Introduction

Introduction

Oive/1 Chadivkk

INTRODUCTION

I'o the inhabitants of the Mediterranean world during the later fourth century A.i)., the world seemed to be in decline.

I he frontiers were under threat, the countryside insecure, the taxation system unjust, government not respected.

I he Roman Empire was falling to pieces and no one could conceive what other kind of world there could be. The circumstances of daily life forced men and women to ask where they could find not onlv phvsical safetv but hope in circumstances that looked so menacing. And in the East of the empire, in Egypt and Syria, thev found a movement that began to draw recruits, and w as soon to be one of the main social forces w ithin the eastern provinces of the empire: the monks and nuns and hermits. But it was not only in the PLast.

Saint Augustine w rote a famous book to persuade that secular Rome w ith its prosperity w as not a necessary sign of God's favor or God's w ill, and that men and women were to seek another kingdom more lasting, the kingdom of God.

John Cassian (born about 365, died about 435) w^as a contemporary of Saint Augustine in w estern P^urope. He founded a house for monks in Marseilles and another house for nuns. Pie also had much influence over various hermits or hermit communities that populated the islands or the w oods of Provence.

Unlike Saint Augustine, he had long experience of the P.ast. He knew both Greek and Eatin, probably Latin more intimately than Greek, for he wrote an excellent l^atin style and probably came from one of the Latin-speaking communities of what is now^ Romania.

I'hen he spent time as a young monk in a monastery at Bethlehem near the cave of the Nativity, and later sat for several years at the feet of the famous leaders of the movement in Egypt. He sat humbly at the feet of the great masters of Egyptian spirituality, but not so humbly that he did not retain a critical and analytical mind. We know' of this process

I RODUCTION

of criticism and analysis only from his written work, later by a quarter of a century. But the nature of the vv ritten work proves that even while he v\ as in Kgvpt he l)egan to sift and weigh the various ideals of the monastic life that he found presented to him by his masters. Probably the process of sifting w as at first half-conscious. But he meditated on it over the years, dismissed some suggestions and developed others, revered Egypt and its spirituality but certainly not everything he found there, and started to create out of the diversity of Egyptian ideas a coherent scheme of spirituality, a scheme that was still kLgyptian—still permeated through and through with the Egyptian ethos and atmosphere—and yet was a harmony in its main lines. I'his is not to say that he did not sometimes contradict himself. Sometimes he confused the reader and confuses him to this day.

I le w rote Institutes, a book for beginners in the monastic life or for those planning to found monasteries; then the Conferences, a study of the Egyptian ideal of the monk, his greatest and most influential book; and finally a work on the incarnation to counter the doctrines attributed to Nestorius the Patriarch of Constantinople. He was still alive about a.d.

432 but w e do not hear of him thereafter.

Cassian never lost the feeling of humility, or of debt to his masters.

1 he teaching of the Egyptians w as like an ocean that has no visible horizon and that no single mind can hope to plumb or encompass. He felt that in venturing out into this ocean with his sounding lead, his private boat was very small. Sometimes he thought of this body of thought not as an ocean but as a deep mine. Occasionally he w ondered whether the ideal is so high that it must aKvays remain an ideal to pursue rather than a way of life to be followed successfully.

It might have been expected that this sense of reverence and gratitude would have made him uncritical, like a w idow writing an obituary notice of a beloved husband.

But this is one of the most interesting features of Cassian's mind. Despite the reverence and gratitude, it is a critical mind. Despite the sense of the loftiness of the moral ideal, is a main conviction that this ideal can indeed be practiced—w ith certain things wisely changed, according to the temperature or the food supply or the physical environment—in the circumstances of western Europe.

Ehe disciple needs common sense, moderation {discretion as Cassian praised the virtue), perseverance, patience, and willingness to endure; but then the soul w ill find that the w ay of life to (iod, so far from being inaccessible to weak men and women, is strengthening and happy.

A part of this feeling of the unplumbed depths of the realm of

INIRODUCTION

moral life and spirituality that is to be investigated is the conviction of reserve, as a later age would have called it though (]assian did not. No one can understand these matters by a pure act of the intellect.

It needs moral grow th, or at least a desire for moral grow th, to understand the w ay of moral grow th. Therefore a master of the spiritual life cannot hope to do any good by casting his insights at people w ho are not prepared to receive them. Cassian even had a feeling that if a master or director of souls tried to put w hat he knew in front of people not capable of understanding w hat he w as talking about, God could make that master inarticulate and incapable of coherent explanation, so that the truth should not be corrupted or misunderstood. At base this quest is not an intellectual one, though the intelligence must guide. He is also conscious that truth is not won in a moment.

It is given in meditation or digestion or rumination. You read, for example, a piece of Scripture; vou learn it w ith the head; vou see w hat it means, externally; you say prayers about it; and then one night a few nights later you w ake up and realize that it has a very profound meaning for you, of w hich you had not been conscious in your w aking hours.

It is a sudden realization, as though a heavy sleeper is w oken by a light {Conference 14. 10).

I'his feeling is verv strong in (>assian.

I he truths w ith which he w ishes to deal are never shallow .

I hey are, so to speak, apprehended by being, that is, by the best and most profound soul of humanity, which rather grows into apprehensions than sees them instantly, even though the final conviction comes w ith the force of a sudden light.

No one w ho reads Cassian for long can doubt that this is a prayerful and pious mind indeed, but must see that it has other qualities.

It is a pow erful mind, integrated and constructive.

I his is one of the leading Fathers of the ancient Church, though too long unrecognized as such except bv Benedictine monks.

Among the various theories put forw ard in Fgypt was that of an intellectual school that based itself in part on the tradition of Greek thought that w ent back to Plato. Fhe soul seeks the ultimate unity or oneness of the w orld, w hich is conceived variously as a spiritual or an intellectual entitv.

Fhe soul seeks this One, which is permanence, unity, foundation of the universe. Being beyond all being, ultimate Mind.

Its method of seeking is to strip itself of all distractions that turn the attention to any thing low er in the scale of value, that is, everything not the One. Some of these distractions arc mere distractions of the mind, as w hen a child's attention is distracted by a toy in a shop w indow

. But other distractions are moral, that is, the instincts of fallen hu-

I RODUCI ION

manitv turn the mind to a scale of values far lower—to food, or to sex, or to gain in property, or to eminent position, or to respect by one's fellows and colleagues, or to mere comfort, or, lastly, to mere boredom

\\ ith the quest after the things of the spirit. rhis tradition of thought w as the school of a Greek minority among the monks of Egypt.

It was known as Origenist, because Origen of Alexandria was the Christian thinker who interpreted Plato's thought into a Christian language and a Christian moral context.

Its leading man in P'gvpt, while C^assian resided there, was Evagrius of Pontus. W e possess many of the works of Evagrius. Therefore we can see that in broad lines Cassian's w ork followed the system of spirituality the Origenist Evagrius suggested.

It laid stress on the union of mind w ith ultimate Mind by contemplation. This purity of contemplation was achieved through passionlessness, because passion of every sort distracts the soul.

Eherefore it is achieved through a moral grow th that depends on self-discipline and self-denial. Though this Origenist system w as mystical—one to One, mind to Mind by immediate apprehension—it had also the mental aspect, the philosophical aspect, descended from Plato himself.

It thought almost as much of mental processes as of moral grow th.

Evagrius of Pontus talked much of pure prayer. He gave it a philosophical slant. He talked of know ing God as Three-in-One. The God to which he aspired was rather like Plato's One or Essence. But he was a systematizer.

I le already started to bring order into the various monkish ideas of prayer and the moral life, w hich were diverse among the various cells and communities of the Egypt and Syria of the fourth century.

1 is philosophical language made him suspect to many of his contemporaries—mostly to those who could not understand him, but also to some who could. When Cassian wanted to mention him, he did not think it prudent to mention his name. But Evagrius was a thinker, and for all his unusual language a very Christian thinker. All over the East they might suspect his name, but they struggled to keep his w orks in their libraries, cautiously, under the name of other authors. They wanted to be able to profit from his ideas.

Cassian inherited this Origenist system. Perhaps he even had to flee from Egypt when the Origenists were driven out in a political storm in A. I).

399.

Nevertheless he sat lightly to the Origenist ideas. His phrase for passionlessness is "purity of heart," a positive phrase destined to be far more satisfactory in the history of Christian spirituality.

INTRODUCI ION

and having the merit of being a phrase from the gospel. But in certain other ways his way of putting things v\'as not a mere translation of an Origenist system. For all his long and at times involved Latin paragraphs, he liked to be simpler. He had a strong desire for the practical.

I le never lost sight of the moral end, as distinct from the mental end.

Occasionally he hinted at a doubt of too much philosophy w hen it is applied to these moral matters. He allows the phrase "Christian philosophy" as a way of describing the spiritualitv of the monks. But he did not like the quiet peace of the hermitage to be troubled bv an excess of philosophical thinking. 1 hat is a \\ ay of distracting the mind even if it does not do worse, for example, to push the mind toward error in religion or to make the mind feel proud of its cleverness.

