Blogging Benedict: Chapter 1

I invite you as you read these posts to read the corresponding sections of the Rule of St Benedict. I will be quoting throughout the translation of Carolinne M. White, The Rule of Benedict, from Penguin (I used the £2 Little Black Penguin, but there is also a full-size edition). My friend Andrew has digitised another English translation available at Project Gutenberg.

St Benedict by Fra Angelico

In Chapter 1 of the Rule, Benedict lays out the different kinds of monks. What wisdom might we find for today here?

First, coenobites — monks who live in community — “are the most effective kind of monks” (p. 8). St Basil, who wrote his own monastic rules, was himself opposed to hermits. How can someone who lives alone fulfil the command of Christ to love others, to serve others? As Cassian observes, if you suffer the passion of anger, how will you ever overcome it if you never spend time with people to anger you?

For us — deep community matters. It can smooth our rough edges. It provides accountability. It gives a place to live out Christian virtues, to learn from others, to grow in grace.

Second, sarabaites. These are monks, so-called, if you will. I suspect (with no research into the question to back me up) that Benedict is taking a stab at aristocrats who claim to be ascetics but live on their villas with servi to take care of their needs. These people do not labour but rather live comfortably. Such as these are also a target of Cassian’s, and an example of what happens when people try to hold them to monastic strictness is in Gregory of Tours when there is a rebellion of aristocratic nuns.

Third, gyrovagues. Jerome and Cassian both oppose these as well. These are monks who just wander around from monastery to monastery. They have no stability. What they fail to realise is that perhaps the problem with all of the communities through which they drift is themselves — they bring their own problems with them wherever they go.

For us — this is a very Protestant phenomenon. Leaving one congregation or denomination for another whenever we disagree. Drums, preaching, music, the kind of ministry they do, how nice people are to us. What if we who leave were the problem in the first place?

The spirit that inspires these is the noon-day demon of akedia, I think. We become listless, despondent, discontented with our situation, our discipline, our community. We think that a change of scenery will help. Evagrius and Cassian deal with this, as does St Anselm in a letter quoted by Eadmer in the Life of St Anselm.

Fourth, hermits. Benedict himself, if we trust Gregory the Great, Dialogues 2, spent time as a hermit before becoming a coenobite. St John Climacus also spent time as a hermit. Because of what was said above about the virtues of coenobitism, one should only become a hermit after having grown much in grace. Cistercians have no place for hermits in their constitutions, much to the consternation of Thomas Merton, who so greatly desired that grace.

A thought on hermits: They are never alone. Indeed, the cloistered monks have a hard time keeping the world out. Even monks of La Grande Chartreuse (who are a community of hermits who never speak) have written books to minister to the world (I’m thinking of Guigo II, on whom I’ve blogged here and here). In Jerome’s Life of St Hilarion, the recurring theme is that Hilarion keeps getting found out everywhere he goes, and people come for spiritual wisdom and miracles, so the hermit moves along. Jerome attributes his discovery to demons who want to disturb his solitude. I like to think the opposite — God does not give people the fruits of contemplation to hoard them but to share them (see Gregory the Great, Book of Pastoral Rule on that one).

In John of Ephesus’ Lives of Eastern Saints, he tells the story of Simeon the Mountaineer, a hermit who went off into the mountainous regions of Mesopotamia (Assyria?) to be alone. There he met people who had been baptised but not catechised and who had no priests. Thus he found himself wrenched from the eremitical life into the life of active service, preaching to them and bringing them to a true faith in Jesus who saves them.

Consider Richard Rolle, a hermit who was also a spiritual adviser to some nuns and wrote several books. Or, also in the 14th century, Julian of Norwich, who received visitors at her anchorhold. And, today, Father Lazarus, the anchorite who inhabits the Inner Mountain of St Antony the Great. St Antony went there to be a hermit, and a community followed him that exists to this day. Father Lazarus lives there, alone with his demons and prayers and Nescafé, but he receives visitors and even makes videos for the Coptic Orthodox youth!

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Ancient Christians of Cyprus: Epiphanios of Salamis (and Hilarion)

Epiphanios of Salamis

Epiphanios was born in Palestine in the year 310 and died in Cyprus in 403. He thus lived through one of the most famous theological controversies of all time, living long enough to see it come to an end within the borders of the Roman Empire — the Arian Controversy. We shall look at the so-called ‘Arians’ tomorrow night, but in short, the main lines of demarcation were between those who affirmed the full, complete divinity of Jesus Christ as well as the divinity of the Holy Spirit, including Athanasios of Alexandria and Epiphanios, and, on the ‘Arian’ side, those who denied the divinity of Jesus and/or the Holy Spirit in varying degrees and ways of expression.

