ascetical Life  Basil gives a context to the Moralia in the sense that it is consistent with the summons to take up battle with the world in a manner that is compatible with its main themes: penance as the means of initiation into the ascetic life, renunciation of the world, and the practice of the virtues. The Moralia thus represents an attempt to unite moral imperatives, culled from the Gospels, to ascetic practice. These short instructions were given not only to monks, but to laity, priests and bishops, thus demonstrating its broad appeal to those living in traditional monastic communities outside the city walls, as well as those within the parameters of urban life.[24]
            The most striking feature of St. Basil’s Moralia is its scriptural emphasis. Much of it is a collection of quotes from the Gospels and the Epistles. These make up a series of “laws” which dictate how members of the monastic communities were to relate to one another. This is in keeping with the social character that sanctity had for Basil, given the fact that the double command of charity (love of God and neighbor) is what frames the community’s self-identification. Following the thematic order of the treatise, we find that penance is the first step in the ascetic life (Rule 1), followed by detachment (Rules 2) and love of God and neighbor (Rule 3). These form the beginning of the “rule” of St.  Basil, inform much of what follows regarding community life, and reinforce  Basil’s concept of Christian brotherhood. Basil thought of Christian community “as sacred space, created by the willingness of its members to discover and follow the will of God.”[25]  Thus, the broad appeal of the Moralia lends further support to an attempt to bring certain ascetic principles to bear on the widest possible audience as possible: lay, clerical and monastic.
            The sections dealing with poverty are the most striking. Rule 45 establishes a conceptual framework for Rule 47, in that in the former, St. Basil stresses humility as the key factor which makes one worthy of the kingdom of God. Those seeking the kingdom must “imitate in their relations with one another the equality which is observed by children among themselves.”[26] St. Basil reinforces this by an appeal to those seeking the kingdom of heaven to “love here on earth that which is lowly and meanest of all.”[27] Greatness in the kingdom demands lowliness here on earth. This is the cornerstone of all aspiration to ascetic poverty, the motivating factor that moves all Christian ascetics to greater acts of renunciation.
            After a brief introduction concerning the duty of a Christian to work with great zeal on the small tasks as well as the big ones (Rule 46),  Basil launches into a series of rules having to do with poverty. In Rule 47 St. Basil reminds his audience of the Gospel command to “lay up treasures in heaven.” Rule 48 is addressed to a broader audience of laity and monastics, since it deals with generosity, especially addressed to the more wealthy laity. It then addresses how everyone-lay, clergy and monk-can live out the Gospel ideal of poverty. Those who “possess over and above what is necessary for life,” are “obliged to do good” with it, “according to the command of the Lord who has bestowed on us the things we possess.”[28] This injunction may apply to rich laity, thus giving them a role in the practice of religious poverty, and it may also apply to the monastic communities. Either way, there is a strict command here against the hoarding of wealth, an expectation that anything beyond the necessities of life must be given to charitable needs. This notion receives greater force especially later in this same rule, where St. Basil counsels his audience not “to be eager to have the necessities of life in abundance, nor seek after luxury or satiety…but… (to be) free from every form of avarice and ostentation.”[29] For a community that is dedicated to the ideals of ascetic poverty, especially within the context of urban life, this rule has the value of defining the relationship a Christian ascetic must have to wealth. The temptation to hoard wealth would make more sense in an urban situation. But it doesn’t seem to be limited to monastic communities, because given its broad sweep in terms of audience, it may also apply to the wealthy merchant laity in Caesarea. If that is the case, then St. Basil seems to be defining the relationship that should obtain between laity and monastic communities: whatever a rich merchant makes above and beyond his necessities, he should give to the poor, or to the monastic establishment, as they would use it for those ends.
            This brings us now to  Basil’s Ascetikon, with its Long and Short Rules, composed for a broader audience (especially the preface).[30] It should be kept in mind that St. Basil is no monastic elitist, but rather an ascetically-minded hierarch who believes that the call to a life of renunciation applies to everybody, lay and monk. Thus, as Rousseau suggests, it is more appropriate to see in the Ascetikon an attempt to address a broad cross-section of listeners, and then to address the more “serious.” This would situate the Ascetikon within a firmly urban context (at least in part), and identify its hearers as the kind of people who would both seek the life St. Basil is preaching about in both desert and city environments.