Fhe intention of the tw enty-four Conferences (attributed to fifteen Kgyptian f athers) w as to show the Egyptian w ay of life to the monks of Provence; perhaps also, though far less certainly, to the nuns of Provence.

Fhe Egyptian way, or rather w ays, of life had an ordered intention. (>assian needed to make his version of it more ordered than the original. You aim to know Ciod. You must go into a community. Then vou will live with others who have the same intention and the same aspiration. Over years in that community you must learn to practice prayer, and the moral life that is necessary to prayer—continence, povertv, obedience. Then, when you are set in your ways of prayer and habits of conduct, you may pass further out into solitude away from the habitations of man. You may occupy a hermitage. There the silence and the remoteness allow you to listen more continuously to the W ord of God and to come into I lis presence. But this hermitage must not be withdraw n totally, f or w ithdrawal into total solitude w as found to lead to moral collapse, mental eccentricity, eyen to madness.

Fhe hermit w as one of a company of hermits, w ho liv ed under a common discipline w ith a superior; who said their allotted psalms, each in his cell, at common times each day; who met on Sundays at least, sometimes on Saturdays as well, for common worship and a common meal and a discussion of the spiritual life.

Egypt, or Cassian's version of Egypt, condemned (1) anyone w ho tried to be a hermit w ithout first being trained in a community, (2) anyone who tried to be a hermit in such total w ithdrawal that he could not ev en receiv e the sacrament on feast days of the Church, (3) anyone who was a solitary in the sense of hav ing no body of rules that he needed to try to keep, and (4) anyone who made up rules for himself that w ere

IN I'RODUCnON

not derived from the generally aecepted rules, believed to stem from the experienee of earlier fathers and their w ise judgment.

The word sarahite w as used to deseribe persons in these categories.

Therefore (^assian's work had two intentions, and the tv\o intentions w ere mixed as ideas occurred to him.

I le w anted to point tow ard the highest modes of prayer, and that meant keeping in his eve the solitary in his hermitage. .\nd he w anted to show the communitv ot monks how to be a good and harmonious communitv.

The intentions were mixed because the two w ays of life w ere divided by no clear line.

The hermit in his loose hermit congregation also needed the virtues of a communitv. Some monks in a community with a rigidly common life, w here every hour of the day w as mapped into work or worship or food or sleep, could aspire tow ard modes of contemplation and unceasing prayer as high as the hermit in his solitude. (>assian's books on how to pray well are as useful to the monk or the nun as to the hermit. His books on how to live well in society arc almost as useful to the hermit as to the monk or to the nun.

For example:

(Conferences 16 and 17 have nothing to do with prayer—at first sight hardly anything to do w ith the spiritual life. But they deal in aw kw ard questions for any community dedicated to yirtue.

(Conference 17 is the problem of the "w hite lie." Truth is v irtue; ev eryone ought to speak the truth all the time. Yet no community can exist as a community if all its members speak the truth all the time. To av ert quarrels, truth must be compromised. Mere courtesy at times demands the silence that may leav e the w rong impression and is intended to leav e the w rong impression. Humility may demand the w rong answer to a question w hether you hav e done a great deal, perhaps w hether you have worked a miracle. Brotherly love may demand the vv rong answ er to a question when the true answer would be calamitous for another brother's reputation and so hurt the community as w ell as its indiv idual member. (Cassian's monastery worried ov er the problem. W as absolute truth so absolute that it took precedence over all other forms of charity?

(Cassian laid it dow n that it is very bad to say w hat is untrue. Nevertheless it is sometimes the least of ev ils to say or imply what is not true.

A lie is like hellebore.

It is poison to the healthy, a medicine only to a patient at death's door. "If speaking the truth causes grievous crisis, w e cannot but resort in desperation to w hat is not true; but only in such a w ay that our conscience bites us as w e do it" {Conference 17.17). d'hough unchallengeable in reason, this teaching w as later a ground for one of the criticisms lodged against (Cassian as an unsound teacher.

INTRODUCTION

Conference 16 touched a still more important aspect of community life: friendship. Later guides v\ ere not fond of the idea that one monk should have a special friendship with another monk. They were afraid of cliques inside the monastery, or of monks feeling an out-group excluded from the in-group, or of a loyalty that was not a loyalty to the whole house. Charity encompasses all in its embrace, all alike.

Cassian was not of this opinion. Personal friendships are inevitable and natural. They will not last if they rest on superficial resemblances of character or a temporary endeavor in a common task.

I hey \\ ill last only if they rest on common moral qualities.

If they so rest, they are infinitely precious, amicitiae pretiosissimae. Cassian had experience on which he could draw. He studied in the Bethlehem monastery with his older friend Germanus. W ith Germanus he sat at the feet of the holy men of Egypt.

I le owed, or felt that he owed, a lasting debt to a close personal friendship w ith Ciermanus, and this friendship rested on a common moral aim.

Vet a community of men may easily quarrel, and a monastery is not exempt. People who have sacrificed their all to join may still quarrel over the use of a pen. More lastingly, they may quarrel over a difference of opinion about principle or policy. Everyone must rememl)er that the mind is not infallible, and that the cleverer or more learned person does not always see so straight as the slower and less informed.

Then, ways of healing a quarrel can bring new' quarrels. Someone hits you on the cheek. You turn the other cheek ostentatiously, and plead the authority of the Lord—but the Lord's authority is always for forgiveness and healing. Someone offends you and you go away, pointedly, to say your prayers, or go away and fast pointedly and outrageously—and the D)rd's authority is for settling the quarrel directly. Someone offends and your face is studiedly impassive, far more irritating than an angry reply. False patience is worse than retort.

No one will mistake the common sense, and indeed the sensibility.

Cassian might not alw ays be right. But he w as an ethical guide of rare quality, especially for that date and age and place.

I le can be long, and repetitive. On occasion he can be boring.

I le spends more time than is reasonable on sexuality. Mostly he does not bore. Ethical behavior is never the most lively of subjects. Sometimes Cassian would have done w ell to be more laconic. But often he fascinates on subjects not naturally fascinating.

I le knew a lot.

I le knew a lot about the ancient world.

I le knew of the sexual experience of eunuchs and of boys before puberty probably this know ledge came from pastoral care in the city of (>on-

INTRODUCnON

stantinoplc, \\ here for a fev\ years he as a cleric. Despite the belief in the necessity of celibacy for the monks, he had no suspicion of coitus; it is a natural part of the life of the laity, a necessity of humankind.

(^assian had no "double standard" of ethics, d hat is, he now here suggested that the layperson in the w orld w as a being of a moral status inferior to that of the monk. At that date the monk w as rarely in holy orders.

I'he world of that falling generation might look up to the monks as those who responded to a higher moral demand. C^assian and his contemporaries said or implied that it w as easier to find God, or easier to seek (lod, in retirement from the world. But good men and women in civ il society hav e their place.

I he Church is one but its members have various vocations, and each individual has different gifts and diverse aptitudes. "

I here are plenty of roads to God," w rote Cassian {Conference 14.6). Let ev ery person try to pursue the chosen profession faithfully and there is a chance of perfection.

Circulating among the stories of the Egyptian desert w ere sev eral anecdotes to prove the point. Cassian took one story and adapted it.

A farm laborer who passed in his carriage of harvest cured a lunatic of a demon whom the holy abba John was not able to exorcise. John was astounded that a man dressed in workers' clothes could do w hat he could not, and began to inquire.

I le found that the laborer w as married; that before his day's work, and after it, he stepped into a church to thank God for his daily bread; that he always gave God a tithe of his produce; and that he took care not to allow' his cattle to damage his neighbor's field. John could hardly think that these virtues were extraordinary enough to warrant such extraordinary power. He decided that a virtue still hidden must exist. Finally he discovered that the laborer had intended to be a monk, but the authority of his parents persuaded him to marry, and he had treated his wife as a sister without anyone else knowing.

I'he story illustrated the importance of the self-sacrifice of a continent man. But it also illustrated the sanctity of the laborer working within the world.

It is evident that though the laborer was in the w orld, the virtue he practiced was monastic.

From its earliest moments, the monastic mov ement was conscious that its w^ay of life w^as a way of "perfection." I'his phrase implied a criticism of the way of life of those in secular business. This criticism was more implied than explicit; for a constant theme w as the contrast between the holy laborer in this world and the bad monk in his cloister.

INTRODUCTION

" I he soul in this w orld who is full of gentleness is w orth more than a monk full of passion and anger," Evagrius had w ritten; or again, "The person in this world w ho ministers to the sick is worth more than the hermit wTo has no care for his neighbor" {Sentences^ nos.

34 and 78).

Abba Silvanus in Egypt said flatly, "In the last judgment many monks w ill go to heaven and many seculars will go to paradise" {Vitae Patrurn

5, 3,^5).

.Many such anecdotes from the desert nevertheless left monasticism secure in its preeminence as a way to perfection. The seculars w ho are holier than the monks are alw avs monks in their hearts.