Epiphanios is one of the cohort of the earliest monastic practitioners—men and women who chose to devote their lives solely to prayer, acts of charity, and life in the desert, whether alone or in community. He spent many years living amongst the monks of Egypt, who are traditionally considered the first monks (something I, personally, question). Whilst there, his status as a ‘heresy-hunter’ already emerged, for he found himself being tempted by a group of Gnostics at one occasion, and later on had a monk driven out for heresy.

This attitude of battle against the heretics would persist throughout the rest of his life, as a monk in Palestine, and then as a bishop in Cyprus, whither he was invited by the local church to take up the episcopacy of Salamis in 367. As a bishop, he continued to lead a life of spiritual discipline and prayer as well as engaging in the role of heresy-hunter and protector of orthodoxy even more rigorously. He undoubtedly gained himself enemies for his polemic regarding heresy, but the holiness of his life and orthodoxy of his teaching made him a well-honoured figure amongst those who agreed with him, and even the Arian emperor Valens dared not interfere with Epiphanios’ activity.

If we are to believe Epiphanios’ biographer, when he came to this island where he became Metropolitan, or head bishop, he found Gnostic Valentinians as well as Ophites, Sabellians or Modalists, Nicolaitans, followers of Simon Magus, Basilidians, and Carpocratians.[1] Whether these groups were all actually represented or not, who can say?

Certainly by 403 when Epiphanios died, they were not, due to his efforts both as a bishop as well a concerned citizen requesting the Emperor’s aid against these heretics; this extermination of heresy in Cyprus during this period would also have been due to the various rulings against them in the Roman Empire of which we know during the reign of Theodosios I in 380, 381, and 386.[2]

Epiphanios’ most famous work is the Panarion, a heresiology of 80 heresies where he describes and refutes them, including extracts from their own adherents. An earlier yet important work is his Ankoratos, an English translation of which is to be published by Young Kim, who is here tonight. This work is important because it shows that Epiphanios was not simply concerned with tearing down his opponents, the more popular portrayal of the man, but also with building up fellow-believers, answering their requests for teaching and help, and providing them with his own explanations of the biblical understanding the Church had of the Trinity.

Given his positioning as an author after the death of the great theologian Athanasios, Epiphanios is one of our important writers for the later stages of the Arian controversy. And he lived here in Cyprus.

The lessons from the life of Epiphanios are that there is something to be said for stick-to-itiveness. It is highly unpopular to be a heresy hunter today, and possibly with good reason. Yet is there not something to be said for standing up against the false teachings of the age, whether they are new ideas altogether, or re-inventions of old falsehoods?

I do not say that we should go and hunt the heretics and false teachers. But we should not fear them, either. We should we willing to stand up against the Jehovah’s Witnesses and Mormons or the prosperity gospel of Joel Osteen and say that this is not the biblical Christianity handed down to us from the Apostles. This, combined with a holy life, is what made Epiphanios famous.

The final Ancient Cypriot Christian I discussed last week was St. Hilarion, and the gist of what I said I have already said on this blog a couple of years ago. Enjoy!


[1] Polybius, Life of St. Epiphanius 59.

[2] See Theodosian Code 16.1.2, 3, 4.

Saint of the Week: St. Hilarion

St. Hilarion’s name is well-known to those who dwell in Cyprus because the ruins of a Lusignan castle adorn the mountain upon which St. Hilarion dwelt in his final anchoretic retreat from the world. It is quite a spectacular place, as you will see from the photos scattered through this post, taken when I visited St. Hilarion’s Castle in 2005 with Rick, Madara, and Renate. I know someone whose favourite castle it is; the tourist brochures claim that it was the inspiration for Disney’s Sleeping Beauty Castle, but I’m fairly certain that was Neuschwanstein in Bavaria.

Ever since my visit to the castle I wondered, ‘Who is this Saint Hilarion? What did he do? Where can I learn of him?’

Well, this past March I was reading Pope Gregory I’s Life of St. Benedict in preparation for his feast (Benedict was saint of the week here and here). And there, in the same volume — Early Christian Lives, translated by Carolinne M. White — was Jerome’s Life of Hilarion. I recently read this piece of hagiography by Jerome, and can now tell you about this hermit who spent the last days of his life in retreat on the island of Cyprus.

The Life of St. Hilarion

St. Hilarion (d. 371) was originally from the Gaza region of Palestine. As part of the regular round of education in those days, his pagan parents sent him to Alexandria to be educated. Whilst in Alexandria, Hilarion became a Christian and was baptised.

Hearing of the fame of St. Antony (saint of the week here), Hilarion went to meet the great ascetic and coloniser of the desert. Upon encountering St. Antony, Hilarion, only fifteen years of age, devoted himself to the ascetic life as well, and lived with Antony for two months to learn the ways of this holy lifestyle. Hilarion left Antony because his desire for solitude was too great to deal with the large crowds who were always coming to visit the saint. This will be a recurring theme throughout his life.