            For  Basil, the will contains within it the power to obey the commandments of God, to the degree that it is a natural power within the soul to desire what is good for it. All desire beauty, although the definition of beauty would differ widely. He relates this desire to a greater desire for God:
Now, what is more admirable than Divine Beauty? What reflection is better than the thought of the magnificence of God? What desire of the soul is more poignant and so intolerably keen as that desire implanted by God in a soul purified from all vice and affirming with sincerity, “I languish with love.” Totally ineffable and indescribable are the lightning flashes of Divine Beauty. Words do not adequately convey nor is the ear capable of receiving (knowledge of them). The rays of the morning star, or the brightness of the moon, or the light of the sun-all are more unworthy to be mentioned in comparison with that splendor and these heavenly bodies are more inferior to the true light than is the deep darkness of night, gloomy and moonless, to brightest noonday.[31]

For all its poetic force, its message is simple: for the Christian ascetic, the main issue is the reorientation of desire from earthly loves to God.  Basil signals a new emphasis in ascetic endeavor: the struggle against passions and demons must also include the positive orientation of their love towards God. What ultimately makes the fulfillment of the natural disposition of the soul to union with God, after the separation that sin caused made it almost impossible, is Christ’s incarnation. This “self-emptying” of the second person of the Trinity provides the ultimate model for all ascetic endeavors. Just as Christ emptied himself, becoming, in the words of the Epistle to the Hebrews, “obedient unto death,” so the Christian ascetic, in total love for God, must “empty himself” so that he can gain what his soul most longs for-fulfillment in God:
He has, moreover, taken upon Himself our infirmities and carries our sorrows. He was crucified for us that we might be healed by His bruises. He also redeemed us from the curse, “being made a curse for us,” and endured the most ignominious death that He might restore us to the life of glory. Nor was He content with merely bringing back to life those who were dead, but He conferred upon them the dignity of divinity and prepared everlasting rest transcending every human concept in the magnitude of its joy. What, therefore, shall we render to the Lord for all the blessings He has bestowed upon us? He is good, indeed, that He does not exact a recompense, but is content to be loved in return for His gifts.[32]

This is what provides the motive force behind the ascetic life-sacrifice, first of Christ, and then, in response, the rendering of love back to God.
            After dealing with the first part of the double command of charity (love of God) in Question 2, St. Basil goes on to the other half (love of neighbor) in Question 3. He recognizes that human beings are social animals, created to be in the company of others for the purpose of mutual care and support. It is, in fact, the first part of the Gospel command that gives the basis for the second, in that whatever is done for love of others is done for the love of God, forming an organic unity:
It is, accordingly, possible to keep the second commandment by observing the first, and by means of the second we are led back to the first. He who loves the Lord loves his neighbor in consequence. “If anyone love me,” said the Lord, “he will keep my commandments;” and again, He says: “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” On the other hand, he who loves his neighbor fulfills the love he owes to God, for He accepts this favor as shown to Himself.[33]

 Basil’s exposition of the Great Commandment now provides a suitable backdrop for his urban monastic vision, one which would include feeding the poor and healing the sick as part of its ascetic endeavors.
             Basil’s homily “On Mercy and Justice,” a hallmark treatise on the care of the needy, begins with this lament: “Bless me, Father: Because the world is forgetting God, my brethren, injustice to neighbor and inhumanity to the weak prevail, confirming the words of the holy Apostle: ‘as they liked not to have God in their knowledge God delivered them up to a reprobate sense to do those things which are not convenient.’”[34] Returning to the theme of the Great Commandment, he now jumps to the proper care of the needy. For  Basil, the “world” is none other than the environment where societal neglect of both God and humanity is most keenly felt-the city. It is here that he calls his monks to do battle against avarice, and its resultant miseries-those who are left poor, sick and destitute. But the tone of the opening lines of the treatise laments the avarice that St. Basil finds so prevalent in a city like Caesarea, and his exhortation to his monks, as well as to the wealthy laity, is that the struggle against avarice is just as much a struggle for one’s soul as it is a societal evil. He encourages them to combat avarice with mercy and justice. Thus, we have an instance in this case of an attempt to apply a crucial aspect of ascetic practice to the urban context of  Basil’s Caesarea: the struggle against avarice, in which every Christian, be he a monk or lay must engage. The monk must fight against it through renunciation and deprivation, as well as engaging in charitable work in alleviating the effects of poverty and sickness, for which the first hospitals were established in Caesarea. For the wealthy layman, he is to struggle against avarice by giving away whatever he makes above and beyond his daily necessities for the relief of the poor (and perhaps to the hospitals and foundations under the patronage of St. Basil’s monasteries).