I he seculars are rare and exceptional, the monks are normal.

In Cassian's generation many of the laity repudiated the doctrine that the monk's life is of superior moral quality. But w ithin the movement everyone accepted that in the gospel Christ preached a perfection and that the w av of the monks either is, or is nearest to, that way. Cassian shared this conviction.

I lis history of the primitive Church thought that those early times w ere fervent; and the monks tried to maintain that primitive fervor into a generation where so many of the lukewarm infected the Church. But he more than once accepted that all good professions of life are God-given and in them any man or woman might be saved, and therefore might approach "perfection."

But is this perfection ever perfect in this life?

I le thinks not. F irst, some kinds of perfection are not compatible with other kinds of perfection.

It is a perfection of the gospel to take no thought for the morrow , d o fulfill this doctrine perfectly is possible only for the monk in a community. The secular, or the hermit, needs to think about the next meal.

Peace of heart is perfection. But this is possible only for the solitary.

No one therefore can be perfect in all w ays of life. Perfection is "partial perfection"; Cassian used the Greek w ord merike, a "part thing," to describe it.

I here is not one state of perfection but several states, according as a particular w av of life makes it possible.

Phis enables C>assian to see perfection as possible for those in the world. Normally C^assian thought of the absence of anxiety as a sign of virtue. But he could recognize, in another and ministerial way of life, that anxiety in the care of all the churches was a way of perfection {Conference 23.2).

In this book of translations appears Conference 1 1, with the title "On Perfection." It is a beautiful and moving (Conference on the motive for right conduct; how the motive must rise, from acts out of fear of punishment or of hell, or out of acts performed in hope of gain or of

IN I RODUC I ION heaven, to aets done l)ecaiise the act is right, and right is right; as a son starts oheving liis father out of discipline and ends by obeying his father out ot love.

And in the course of that exposition we read (12): "It was not at all possible to propose to all together the same crown of perfection, since evervone docs not have the same virtue, the same disposition of will, or the same zeal.

I lence the Word of God lays dow n the different degrees and the different measures ofperfection." He can even say that we "mount" from one kind, or one rung in the ladder, of perfection to another. The Savior savs that in His Father's house are many mansions.

Fhe idea of perfection rested on a difficult series of texts. In the mood of the fourth century, w ith its social division between clergy and laity, and its deeper social division between secular and monk, any thinker could easily go astray, in the sense of depriving ordinary men and vv omen of any chance of perfection. Cassian's stature rested in part on his attitudes here. His mind never for an instant associated perfection with outw ard acts, observ ation of rules, and so on. The only perfection that mattered was inward, a state of the soul. Adalbert de Vogiie called Cassian "the grand theorist of the idea of perfection" (in Dizionario di Istituti di Perfezione 6 (1980): 1454). The hermit or the monk, the cleric or the layman or laywoman, the end of their perfection is in all cases charity. Saint Paul's charity of 1 Corinthians 13.

It is as though perfection w ere full of moyement, a direction toward, a lov ing aspiration after (iod, which cannot be precisely defined in terms of a state at any separated moment, but is a lov ing response to the loye of God.

Fhe twenty-third Conference, not translated in this v olume, is odd despite some rare passages of high prose. The latest Conferences among the tw enty-four are marked by a new tone, suggesting that at least they are very late work. I'here may have been tampering with the text by another hand or hands after Cassian's death. But this Conference is Cassianic in tone and theme. Part of the oddity arises simply from the subject, the need to confute people who argued that a saint can be sinless in this life. For C>assian these relative perfections are not at all the same as sinlessness. Abba I heonas took Saint Paul's text "I do not the good that I would" and argued that it must apply to saints like Saint Paul and not to sinners, that is, it applies to the "perfect." Since perfection consists in contemplation, a loying attention to God, and since the mortal creature is always bound to fail in the light of the Creator's glory, no absolute perfection can exist in this world for anyone. I'he v ision of Ciod is given from time to time. No one here can make it permanent.

INTRODUCTION

So Cassian sang one of his last and fairest songs, on the true penitence of the saint.

I I'he core of (>assian's book, and the core of his spirituality, lies in the two Conferences on Prayer (9 and 10) and the one after them (11) on perfection.

I he end of the monk is continual prayer. For this he w ent into solitude. 1 his is the purpose of his cell. I'he aim is the constant direction of the mind toward Cod, undistracted by thoughts or by passions.

Fherefore the quest for purity of heart is necessary to a right prayer.

I he possession of purity of heart is necessary to perfect prayer.

I he worst obstacle to prayer is sin.

I he next is worry or anxiety about the material circumstances of life—sex, food, money, irritations w ith colleagues, leyity. Fhe next obstacle is pride; humility is an opening of the heart.

I he next obstacle is w hat we carry in the mind into our time of prayer.

I he mind cannot stop thinking about w hat just happened or w hat happened yesterday. Into a moment of prayer comes laughter at a joke of the precious hour, t herefore the time before set times of prayer must also be prayerful.

I he man who is not prayerful as he goes about his daily life w ill be less prayerful w hen he gets on his knees. And no one can be prayerful during his daily life unless he is in the quest for purity of heart. l o reach toward heights of prayer, the soul needs an underlying tranquilit\' during the times w hen it is not praying formally.

Fhe next point is that ecery indicidual prays in a different way.

And eyery indicidual may pray in different ways at different moments.

No one w ill pray the same w hen driven by v iolent temptation as w hen in a marvelous feeling of unity with (iod. Ups and dow ns, hither and thither.

I lealth, or temperament, or suggestion from outside—ev ery sort of circumstance can affect the nature or form of the prayer. W hat is certain is that, w ithin these differences of mood or form, prayer w ill contain certain attitudes or aspirations.

It w ill contain resolution, even if that is wordless—a wish to be something, even a vow to be something.

It w ill contain penitence.

It w ill contain intercession, for you cannot pray w ithout remembering need in other people, w hether you remember only the people within your affections or w hether you reach outw ard tow ard the world w ^ and its peace, its kings and its governments.

IN FRODUCTION

It w ill contain thankfulness. l o pray is to be in the presence of (iod.

10 be in the presence of God is to be aware, w ordlessly or not, of

1 is goodness to hiimanitv.

No individual w ill at any one moment combine penitence and resolution and intercession and gratitude. Different times, different content of prayer.

But no one will pray without these four elements appearing, each of them often.

And vet moments can come w hen all four of these constituents seem to be present—almost, one may say, at a flash. I'he soul is then like a flame of fire leaping outward in every direction; and it seems not so much to be praving as to be a vehicle through w hich the I loly Spirit of God is praving.

In this highest state of prayer, the diversities are swallow ed up into a unity that is the direct and loving confrontation of the soul with its God.

Fhis confrontation Cassian describes variouslv.

It is vision.

It is contemplation.

It is "familiar" like a son w ith his father.

It has a sense of God as sovereign.

It has a trust in providence.

It has a strong hope in forgiveness.

It is lambent, like a tongue of flame.

It is not articulate, that is, it is a wordless prayer, and a prayer conscious of the inadequate nature of w ords. But it may issue in a cry of the heart that can be heard. Or it might issue in tears.

I'hese are moments that come, not a state. They may spring suddenly out of the verse of a psalm as the psalter is recited. Sometimes it is the beauty of a reader that sparks the flame. Sometimes the w ords of a sermon by a holy man; sometimes a death; sometimes the sudden conviction of sin.

This wordlessness excludes the thought of the Bible or its texts. The confrontation of the soul with God is so immediate that words are out of place and insufficient, "fhis applies to biblical words as to any other words. But in Cassian's view' all this is undergirded by scriptural texts, fhe prayerful soul needs feeding. The best food is reading the Bible and meditating on the Bible. "Souls that have made progress toward

Cjod .

. never stop nourishing themselves w ith this food" {Conference 10.11 ). For Cassian all the Bible, Old Testament or Apocrypha or New' l estament, was this nourishment.

It was all "gospel." At one point, w hen he called one of the lesser texts of the Old Testament "gospel," more than one copyist could not bear the "error" and corrected it as he copied (see Conference 1.19). Cassian was well aw^are that Israelite morality w as imperfect; that the years of the Old l estament w ere a time of ignorance; and that today we have a better moral understanding (because the "light of the gospel shines so bright," evangelio coruscante [Con-

INTRODUCTION

ference 17.18]). But all was God's Word.

All was nourishment to the soul.

For purposes of prayer, the special book of the Bible was the psalter. For it was written as a book of prayers.

It is full of aspiration, penitence, resolution. "When souls in prayer say the psalms, they say them not as though they were some prophet's poetry, but as though they made them up for themselves" {Conference 10.

1 1). The psalmist's prayer becomes the Christian soul's ov\ n prayer. The words are applied personally. There is a feeling of assurance that the words apply and are meant to apply to the self. The mind feels as though the idea came out of it fresh and original, and was not taken over from anyone else's idea.

I he meaning is clear to the soul \\ ithout analysis of the grammar. For such a soul. Scripture is a limpid stream of refreshment that ceaselessly renews the heart and brings the mind before its Maker.