Hilarion settled in the wilderness of Mayuma, on the Palestinian coast near Gaza, later to be a monastic centre that produced the Mia/Monophysite leaders Peter the Iberian and Severus of Antioch as well as the holy man Abba Isaiah of Scetis, revered on both sides of the Chalcedonian debate. In Mayuma Hilarion lived exposed to the elements and the attacks of the devil, akin to those experienced by St. Antony. Yet he endured all of this and maintained his ascetic lifestyle despite the challenges.

He ate sparsely, shaved once a year, never washed his sackcloth shirt which was his sole garment, memorised the Scriptures, prayed and sang Psalms continually, and slept on a mat made of rushes.

People knew of him, due in part, no doubt, to his family who thought he was crazy, and in part to the robbers who tried robbing him when he was 18 (‘Those who have nothing do not fear robbers.’ ‘We could kill you.’ ‘I am prepared for death.’). But they left him alone for 22 years, until he was 38, either for fear of holiness or respect or fear of a madman (who can say?). Eventually, a woman who had as yet borne no children came to Hilarion because her husband was put out with the lack of babies. He ignored her, but she kept persisting until he prayed for her. She conceived and brought forth a child.

Thus began the series of miracles and the lack of rest for St. Hilarion, a man who loved his solitude more than anything else. People came from near and far, not just Gaza but also the nearer parts of Egypt, to encounter Hilarion. He healed men and women, cast out demons, healed animals, saved stones that had fallen into the sea, healed people from afar, had visions, and all the usual things one would expect from a desert father.

As happened with Antony, with the fame came not only the sick, poor, and needy. There also came the monks and fellow-ascetics who came to live with Hilarion and learn from his way of life. Although he found the crowds of people in need annoying, Hilarion was pleased with this development, for he saw in these monks people committed to the path of salvation and eternal life.

Although he preferred his solitude above all, Hilarion would go on a tour of the monks’ cells every year to see them and their progress. Thus, he sacrificed his own preferences to be a pastor and spiritual guide for those who had put trust in him.

When he was 63, Hilarion became aware of the fact that he was now abbot of a large monastery with many cells of ascetics attached to it, and had, in many ways, returned to the world. He wanted to become a hermit again, but the monks would not allow him. Eventually, he escaped under the pretense of going to visit his monastic father, Antony.

When Hilarion and his party arrived in Egypt, they learned that St. Antony had but recently died. They spent some time there as Hilarion revisited the places of the Inner Mountain where he had spent time with St. Antony.

Then Hilarion re-entered the anchoretic life of a hermit near Aphroditon. Soon, the locals called upon him to end a three-year drought. Having brought rain, he saw that he was on the verge of fame again, so he went to Bruchium. From there, he fled, as says Jerome, to the oasis to escape the Emperor Julian’s men. He dwelt there for a year, and then set out for Sicily. He lived in secret on Sicily for a while, but soon someone got wind that he was there. Having performed one miracle, soon he performed many. And then the crowds came.

Hilarion left.

Then he went to Epidaurus in Dalmatia. Having saved the locals from a serpent large enough to swallow a cow, he became famous and people came to spend time with him.

Hilarion left.

This time he moved to Cyprus, settling about two miles from Paphos. As usual, people came to see him. As usual, he got fed up. This time, however, he went north to the Kyrenia Mountains. At first, only the locals who would feed him knew of his presence. Eventually, a few determined people found him. He spent the rest of his time there, with a few disciples who gathered and the occasional visitor come for spiritual instruction or healing. He died there in 371.

What We Can Learn from St. Hilarion

Jerome claims that Hilarion’s solitude was always being disrupted by the machinations of the devil and his minions who feared the prayers of this holy man. I am not sure I agree with Jerome. While I am not one of those people who just cannot comprehend the monastic or eremitic life, anchorites who never see anyone inspire me little. I agree with St. Basil of Caesarea, that if we live alone as hermits, we cannot fulfill our Lord’s commands to serve others and submit to one another. How can a person all alone practice the great virtues of charity and peacemaking?

I think that people kept finding Hilarion because the Lord will not let holiness stay hidden. He wants his people to benefit from the lives of those whom he has set apart. Hilarion spent 22 years alone training and praying and worshipping in the desert. Our Lord Christ spent 33 years as a carpenter’s son in Nazareth.

Eventually, the time for public ministry comes to those who have been prepared. Jesus was ready, for he was perfect Man and perfect God. Hilarion was ready, he just didn’t know it or wish it. But God knew that through Hilarion’s wisdom and example and prayers great good would come to his people. Therefore, he circumvented Hilarion’s desire for solitude at every turn so that the virtues of charity and service could be brought to others by this man whom the Lord had prepared for good deeds.

We will never be free from opportunities to do good works. Even when we do not wish to do them, we ought to, just as Hilarion did. The Lord loves a cheerful giver; but a giver of any sort is better than none at all. Be on the lookout for opportunities for charity and service, for they will come whether you want them or not. Then bless the Lord that you can be the servant of all, even if you’d rather stay in alone with a book.