 Basil crafts an urban asceticism that would draw upon the Antonian emphasis on “withdrawal” and the Pachomian emphasis on community of coenobitic monasticism. As a bishop, he is especially concerned about how to achieve sanctity within a context where one is surrounded by the world, and, like Anthony’s mountain demons, or Alexis’ temptations, this affords him, and his monks who reside within the city walls, an opportunity to fight with very visible enemy that entices people towards pride, lust and monetary gain. Whereas Anthony would flee to the desert to engage in spiritual struggles with demons, Basil, like Alexis, would do the same thing within the city, establishing urban monastic brotherhoods for that purpose. For Basil, the urban monastery is engaged in the same endeavor as Anthony’s withdrawal into the desert: each mode of life, in its own way, is engaged in the ascetic task of “fighting demons and finding God.”
The Pachomian stream would be especially strong in St. Basil’s style of ascetic life, and this would contribute strongly to his own brand of urban asceticism. It remains now to see how these two streams-the Antonian and Pachomian-would influence the way that bishops ruling vast dioceses like St. John the Almsgiver (Patriarch of Alexandria 606-613), and even more importantly, his hagiographer Leontius of Cyprus, would negotiate their active lives with the way of withdrawal.
For Leontius of Cyprus (and his collaborators in the writing of St. John’s Life, John Moschus and Sophronius), the question of Antonian and Pachomian forms of ascetic withdrawal would be answered through the life of one of Alexandria’s most famous patriarchs, St. John the Almsgiver.[35] Described as a man who loved chastity even in his married state as a young man, he nonetheless gives in to the requirements of marriage, “wishing to give offense to none.”[36] With the death of his wife and children, he was now free to pursue his life of ascetic discipline, but for the fact that the emperor Heraclius had pressured Nicetas, who had been elevated to the rank of patrician, to make John patriarch of the newly vacant see of Alexandria. The account of John Moschus emphasizes his efforts to stamp out the Monophysite heresy (with little success), but then describes his efforts at alleviating the clergy and people who arrived from Syria after a devastating defeat at the hands of the Persians. This is where the asceticism of St. John is made most apparent in these accounts: in his acts of charity and in his simple manner of life.[37] A bishop surrounded by worldly honors and riches, which so many were ready and eager to lavish upon him, has a great spiritual challenge confronting him.  John, rather than being challenged and attacked by demons, finds himself challenged and confronted with worldly riches. The question for the urban ascetic is always one of how prepared he is to stave off the temptations of the world while still remaining in it.
            The account goes on to tell of his charitable achievements: the support of the Syrian clergy after the devastations of war and famine (chapter 6); the building of hospitals in various parts of Alexandria (chapter 7); the building of churches and chapels for the workers in Lake Maria, who were suffering from the vice of “sodomy” as a result of having no priest or house of prayer (chapter 8); and the generous gift to Jerusalem after the destruction of holy places by the Persians (chapter 9). But for John Moschus, this generosity has a basis in St. John’s simplicity of life.[38] It is in the renunciation of pleasure and luxury that St. John would demonstrate his ascetical endeavor, in a manner of life that is characterized by deprivations and the assumption of a “humble style of living” that is “content with little.” This takes place in an environment where the Patriarch would be surrounded by officials (secular and ecclesiastical) offering him many opportunities to dine sumptuously and live luxuriously.
            The ascetic aspect of John’s labors is treated a little more fully in Leontius of Cyprus’ supplement to the John Moschus’/Sophronius’ account. Leontius begins his narrative by giving his audience a two-fold purpose for his contribution: to write an account of his life for the edification of the faithful, and to provide a model life lived in the thick of urban life, with all of its temptations.[39] For Leontius, the life of  John the Almsgiver is important and instructive, having two purposes: first, to inspire his audience to greater acts of piety, and second (and perhaps more importantly) to remove an excuse for failure to live up to such piety and charity-the perceived lack of virtue among his contemporaries. There is a very important subtext here, and it is intimately related to the ascetic culture that abounds in the world of Leontius. Just as desert ascetics wrestle with demons in the wilderness, so bishops like  John wrestle with the “lawlessness” and greed that abounds in the urban environment of cities like Alexandria. As we will see, Leontius paints a picture of a saint who undertakes ascetic struggle through acts of charity and the avoidance of avarice and greed.