Cassian made a discovery: that through continual repetition an evocative verse usually remains evocative. Centuries later a Russian pilgrim wrote a book of devotion that became famous as The Way of a Pilgrim (ed. R. M. French, 1930).

I he pilgrim described how at every step of his w ay, and when he was at the roadside, and w hen he rested at night, he would say to himself, over and over again, the versicle Lord

Jesus Christ have mercy upon me. At first he found it difficult to keep up, but slowly it became easier and finally the versicle became a steady rhvthm, accompanying all that he did.

I his was his means to a continual recollection. In the eastern churches this formula of repetition had a tradition centuries old. The ideas of prayer were known as hesychast, the ideas of the men of quiet. The same idea, or a similar one, w as to appear in the \\ est with the rosary, w here someone repeats the same sequence of prayers at each sequence of beads.

I he first rosaries w ere not known for some eight centuries after Cassian's death.

In the history of Christian devotion, Cassian was the first to articulate this practice fully. Naturally, he chose a verse from the psalms,

"Come to my help, O God; Lord, hurry to my rescue (Ps 69.2).

Fhe long section of chapter 10 of the tenth Conference is one of the most beautiful passages of all Christian writing during more than a thousand years of religious devotion.

Fhe verse, he says, has penitence.

It is a cry to Ciod for protection.

It is watchfulness against temptation.

It is trust in Ciod's care. Against the demons he thinks it an impregnable fortress.

It is proven armor. No one who uses it can despair. In every sort of temptation, you should run to it. In the moments of fruition go to it likewise. "I feel that my spirit has once more found a sense of di-

INTRODUCTION

rection, that mv thinking has grow n purposetui, that because of a visit of the I lolv Spirit mv heart is unspcakablv glad and my mind ecstatic.

I lere is a great overllow of spiritual thoughts, thanks to a sudden illumination and to the coming of the Savior.

I he holiest ideas, hitherto concealed from me, have been revealed to me"—if the moment of fruition is to be longer than a moment, go to this verse.

I have been made w hole bv the consolation of the Lord, ...

I have been encouraged bv Ilis coming, ...

I feel myself guarded by countless thousands of angels, ...

I have the daring to seek out and call to battle those w horn I once feared more than death"—then fly to this verse that the moment be longer than a moment. "It should precede all your thoughts as you keep vigil.

It should take you over as you rise from your bed and go to kneel. After this it should accompany vou in all your works and deeds.

It should be at your side at all times .

. you w ill think upon it 'as you sit at home or w alk along vour w ay' (Dt 6:7), as you sleep or when you get up"—w rite it "in the inner sanctum of your heart."

It w ill be seen that this little religious text is not the highest moment of praver, for that moment is wordless. The text is a constant inciter, provoker, reminder tow ard the highest experience of prayer.

I'he centuries did not quite bear out the trust Cassian put in this practice of repetition. The Greek directors of souls grew circumspect.

They saw that some people found it monotonous, and at last a boring obstacle to real prayer, a trap instead of an open door. In one monasterv of Mount Athos, the abbot would allow' only a very select group to practice this way of prayer.

(>assian had not the same doubt, or the length of experience. Yet he admitted that he personally could not be content with a single unxarying verse. His mind craved variety. He needed the w hole body of Scripture, and would let it speak to him or in him as he found it.

1 le has a half implication that the educated need more variety than the uneducated. But he w anted to show that illiterate souls are as capable of (iod's highest w ay as the literate. They need only to know one verse of the psalter.

10 gain this scriptural undergirding of the life of prayer, Cassian taught that it is good to memorizx passages of Scripture. Then the texts will recur to the mind, again and again, dliey w ill recur at times w hen the soul can hardly think about them because occupied w ith business, or under temptation. And at other times they w ill recur—most fruitfully perhaps during the silent hours of the night—and then they will be understood and w ill feel like an illumination.

Just as (Jassian had a view of the holy life as an illimitable depth

IXTRODUCTION

into which the soul penetrates little bv little, so he had a sense of the Bible as a book w ith obvious meanings, but behind the literal sense a series of deeper truths, \\ hich w ill be more and more understood bv the soul as it advances morally. "As we strive \\ ith constant repetition to commit these readings to memorv, we have not the time to understand them because our minds have been occupied. But later when we are free from the attractions of all that we do and see and, especially, when we are quietly meditating during the hours of darkness, we think them over and we understand them more clearly" {Conference 14. 10).

As was his way, Cassian was more moderate than his masters in all this doctrine of prayer. Eyagrius was insistent that pure prayer must be without any images or ideas, eyen ideas of (iod. For an idea is a thought about, and pure prayer is immediacy and cannot be about. At base (>assian agreed with this. But Eyagrius spent time putting it into striking epigrams:

Prayer is the suppression of eyery concept.

Blessed is the mind which has acquired a total absence of form at the moment of prayer.

If a yision of (4od or Christ or the angels comes at the moment of prayer, it can only be a dev ice of the dev il; especially the devil of v anity, who is trying to ruin pure prayer.

Such utterances were more striking than helpful. (>assian agreed with the doctrine but put it plainly, modestly, unpretentiously.

I le did not labor it.

Or again: Evagrius had poetic words on the light the soul will see as it finds God. This meditation on light, or poetry about light, or lov e of light as the essence of God, was to be of high importance in the Eastern tradition. Eventually it produced a magnificent light-mysticism, but it vv as not without its dangers. You do not see things lit by the light.

You see light itself. Cassian told of the light.

It is flame.

It is illumination.

It is darting.

It is unearthly. But he lays no stress on its nature.

Into the context of unceasing prayer came the daily worship of the soul at set times.

I he Bible gave the (Tristians a problem, or, rather, a contradiction fertile of much good in the life of the spirit.

It suggested prayer "seven times a day."

It also said "Pray vv ithout ceasing."

I low did prayer at set times fit into continuous prayer? l o pray seven times, even eight, was fulfilled in monasteries by

IN FRODUCTION

the structure of the daily offices, every third hour from matins and prime to compline.

1 his was the common prayer ot the monastery, and of the groups of hermitages as the hermits, though solitary, said their portion of psalms at times agreed in the hermit community. Corporate prayer could more easily grow to lie an empty noise, an outward ritual, than internal private prayer. Internal private prayer could, more easily than corporate public prayer, become no prayer at all. Therefore the quest for prayer without ceasing meant that they tried to see the regular monastic offices as moments in a general and continuous mood of praverfulness.

From the earliest times of monasteries, these offices of corporate praver were of obligation. They derived from the set prayers of holy people attached to ordinarv congregations in the days before the flight to the monastery.

But the movement into solitude gave them new standing and developed their form.

It added to the psalmody and the reading of Scripture further items, like hymns or even addresses ("conferences").

But the heads of monasteries, no doubt with reason and after painful experience, did not trust all their monks to live a dedicated life of prayer. 1 hey were soon aware that a fully prayerful life is achieved by an elite. Therefore they began to compel their men to more and more corporate prayer. They realized that the general exhortation to private prayer was too vague and too easily disregarded. The length of the offices grew

, the number of psalms multiplied, the time spent in church doubled.

Cassian tried to hamper this development. He did not believe in forcing people to an excess of corporate worship. He preferred to put a brake on the number of psalms said together. His experience led him to be very sensitive to the dangers of monotony and boredom and at last even nausea, the affliction or sin that the desert called accidie. As he wanted to stop the masochist-monk from maltreating the body, and kept advocating discretion and its accompanying moderation, so he wanted the corporate office, even if frequent, to be of a restrained length. He w as always aw are of the prayer of the secret heart as taking precedence over the prayer of the lips, even though the ordered forms of worship evoked the sweet prayer of the heart. Perhaps he suffered an illusion, if it was an illusion, that the administrators of monasteries did not share. In this matter he was not an elitist. He did not believe that high states of prayer were the privilege of specially select souls.

INTRODUCTION

Anyone may and can go that wav—so he thought.

It was a faith that the experience of the abbots failed to confirm.

Cassian's criticism of an excess of corporate w orship had small effect, at first, on posterity.

In France monks took little notice.

Fhey w ent on multiplying the number of psalms to be said in church. Tw o makers of rules—the unknow n called the Master, and his heir. Saint

Benedict—w ere to save the situation. Thev laid dow n sensible restric- ¥ tions, more or less as Cassian would have preferred. With Benedict's

Rule the practice of corporate w orship in \\ estern monasteries became manageable, if at times only just manageable.

Cassian would have greatly approved if he could have seen Benedict's day. He would not have approved if he had seen what some Benedictines made of Benedict—especially the long and elaborate services designed by Clunv, apparently' w ith the mistaken object of achieving the maximum amount or prayerfulness in the day by that method.

Bv that time other considerations entered.

If a monastery was to survive, its men must cultivate the fields.

If thev were alwavs in church saying psalms, they would starve.

Saint Benedict, when he made the daily offices tolerable in length, magnified their importance in the monastic life above the importance given to them by Cassian.

For Benedict they had become opus Dei—the w ork of Ciod, the essential dutv of the monk, over w hich nothing else could be given priority.

It was a lowlier ideal; if these men are not saying prayers regularly, why are they there at all? But if the ideal was less exalted, it w as still deeply religious.

Its object w as still the same as Cassian's, to get true prayer instead of formality of prayer, and through true prayer to find oneness with God.

Cassian's union between unceasing praver at all times and set praver at set times failed on the weakness of human nature. French monks attempted a new' and fascinating way of reconciling the two ideals. Since worship was now', dominantly, corporate worship rather than individual prayer, a plan was made for unceasing corporate worship bv rotation. Groups of monks w ould take it in turn to keep psalmody going in church, for twenty-four hours a day. A hundred years after Cassian, in a.d. 515, King Sigismund of Burgundy repented of the foul murder of a son. At Agaune near the Saint Bernard pass, he founded a monastery of "perpetual chants," and this mode of unceasing prayer came to be called laus perennis, perpetual praise.

It was a noble ideal. But it was a long way from Cassian's ideal, and it is not mere

IN I RODUC riON speculation to think that he would disapprove.

It was a contradiction of his outlook. For him unceasing prayer w as unceasing in the individual.

It consisted in a prayerfulness that lav under all an individual's life.

It might be helped by corporate praver but did not depend on it, and w as itself a backt^round to the highest corporate prayer.

W e can be almost sure that he did not approve of the monastery of perpetual praise by rotation. For Sigismund of Burgundy was not the first.

In (>assian's lifetime an institution like Agaunc was founded in Constantinople.

I here its monks gained the name "the Sleepless."

I hev w ere soon accused of the type of heresy over prayer that w as attributed to the homilies circulating under the name of Macarius of Fgypt, and w ere expelled from the city. W hen they were expelled, Cassian had perhaps just left Constantinople for Rome. He must have known al)out the Sleepless. Some years after his death they were after all accepted in the Fast as a good w ay of devotion. Though he must have know n about them, he did not mention them.

1 hev w ere not his ideal.

Fheir ideal fulfilled neither his ideal of unceasing prayer nor his idea of the purpose of corporate worship.

In Spain of the seventh century there appeared a new and less satisfactory method of attempting unceasing prayer. Instead of making the services longer they made them more numerous, until they reached fifteen during the day.

But nearly everything about the Spanish rule w here this w as decreed would have displeased (>assian.

1 le w ould have thought that it lacked the moderation that w as the essence of the virtue of discretion. He would have said, perhaps, that the corporate saying of psalms, which began as a wav to feed prayer, ended by destroying most possibilities of private prayer.

(>assian accepted and used corporate prayer. But he was a man of private prayer.

It w as the difference between one w hose highest priority w as the silence of solitude and those w hose highest priority was the life of the cenobium or corporate community.

Fhe six monastic centuries that succeeded C>assian w ere centuries of corporate prayer—in the West, much less in the East; for there are some respects in which (>assian, though a westerner, would have felt more at home with the heirs of Egypt among the kLastern churches. At least, the sources for the six W estern centuries show little sign of reflection on private praver and much concern with the regularity of corporate w orship.

Despite CJassian, the W est was never to have its "Jesus prayer," the repeated and repeated formula, like the Fast. One might have expected the marvelous paragraphs of C^assian's (Conference to have influ-

INTRODUCTION

enced Western devotion permanently.

And they did, but in an unexpected \\ ay, and it was a \\ ay that Cassian may not have intended.

Few later W estern men of praver would use Cassian's verse "Come to my help, O God," in the way of a repeated formula. Instead, the text w as taken into the offices of corporate w orship as a starting versicle and response. This w as a symbol of the change, after Cassian's death.

I he W estern monks attended less than Cassian to private secret praver, and more than Cassian to public corporate w orship.

Nevertheless, we must not exaggerate.

W'e see Cassian's ideas changing under the influence of abbot-administrators. Those abbots sometimes dealt w ith less-than-satisfactory subjects. But all the Middle

Ages inherited Cassian's basic ideal.

It was enshrined within the Benedictine structure of simplicity. The purity of prayer—that is, its undistracted quality; its "dartlike" quality, short, even sudden, ejaculatory; its frequency, not dependent on church moments, but evoked at any moment of private life—these were Cassianic qualities of prayer, and all the better monks of the Middle Ages still looked to them.

Cassianic also is the medieval idea of fusion, or interpenetration, between corporate psalmody and private aspiration; prayerfulness enriching worship in church, worship in church lending a structure and a series of ordered moments to prayerfulness.

Later monasticism found a beautiful phrase to express the idea; semper in ore psahnus^ semper in corde Christus—always a psalm on the lips, always Christ in the heart. Saint Benedict, w hen w riting a rule of simplicity, and sharing the ideals of Cassian, found another beautiful phrase to describe w hat vocal prayer needed: "So to say the psalms [at the daily office] that our heart is in harmony w ith the w ords on our lips"

(Rule of Saint Benedict 19.6). On this difficult point—the relationship between the apostolic prayer that is unceasing and the set times of public prayer—posterity has seen Cassian as the person with the clearest eve and most balanced judgment in all the formative centuries of monasticism. f'mtangled w ithin the difficulty was the need for daily work.

If a monk prayed too many hours, he starved. If he w orked in the fields too many hours, he might as w ell be a farmer and not a monk. During (^assian's lifetime the monks in (>arthage (North Africa) w ere disturbed by some of their members w ho refused to w ork in the fields because they wanted to dedicate all their time to "things of the spirit."

Cassian had no particular problem over this antithesis between enough time for work and enough time for prayer.

I he prayerful soul

INTRODUCI ION

easily prays at work. Regular work, even monotonous work, may be good, is sure to be good, for the prayerful spirit. (See chapter

1 4 of Conference 10 in this translation, by w ay of example.) But, he sa\y, work brings anxiety. Anxiety is the death of prayer.

Fherefore the hours of work, and the load of w ork, must be enough and not to excess. Bodies need daily food.

I hey hav e other needs that are unavoidable, like housing or clothing. Anything beyond w hat is needed is to be suspect: "For example, w hen a single coin would meet the necessities of our bodies w e choose in our effort and in our work to earn tw o or ev en three. Similarly vv ith a couple of tunics.

It is sufficient to have one for the night and one for the day, but we try to haye three or four. One or two cells would be enough to live in, but wishing as the world does for possessions, to have more and more, we build four or five cells" {Conference

9.5).

I he nature of his teaching on prayer is not to find a contrast between the hours of labor and the hours of dev otion unless the hours of labor are such as to become distracting.

Into this attitude to work came his fear of monotony. Idleness is the mother of accidie. Someone thinks he will do nothing but pray and w hat happens is that he does nothing; after a time he is bored beyond measure. Cassian much disliked people who said that they were too spiritual to w ork. Honest labor is part of the self-denial of a Christian.

I le liked to quote a proverb of the Egyptians: "A monk who w orks is tempted only by one dev il. A monk who idles is tempted by a host of dev ils" {Itjstitutes 10.23). Ev en if the circumstances are such that there is no need to work hard, because food is easy of access and v ery cheap, you should still work. Eor work is part of the Christian life, and the CTristian life is the field of prayerfulness.

In a moyement of the common man like the sweep into the desert of A.i). 300 to 400, there must appear at times wildness and fanaticism, as is always the case with popular religious movements. Amid the fervor of spirits, to keep a lev el head w as no common undertaking. Some thought that to hurt the body was holiness; some, that total solitude would bring heaven upon earth; some, that eating nothing for too long was the way to be spiritual, fhe guides of the monks needed sanity and judgment. (Jassian kept evoking discretion.

I le wanted people to fast. He spent a lot of words in showing them not to fast to excess and why. He w anted them to spend time at their psalms. He did not w ant them to spend so much time at their psalms that they neglected their duty. His

^inference on discretion shows him the w isest of all the guides w ho presented this Egyptian tradition to posterity.

INTRODUCTION

Part of fanaticism was miracle-hunting. A people's wonder was easily evoked by the marvelous and easily credited. Miracle-workers won crowds of followers. Cassian did not doubt that miracles happen.

Sometimes they are evidence of holiness. But he was very sober. Miracles are not to be looked for. They are not to be trusted in. Live a godly life and if a miracle were to happen, you may thank God and do your best to hide what happened. You are never to admire men who put themselves forward as miracle-workers or healers or exorcists. Only admire them for charity. See if they love. Cassian recorded some marvels, but his object was to show how they arose out of compassion, how the aim was not ostentation but charity. True men of (iod reject honor paid to them when miracles happen. Ilumilitv and charity are always necessary. Miracles are not always necessary. T hey are not even good for everyone.

.Most of the .Middle .Yges, especially the popular Middle .\ges, took very little notice of this wisdom.

Fanaticism could merge into a mood better and higher, yet a mood with danger. 1 he disciples of Evagrius talked of a mystical Oneness through prayer. Therefore some extremists would lay such stress on the mystical experiences of prayer as to despise the ordinary sacraments of the Church, or the prosaic life of a Christian congregation.