Perhaps the biggest temptation that urban saints like St. John the Almsgiver face is that of stinginess in the amount of giving, which is why he gives the injunction that alms were to be given to as many people and as repeatedly as possible, with no questions asked. There is an inner logic at work here, which is not quite self-evident in the text, but nonetheless informs the rationale behind St. John’s policy of “don’t ask, don’t tell.”[40] The inner logic here has to do with assumptions about the true nature of spiritual poverty. The tenor of Leontius’ argument is clear: the money he receives for the care of the poor is not his own possession, but the property of him who gave it-God. To ask questions would presume possession of said gifts, and to lay claim to that money is to fall into the clutches of greed.  John wants to obey the scriptural injunction literally; for it is there that the vices that come with the presumption of possession are kept at bay. Thus, it is only through a commitment to poverty that  John believed that God would bless him with the kind of abundance with which he could practice the virtue of charity. This is especially emphasized in the story he tells of a vision he had seen in his youth.[41] The vision, which he identifies as “the spirit of charity,” reminds him of the greatest act of self-humiliation-the incarnation. This very act is seen as the supreme act of charity, since “it was certainly sympathy with, and pity for mankind that made our Lord become incarnate in our flesh.” This ultimate act of charity motivates the young John to “test the spirits,” only to find that in doing so, he would be given his vocation.
Where the narrative shows, to a much more explicit degree, the ascetic disposition of St. John is in his desire for the monastic life, and how he would satisfy that longing.[42] For Leontius, it is a “remarkable thing in the life of the saintly Patriarch” that he had not “practiced the discipline of a monk.” Here is where the apologia, the argument for his sanctity and ascetic credentials, becomes much more explicit, in that Leontius tries to make the case that under St. John, the church of Alexandria was so ordered that it was virtuously a monastery, and that he had “attained to such a height of virtue that he excelled many of those who had distinguished themselves in the asceticism of the desert.” For a bishop, he had excelled in the ascetic disciplines to such an extent that he even surpassed the labors of the desert dwellers. The desert ascetics remain the standard of all spiritual endeavor, and John, as bishop, excels them all, according to Leontius.
Leontius and John Moschus represent a kind of ascetic bishop, one who strives for a monastic existence in the busy world of an episcopate characterized by attending to the needs of the poor and those affected by war. It is, in a sense, an “active monasticism,” one which strives to match the deeds of the desert ascetics in a different way. This would be especially crucial in a world where the ascetic impulse in the fourth-sixth centuries had taken hold to such an extent that it almost became a rival to the institutional church. The Synod of Gangra in 340 made it an offense worthy of anathema, among other things, to teach that marriage is to be condemned (Canon 1), or, more relevant to the Life of St. John the Almsgiver, that the churches are to be “despised” in favor of the monastic cell (Canon 5). The abuses the Synod highlights bring to sharp relief the hold and influence the ascetic tradition had, and as a result, the bishops sought ways to harness it rather than destroy it. In any case, it is apparent that in many ways, St. John the Almsgiver would represent, for Leontius, the ideal ascetic, especially since his spiritual attainments were attained in the day-to-day affairs of an urban episcopal ministry, thus combining, in himself, both Antonian and Pachomian ways of ascetic withdrawal.
The beginning of monastic endeavor in Egypt and Syria in the fourth through the sixth centuries is very instructive because it arose in the presence of a highly urban and commercial culture, giving men and women opportunities to practice spiritual struggle and to practice ascetic withdrawal. How that withdrawal was to take place varied. For  Anthony and Pachomius that struggle was to take the shape of eremitic and coenobitic paths of spiritual engagement, which can take place either in remote deserts or in urban areas. For Sts. Alexis and John the Almsgiver, it was to take the shape of an intentional urban asceticism. St. Basil makes room for both kinds of spiritual endeavor, and would be influential in passing these spiritual impulses to the Latin west. For scholars like Heffernan, these works of ascetic hagiography would ride on the heels of the martyrs movements, and bequeath an idiom of sanctity that emphasizes the saint as ascetic hero from which future hagiographers would draw as they craft their arguments for the sanctity of their subjects. All saints must conform to these models of ascetic sanctity. All saints are, to one degree or another, ascetics, and the urbanization of asceticism will cement this reality for every hagiographer making the case for his particular saint.




[1] The text of Life of St. Alexis is from Thomas Head’s anthology, Medieval Hagiography: An Anthology. (New York: Routledge, 2001) 317-340. The text used in this anthology is from an Old French poem ca. 1120.
[2] Head, in the introduction to the twelfth century Old French version, says that “there has been considerable controversy concerning the provenance and the dissemination itself.” The earliest extant Greek and Syriac versions date from around the fifth and the sixth centuries, showing that the legend “was widely known and admired in the East long before it made its way to Europe.” The legend made its way to Rome, and took root in Western Christendom, when “Pope Benedict XII appointed Archbishop Sergius, who had been exiled from Damascus in Syria, to head the church of San Bonifacio in Rome in 974.” Thereafter, the cult of St. Alexis became associated with the church of San Bonifacio. Head,  317.
[3] Life of St. Alexis, 1-18.
[4] Ibid., 19-20.
[5] Ibid., 20.
[6] Ibid., 25.
[7] Ibid., 18, 32.
[8] Ibid., 33.
[9] Ibid., 37.
[10] Ibid., 38.
[11] Ibid., 38-39.
[12] Ibid., 43, 44.
[13] Ibid., 44.
[14] Ibid., 50.
[15] Ibid., 52.
[16] Ibid., 54.
[17] His grandmother knew St. Gregory Thaumaturgus (213-270) of Neo-Caesarea, famous for being a wonder-working bishop.
[18] Philip Rousseau, Basil of Caesarea. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994)  5.
[19] Sister M. Monica Wagner, CSC, The Fathers of the Church: St. Basil, the Ascetical Works. (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America, 1962)  viii-ix.
[20] Ibid. xi-xii. See also Chapter 5, “City and Church,” in Rousseau,  133ff.
[21] St. Basil, “Introduction to the Ascetical Life,” in Fathers of the Church (hereafter FC), 9.
[22] “Discourse on the Ascetical Life,” FC, 33.
[23] “From death you will pass to everlasting life, from ignominy in men’s sight to glory with God, and from the adversities and chastisements of this world to eternal peace with the angels. Earth did not accept you as a citizen, but heaven will welcome you. The world persecuted you, but the angels will bear you aloft to the presence of Christ. You will even be called friend by Him and will hear the longed-for word of commendation: ‘Well done, good and faithful servant, brave soldier and imitator of the Lord, follower of the King, I shall reward you with My own gifts and I shall pay heed to your words as you did to Mine.’” Ibid., 11-12.
[24] See Johannes Quasten, Patrology (Volume III: The Golden Age of Greek Patristic Literature, from the Council of Nicea to the Council of Chalcedon). (Allen, TX: Christian Classics), 224.
[25] Rousseau, p. 230. Cf. Pierre Humbertclaude, La doctrine ascetique de Saint Basile de Cesaree.  (Paris: Gabriel Beauchesne et ses fils, 1932),  34ff. Pere Humberclaude sees the Moralia as being addressed broadly to monastics and ascetics as “l’expose a la fois resume et ordonne du code evangelique, a l’usage des ames eprise de perfection.” . 34.
[26] “The Morals,” Rule 45, FC  122.
[27] Ibid.
[28] Ibid., Rule 47, FC  125.
[29] Ibid., 126.                                                                                                                                                                                                  
[30] Rousseau writes: “Basil was addressing an audience that took its religion seriously. A group had withdrawn to a place of quiet in the later hours of the day, to ask him further questions (following some more public occasion). They did so, however, for one evening only, escaping from the “hustle” of an ‘outside world’ to which they were obviously going to return. Rufinus, in his Latin translation, created a misleadingly intimate air and suggested that those listening were more advanced in spirituality. The purpose of the occasion, however, as described in the Greek, was not particularly monastic but designed simply ‘to encourage a healthier belief and the adoption of a way of life in accord with the Gospel. Even by the time of Rufinus, therefore, a specifically monastic, indeed elitist, interpretation was being placed on Basil’s more open text. We have to measure carefully, therefore, the fact that some of the later sections are addressed to ‘the Christian’ (as in the letter referred to above), which is far too glibly assumed to mean ‘monk.’ In what was beyond doubt a public homily, Basil was unperturbed by the thought that all his listeners might renounce property in response to the counsels of the Gospel: ‘He who gave the law knows how to reconcile with the law our inabilities’; and that would apply even to those who were married and had families. In relation to the Preface of the Asceticon, therefore, we may picture the circumstances as follows: Basil presented to communities in Caesarea and elsewhere principles that he considered were applicable to all; he then asked who among them would take the matter seriously; finally, in response to what was inevitably a smaller group, he gave special advice, which eventually included advice on organization.” Basil of Caesarea,  199-200. Cf. Fedwick, Paul Jonathan, ed. Basil of Caesarea: Christian, Humanist, Ascetic, A Sixteen-hundredth Anniversary Symposium. (2 volumes) (Toronto: Pontifical Institute for Medieval Studies, 1981), and Clarke, W.K. Lowther, St. Basil the Great: A Study in Monasticism. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1913).