In the Egvptian desert circulated a body of w ritings under the name of Macarius that w ere a poetic penetration of experience in prayer, but with too little prose, too little earth, too ardent a rhetoric of prayer.

Fhese .Macarian homilies were to have a far-flung influence on the spiritualitv of the Eastern Church, w hich provided it structure wherein they might be understood without danger. They needed a prosaic context if thev w ere to be fruitful and not productive of fanaticism.

.\ Erench scholar talked of a "holy anarchy" that wanted to sacrifice everything to prayer.

Cassian's discretion was tvpical of the steady attempt to give spiritualitv a stable base, and not to let it soar so high that it lost touch w ith real men and women.

In English devotion a parallel was made by the "(Centuries of .Meditations" by Thomas Traherne, of the later seventeenth century.

I lere are w onderful and soaring poetic aspirations after a mystical unity w ith

Ciod in Nature. Yet the reader has to keep kicking himself to remind himself that he is living on the ground. Cassian might have enjoyed reading Traherne, but it was not his type of spirituality.

Now here is a curious thing about Cassian, and some of his contemporaries in the earlv history of spirituality, d hey were resolute to keep the monastic communities within the authentic (diristian tradi-

I RODLCnON

tion, that is, \\ ithin the sacraments and the daily life of the (diiirch. But in (^assian's lifetime the devotion of the common people grew very attached to cult objects.

In the congregation they thought about saints, and relics, and images, and icons, and dust from saints' tombs, and methods to secure the pow er of the dead saints, and outw ard rituals effective w ith saints. And w hen w e consider C>assian's (A)nferences in this light, w e find—nothing. An entire range of a common people's superstition is missing from his outlook, more absent than in his contemporary Saint Augustine. Discretion w as partly the taking of a moderate road betw een extremes. And partly it w as seeing straight, to the essence of the (diristian life instead of its periphery. fhere is a question now of education, and learning. To his idea of prayer, meditation on the Scripture w as indispensable.

I bs talk of the necessary link betw een meditation and prayer w as not his ow n invention.

It w as a fundamental attitude in Egypt.

It is found in all the spirituality of the early monks, whether in East or W est. d'he attitude show s that even then a majority ot monks w ere (more or less) literate. Unlike other writers of that age, (]assian troubled himself about the w ay in w hich men wTo could not read could nevertheless link meditation on Scripture w ith prayer. But the idea ran through all the monastic movement.

It was as essential a part of the tradition as celibacy. The meditation was felt to be not only a door opening tow ard

(iod, but a door opening toward the know ledge of the self, an objective light in w hich the shadows of the self w ere seen in their true colors.

This w as not precisely study of the Bible, if by that word is meant a critical or historical analysis.

It contained memorization of texts. But it w as more than memorization, for it contained a search for meaning that is, w hat it meant obviously for the characters in the Bible; then v\ hat it meant for the soul that reads; and finally what it meant for the (Turch of all time, fhe study was rather devotional than critical.

It was intended more to touch the heart than to inform the head. But it intended also to inform the mind.

It could throw up constant problems of interpretation that could be handled only w ith such elementary tools of exegesis as w ere then available. Fart of the purpose of Cassian's C>onferences was to help minds over certain hard passages that they found in their biblical reading and that caused them difficulty. Such difficulties might arise from contemporary events, in that world of barbarian invasion and public insecurity. Eor example, in the sixth Conference (>assian set out to explain, obviously in reply to troubled questioners.

INTRODUCTION

\\ hy God allowed holy monks in the wilderness to be murdered bv bandits.

Unlike the forms of set prayer, biblical meditation need not be short.

It was much nearer to that prayerfulness which could make a background to daily life and work. The memorized text could spring into the mind as the foot dug the spade, or the hands wove the osiers into a basket, or the pen copied the letters of a manuscript.

Biblical meditation was not precisely of a set time, in Cassian, for in a manner it might be of any time. As the later Latin tag put it, totus in lectione totus in oratione, the whole man in reading, the whole man in praying. Only the makers of rules like Saint Benedict saw that most monks, most people, needed a set time for reading if they were to read.

Cassian's attitude to this meditation was more devotional than some of his successors could quite like. Even in Cassian there exist two elements: (1) memorizing texts; letting them bring light to the soul as and when God allows; ruminating with an open-minded piety; feeding on them so that they lead the mind into prayer and eventually

(if I le wills it) into an immediacy with God where the words of the text have fallen into oblivion; and (2) the intellectual tradition of scholarship, whereby the student meditates on the meaning of the texts with all the equipment of reason, knowledge, and learning that may be at his disposal.

Cassian allowed the second; and almost entirely advocated the first. But the first was very free. The mind ranged, as it was led; disciplined by the will to avoid (so far as it was possible) distractions, but open to whatever might come from God, and therefore with a sense of freedom.

It fed on the text and then let happen what might happen.

It was not studying a word of man but listening to a W ord of God. If then the freedom brought distraction, or even temptation—if the memory obtruded with a recollection of evil, or of what was worldly, or of what w as full of anxiety—the mind turned back to the text, revived its attention, meditated, and again was free to listen.

W as boredom a danger here, as w ith repetitions of prayer?

I hat w as not the impression Cassian gave. Nor was it the impression given by many of the better guides w ho followed him. Engaged thus w ith texts, the mind has not to go slogging on over times of monotony, d he freedom opens it to what is inspiring, and therefore sweet to the soul.

In Cassian w e do not hear of minds grinding on bravely in darkness, or of minds summoning all their resources to carry on grimly in the midst

INTRODUCTION

of an intellectual desert.

I'he work needs diligence, even hard work, certainly determination and endurance. But this is the Word of God.

It brings light; not all the time, not even most of the time; but in darts and illuminations; at unexpected moments; and the moments are so precious that they cast their brilliance over the entire process of meditation. W'e have heard the texts a thousand times. In the presence of God they can alw ays, though suddenly, become new

(>assian had something more anti-intellectual than some of his successors.

I le allowed that a mind could and should study, in the academic sense of study. But he was afraid of it, at least in the young.

Academic study, at least in the young, easily led to pride in knowledge, or to a yanity that made a young man speak too quickly in some conference of his elders, and show^ off his information or his logic.

If a young man is to study, C>assian believed, he should keep silent about w hat he thinks he has acquired. In later centuries Cassian would have resisted premature publication of results in print.

Vet the historian looks back on the long centuries of Benedictine learning, and is grateful for the folios of scholarship that the heirs of (>assian and Benedict gave to the vyorld. The anti-intellectual slant in (Cassian was sustained in some spirituality of both East and West. Mercifully for the world and even for the monks, it failed to deter scholarship. Scholars came into monasteries and became professed monks.

Ehey brought in their equipment, and did their thing, with the approval and encouragement of enlightened abbots. From time to time the needs of the Church clamored for scholarship. FA en bishops might encourage young monks to do what they could with their "leisure" to help.

I he v ery nature of monasteries meant that they must throw up scholars; much later, eminent scientists. Cassian's anti-intellectual slant w as more put aside than submerged.

But his words were still heard: that moral character is needed for a rightful study of religious truth; that the pride or v anity of scholarship is a corruption of study; that the purpose of meditation on the Bible is to listen. And it must always be remembered that part of Cassian's intellectualism contained a profound truth, not so commonly found among the elite of the early monks: that the illiterate is as capable of penetrating the deepest truths as is the mind of encyclopedic learning.

In his own person Cassian understood this difficulty for the scholar. He was well educated. He knew Latin literature, probably some Cireek literature.

I le looked back with gratitude on the tutor of his youth.

I le loyed poetry, and the legends of the ancient world. He

IXrRODUCTION

knew some history. W hen he came into a monastery he lost none of these happy memories of literature.

It bothered him that in the middle of a time of prayer some non-Christian song, or non-Christian myth, or history of a battle, perhaps an Aeneid or an Iliad, should poke its way into his mind. Mis ansv\er was not sublimation, or gratitude for literature as one of God's gifts. He w anted to expel such thoughts.

I he mind must turn from a non-Christian subject to the most Christian of subjects, namely the Bible. He could driv e out the battles of the Iliad by thinking about the battles of the Book of Judges.

The link betw een religion and literature w as a problem of the distant future and nev er entered his yiew

. That link was soon to be illustrated, w ithout the slightest sign of incongruity or aw kw ardness, by an Englishman w ho was the first of the scholar-monks of Western history—the V enerable Bede.

II Behind all this struggle after God—within all this struggle to be aware of Presence, contemplate Him, be one w ith Him—lies (iod's ow n hand. Here an argument ov er theology broke in on the ethics. This argument hurt Cassian's reputation. And that probably diminished his influence more than anything else that he wrote.

You aim at knowing God. Therefore you aim at purity of heart.

But to become pure in heart, you need to grovy in moral decision. You need to put aside passion, and strengthen your power to resist temptation. This is a ladder tow ard God up which the soul fancies that it climbs. Some later w riters on spirituality called it openly by the name ladder, "the ladder of perfection."

In some Protestant spiritualities, which suspected the word ladder, the word fight took its place:

Let not fears your course impede.

Great your strength, if great your need.

Let your drooping hearts be glad; March, in heavenly armour clad; Fight, nor think the battle long.

Soon shall v ictory w ake your song.

Onw ard then in battle move; More than conquerors ye shall prov e; Though opposed by many a foe, Christian soldiers, onward go!

I RODLCTION

C^assian would not have approved of this Protestant hymn, on religious grounds.

1 le might have forgiven the author for his extreme youth. The course of the soul is indeed impeded by fears.

Its needs are great.

It must trv to raise the drooping heart.

It must fight, and it is opposed by manv a foe. But Cassian did not share this optimism. The battle is likely to be long.

\ ictory is not likely to w ake your song soon. You w ill do verv w ell if vou conquer, and you are not at all likely to become more than conquerors.

I he soul faces a fight, or a climb, and is ill-equipped for the struggle. In Cassian's ideas the demons are far more powerful, persistent, and plausible than ever they were to that hymnw riter. fherefore the soul is always at the mercy of God.

It is helpless w ithout I lis help. Man is free to choose. You must exercise your moral judgment. You must trv. You must discipline yourself. But still the soul is helpless without God. 1 he grace of God must help you to begin, continue, and end. Purity of heart is a gift, not an achievement.

Still, you must try.

(>assian's contemporary Saint Augustine said more.

So overwhelming is the grace of God, so puny and tainted the endeavors of humanity, that all w as of God.

If God called, the soul cannot repel. If He decides to save, the soul will be saved. He will choose whom He w ill save. He will bring them to Himself. He will keep them in His protection. He w ill bring them to heaven infallibly. d he doctrine had nobility. The best divines of the Middle Ages, all the divines of the Reformation, were to rest on this doctrine of Saint

Augustine.

It was or seemed to be the only way to safeguard the allpower of (lod and the nothingness of fallen man. Through this doctrine

Martin Luther found himself. d he doctrine also had a hardness, d'he hardness was partly of expression and partly also in its doctrine of God toward those w horn I le does not choose.

But Cassian disliked the doctrine on another ground—the ethical ground. A human being has moral freedom. Resistance to (jod is possible.

1 lumanity needs God's grace and against the demons needs it desperately, d'he soul is not compelled to accept what I le offers freely.

I he atmosphere of Cassian's struggle for purity of heart is not at all like the atmosphere of Saint Augustine. The strength of the Augustinian doctrine lay in freeing the heart from scruples and an excess of introspection and a timidity about faith; and in freeing the heart it made faith an assured trust in (jod's mercy. "Rest in me and I will do it" is a

INTRODUCTION

tougher, perhaps a more inspiring faith than "rest in me, and I will help you, so that we shall do it together." But Cassian much preferred this second doctrine of faith. You have moral freedom. You have to recognize that you have moral freedom. You have to recognize that vou are under a responsibility to choose the right. Yet vou are still helpless w ithout God's grace.

But—is the soul totally helpless? The prodigal son w as sick of the husks the swine ate, and turned homeward. And while he was still a great w ay oft, his father saw him and ran to meet him. Are there cases perhaps rare cases—w here the first tinv initiative comes from the soul turning back because sick of husks, and then (iod comes with his saving grace to help?

10 this (juestion (Cassian answ ered yes.

I here are cases—thev may be very rare cases—w here the soul makes the first little turn. xMight the thief on the cross be one such? And because Cassian answ ered ves to this question, he almost destroyed his reputation as a theologian.

For if (>assian is right, said the critics, we are not helpless without (iod. (iassian may say that we are helpless. He cannot mean it.

W e need not enter this controversy of the centuries.

It w ill be sufficient to say here: (1) No one can doubt that (Jassian disapproved of the doctrine of Saint Augustine. He thought it rigid. He thought parts of it untrue. He w rote one Conference, the thirteenth, to confute Saint

Augustine.

(2) No one can doubt that (iassian was a deeply (Christian moralist and never for an instant supposed that a soul could ascend anv ladder, or fight anv fight, without God pouring in I lis grace. (3) If (>assian's formula for reconciling freedom w ith grace may cause doubt to any one who thinks hard on these matters, no one who reads him w ith attention and sympathy w ill fail to admire his endeavor to reconcile the maximum sense of moral freedom and moral responsibilitv with the maximum sense of dependence on (iod.

Ill I lere is a "holv anarchy"—a freedom of the soul to listen to (iod.

But humanity is humanity, and cannot exist in groups without being organized.

If it goes solitary' (totally') it goes eccentric or yvorse.

If it is not to go solitary', it cannot dispense y\'ith administrators.

(iassian's yv hole outlook is of the soul moving toyvard the freedom of pri\ ate prayer, in listening to its Maker and being conscious of the indwelling Lord. But, being a sensible man, and possessing the virtue

I RODLCnON

of discretion, he knew that a community needed organizing: a constitution. He \\as not very concerned about it. His genius, or vocation, w as not that of an administrator.

Since the work of Saint Benedict, the word monastery has been inseparable from the idea of a v\ ritten monastic rule that binds all. Cassian did not vet organize a rule, nor even have the idea of a w ritten rule.

Under Ciod the soul is free. But it w ill not be truly free unless it follow s the hard-w on experience of the Fathers.

I his experience includes instruction, living in a community and keeping its institutes, d herefore although the idea of a rule (in the later sense) w as not quite present in (>assian, or at least was far from prominent; although he talked of obedience but seldom of the person to w hom obedience is due; although he never talked of any constitutional process of creating an office to w hich obedience might be ow ed—though in these senses the soul is free, he knew that the soul needs to be self-disciplined and part of self-discipline is common or community discipline. The atmosphere of Cassian is not one of legal obedience to legally appointed authority.

It is one of discipleship to a w ise and holy master and therefore acceptance of his advice.

But the monastery had to live, and could not live without rules, or customs w hich had the force of rules. Since the community was in in- ¥ tention very biblical, every rule or custom was held up against the Bible, or justified by texts from the Bible, or tested by appeal to the Bible.

Despite all this, there w as not such a thing as a "monastic rule" in the later sense of that phrase. When Saint Augustine wrote a piece on regulating the monastery, he called it "booklet" or "pamphlet." About the same time, Rufinus translated the practical advice of Saint Basil of Caesarea in Asia Minor, and called Basil's rules "institutes," but inside the translation he often used "rule." Saint Jerome (if it w as he) translated the Rule of the Egyptian Saint Pachomius and called it by that name.

One text of (>assian {Conferences 20.2) talked of "the rule of the monastery"; but this comes in a passage that on other grounds is suspect for the possibility of tampering w ith the text; and if it is Cassian's own, w as certainly a production from late in his life. The "rule" w as not his usual word. W hen he wanted to describe the practical arrangements for a common life he called them "institutes"; and he gives the impression that these are rather customs found valuable than any fixed or legal structure for a community. In his book of the Institutes he never used

¥ the w ord "rule," in Saint Benedict's sense. If he used it, he meant either the generally accepted customs of the whole monastic movement, or a

INTRODUCTION

particular custom, like the measure of psalmody, the extent of fasting.

This showed Cassian getting near to his successor Benedict. Though he had not vet the concept of a \\ ritten rule, he \\ as approaching it.

I'he rules that were created after his time were diverse, indeed extraordinarily, puzzlingly diverse. Some were verv long; some absurdly short; some made provision for all sorts of eventualities, some left nearly everything to the judgment of the superior of the communit v; some were u ritten down but never put into practice; some are cold law, others are full of warm exhortation, as though the author is a preacher rather than an administrator. Almost every writer of a rule borrowed at least a little from some other w riter of a rule—and vet the result is of an extreme varietv if not a chaos.

During the ninth centurv Saint Benedict of Aniane catalogued the rules he could find. Among them he included "Extracts of a rule collected from all the Institutes of (>assian." 1 his was know n as "the Rule of Cassian." Yet the phrase has something in it foreign to (>assian's mentality.

1 lis aim w as a body of moral and spiritual thought. Someone else must give that bodv of ideas a base in administration and canonical structure.

It was Cassian's fortune to be taken up by the greatest of the makers of rules; more than his fortune, because he deserved the fate. Saint

Benedict drafted "a little rule for beginners."

It made its way to dominate Europe.

It w as sensible, and easy or at least possible to keep. And it w as taken up bv the see of Rome, and in time became the specially

Roman rule for monks, during centuries when the see of Rome extended its influence. W ithin his Rule Benedict included a recommendation that Cassian be read regularly, t herefore—not quickly but over five centuries—Cassian's ideas could hardly be escaped by the monks of the Western world. Though Cassian sat uneasily to a rule, he profited more than anv other from someone else's rule.

I le became the guide of Western monasteries partly because his guidance w as of a w isdom and stature that enabled him to sustain the role, and partly because through Saint Benedict he became one main part of the spiritual reading of monks. Naturallv they interpreted him in the light of the practice and experience of their respective generations.