[31] “The Long Rules,” FC 234-235.
[32] Ibid., 238.
[33] Ibid., Question 3, FC 240. St. Basil continues this train of thought, drawing from scriptural examples: “Wherefore, Moses, that faithful servant of God, manifested such great love for his brethren as to wish his name to be struck from the book of God in which it was inscribed, if the sin of his people were not pardoned. Paul, also, desiring to be, like Christ, an exchange for the salvation of all, dared to pray that he might be an anathema from Christ for the sake of his brethren according to the flesh. Yet, at the same time, he knew that it was impossible for him to be estranged from God through his having rejected His favor for love of Him and for the sake of the great commandment; moreover, he knew that he would receive in return much more than he gave. For the rest, what has been said thus far offers sufficient proof that the saints did attain to this measure of love for their neighbor.”
[34] “On Mercy and Justice,” FC  507.
[35] [Is this entire FN needed? It’s long and probably could be edited down considerably.]Norman H. Baynes writes: “The first half of the seventh century was marked in the Eastern provinces of the Empire by great literary activity in hagiography and four outstanding figures in the writing of lives of the saints were intimately associated. Leontius bishop of Neapolis in Cyprus wrote a biography of St. John the Almsgiver, Patriarch of Alexandria. Both Leontius and the Patriarch were, it would seem, natives of Cyprus and the former probably lived in contact with St. John during his patriarchate. John Moschus, a Palestinian monk, was the author of the Pratum Spirituale - the ‘Spiritual Meadow’ or ‘New Paradise’ in which he gave an account of the lives of the solitaries whom he had visited in his wanderings. John Moschus twice went to Egypt accompanying the 'sophist' Sophronius who is perhaps to be identified with the Bishop of Jerusalem (633-7) of the same name. Both John Moschus and Sophronius were in Egypt during St. John the Almsgiver's patriarchate and gave him their loyal support. Later, working, it would seem, on material which John Moschus had collected but had not lived to publish, Sophronius wrote a Life of the Patriarch; this Life has not been preserved..” Norman Baynes, ed. Three Byzantine Saints: Contemporary Biographies of St. Daniel the Stylite, St. Theodore of Sykeon and St. John the Almsgiver. (trans. Elizabeth Dawes) (London, 1948).
73Leontius of Cyprus, “Life of St. John the Almsgiver,” in Baynes, Chapter  3.

74Ibid., Chapter 6

[37] Ibid., Chapter 5
[38] Ibid., Chapter 10
[39]“Leontius of Cyprus, “A Supplement to the Life of St. John the Almsgiver, our Saintly Father and Archbishop of Alexandria,” in Baynes, Prologue.
[40]He accordingly gave immediate orders that the wounded and sick should be put to bed in hostels and hospitals which he himself had founded, and that they should receive care and medical treatment without payment and that then they should be free to leave as each of them should choose. To those who were well but destitute and came to the daily distribution he gave sixpence apiece [i.e. one keration] to the men and one shilling [i.e. two keratia] apiece to the women and children as being weaker members. Now some of the women, who came begging for alms, wore ornaments and bracelets, and those who were entrusted with the distribution reported this to the Patriarch. Then he, who was really gentle and of a cheerful countenance, put on a grim look and a harsh voice and said: ‘If you wish to be distributors for humble John, or rather for Christ, obey unquestioningly the divine command which says: "Give to every man that asks of thee.” [Luke 6:30] But, if you vex by your inquiries those who come to receive alms, God has no need of mischievous servants nor has humble John. If indeed the money given were mine and had come into existence with me I might do well to be niggardly with my own possessions. But if the money given happens to be God’s, where His property is in question He wishes His commands to be followed absolutely. 'But if, perhaps, because you have no faith or are of 1ittle faith, you fear that the amount given away may exceed the moneys which we receive, I myself refuse to share in your little faith. For if it is by God's good will that I, an unworthy servant, am the dispenser of His gifts, then were the whole world to be brought together in Alexandria and ask for alms they would not straiten the holy Church nor the inexhaustible treasures of God.'” Supplement,  Chapter 7.
[41]  Ibid., Chapter 8.
[42] Ibid., Chapter 42.

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