I\'

A monastery does not alw ays sit comfortably w ith a church. In the sixteenth century it came to a crunch, w here half the (Turch made monks illegal.

I RODUCnON

(^assian did not wish monks to be an elite. \'et he showed in himself almost none of the popular superstitions that marked the ordinary eongregations of his dav.

V\ hether he liked it or not, his monks and nuns w ere an elite.

I hev grew out of the earlier groups, with specially pious practices, attached to ordinary congregations. Now they had moved aw ay from the ordinary congregations, out into the desert or the woods, d'hev were no longer attached to a congregation. They were their ow n congregation, d'hey w ere no longer under the priest of a parish. rhev elected a priest of their ow n and sent him to the bishop to be ordained. Part of the reason for escaping the ordinary congregation w as the flood of half-Christians who in that generation invaded the churches.

Does mysticism need a church? Phe individual experience of the divine is overw helming.

It passes beyond the memory of biblical texts and every other thought. Does it also pass beyond sacraments? Or sermons?

If wordless apprehension is the highest, w hat need of congregations, v\here babies cry, and dogs bark, and young men ogle, and priests show off their voices, and old widows commit superstition?

.Might it be that holy anarchy is nearer to (jod than ordered ecclesiasticism? A monk is nothing but a simple Christian heart trying to find his Maker. Why does he need a church to intrude on his privacy, w hich is an experience of God unique to himself and incapable of being shared w ith another?

I he point w as important for Cassian. For the entire direction of his thought w as tow ard the private, "mystical" experience of the divine.

In Cassian's monastic books, bishops are almost absent. Ordinations happen. But (>assian w as not usually pleased w ith ordinations. l o ordain a man may be to take him aw ay from the life of the spirit and set him to serve tables, to be a treasurer for giving out alms, or for administering all the organizations of a congregation. He once apologized because he had not himself been able to avoid ordination

{Institutes 11.18).

I le made this apology almost w ith a sense of shame. He met the Bishop of Panephvsis in Fgvpt, bv name Archebius. And Archebius had been "carried off' from his community of hermits to become a bishop and thought of his consecration as a sign of his moral failure in that he was found unworthy to go on in his hermitage {Conferences

1 1.2).

And at times (>assian could be very rude about bishops.

I le had no feeling that to be a bishop protected a person from just criticism. He attacked a great Western bishop for profanity. He accused an eminent

Fastern bishop of madness.

INTRODUCnON

Still in Cassian, to be a bishop is an honor. He protects the faith of the Church—usually. To be a priest in a monastery is an honor. Cassian, ashamed of his o\\ n ordination, looked back on the bishop w ho ordained him with a deep reverence and affection. Perhaps to be a priest is an honor that a monk should shrink from, but it is still an honor.

Cassian met Daniel, who was an ordained priest, and admired him for not exercising his orders. This monastic ideal was not very ecclesiastical. The hierarchical structure of the Church meant little to its daily life.

It had other things to think about.

Nevertheless, Cassian's monastery was part of the Catholic Church. The sacraments were part of the worshiping life. The great body of Christian doctrine w as the structure of thought on w hich the monastic ideal rested. Cassian disapproved altogether of persons w ho avoided the sacrament.

I le w anted it w eeklv, even, for some, daily. To be a priest was perhaps a peril, because it was busy and because it was an honor, and might therefore lead, if one w ere not careful, to vanity or even pride; and because it took hours of time in visiting the sick or care for the sacraments and the children and the dying. (Cassian preferred to avoid priesthood because it was an honor, not because it w as not.

Fo receive w hat the priest had to offer, that was a necessary part of the Christian life. He w holly disapproved of persons w ho avoided the sacrament because they thought themselves too sinful, or because they thought it to break into their solitude, or because they regarded it as not quite spiritual.

I le did not settle the great problem—the link betw een the CTurch and the monasteries w ithin the Church—w hich was to stay with the Church through all the centuries, never quite solved, until settled so fiercely bv the Reformation in northern Europe and then by the h'mlightenment in southern Europe.

\ During Cassian's life the barbarians broke the Rhine frontier. Less than half a century after his death the Roman Empire of the W est came to an end.

Fhe falling world seemed to have fallen.

Fhe quest for the kingdom of (iod instead of the failed kingdom of men gained a new strength. Fhe otherworldly streak was still stronger in the heirs of (>assian—the transitoriness of this society w e are born into; the nearness of its end; the mothlike quality of human existence; the absence of any safety except in Cjod; the imminence of the next world; man's longing for permanence; the need of stern acts of outward penitence to sustain

I RODUCTION

humankind in prayer and tasting and self-denial. And in this mood Cassian's moderate interpretation of Kgypt was soon to be not the only interpretation know n to W estern monks. Other documents from the Kgvptian desert were translated into Latin, and their anecdotes were more exciting to the reader. In that dangerous age readers admired the heroic asceticisms that (>assian preferred them not to admire to excess.

A century after (>assian someone tried to imitate the stylites of the East by liv ing on top of a pillar near Lreves on the German border. "You are w rong," the bishops told him. "You fail to take account of the conditions of life in this country" (Gregory of Tours, History of the Franks

. 15 ). d'his immoderate though temporary phase w as most marked in the (Celtic monks w ho came out of Ireland and trayeled western Europe on "pilgrimage." Saint Columban traveled in Erance and Germany and Northern Italy during the sixth century and owed something to Cassian's w ritings.

It w as a fresh atmosphere out of a new background. But the way C>olumban proposed for his monks had little that w as original, except in the changed atmosphere and the ferocity of the discipline to keep the monks in order, to sanctify them by the stick. The Irish memorized the Scripture w ith even more attention because they were simultaneously entering the general language of European culture. They experienced ecstasies in prayer and the v isions of the night. Compared with the atmosphere in Cassian, the atmosphere in Columban is more remote.

I he man w as a hero, and preached discretion in the w ay heroes preach discretion, and we wonder whether Cassian would have recognized him to share in the virtue of true discretion. Columban's influence rested not in his ideas but in the fervor of his piety. Eor a moment he led the monastic ideal of Europe. But not for long. Though he leaned in part on Cassian, he could not be compared w ith Cassian as a lasting influence on European thought. P'or moral ideas last when moral fervor is forgotten.

VI One other of Cassian's successors, besides Saint Benedict and Saint Columban, must be mentioned when Cassian's place in Christian spirituality is considered: Saint Gregory the Great.

No doubt Cassian's moderation w as derived from a w ide range of human experience; in Romania perhaps, certainly in Bethlehem and in Egypt, then in the streets of great cities, Constantinople and Rome, and finally in Southern Erance. Gregory had as w ide an experience. He w as

INTRODUCTION

lav administrator, prefect of Rome, monk, ambassador in Constantinople, Pope—like Cassian he knew the w orld and the w eakness of humanity, and the knowledge made him moderate.

It also made him practical. And Gregory had behind him tw o authors of nearly two centuries before his time. Saint Augustine and Cassian. The literary texts prove the strong influence on him of both. Being a famous bishop, he was much more ecclesiastical than Cassian. But his career prevented him from being an "ecclesiastical" in the narrow sense of that term. And he shared this belief w ith Cassian, that he did not believe in prayer only for an elite. Anyone, in any profession or trade or vocation, may attain to the prayer of contemplation.

1 he light of God is a key idea; limitless light, unbounded light, an (Kean of light. Prayer is full of light. To reach that light the soul must find total simplicity. But much more than Cassian, Gregory was willing to pile on descriptions; not very informative descriptions because negative—not to be seen, not bodily, not to be comprehended, not to be spoken of adequately, not to be bounded, not to be in time, not to suffer change, not to be able to suffer passion, not to be able to be corrupted. But the descriptions were not all negative—for He is all-w ise, and all truth; like the sun, and like fire. He is in everything, and everything in I lim.

I le is in evervthing and not enclosed in anything. As in Cassian, the moments of contemplation of God, or union with God, are in this life brief and not lasting; sudden shafts of light and not a steady illumination. As in Cassian there is the same vagueness, or rather restraint, of language. They both knew what they experienced.

Neither thought it right or possible to try to describe that experience analytically. Gregory had a more articulate sense of the lasting quality of the direction of the mind toward God. The experience may be sudden and short. The attitude, within which the experiences sometimes come, can endure. Both Cassian and Gregory are very restrained in their descriptions of the sensations that accompany vision.

I heir differences are of emphasis; their kinship in the main ideas is marked. Together, they laid the foundations for the spirituality of the Western

Middle Ages; Cassian the more monastic in atmosphere because he presupposed the enclosure in a community or a hermitage; Gregory moving out to the w ider Church—monastic in essence, but unconfmed by the walls of a cloister. He turned the spirituality of the desert, w hich retreated from the formal Church, into the spirituality of all the Church.

INTRODUCTION

VII Already among the monasteries we find the normal provisions of daily worship being supplemented. Some monks who aspired were not content with the formal liturgy, nor even with the memorization of Scripture.

I'hey needed aids.

I hese were little books, derived from the liturgy and Scripture, but framed as helps to guide the mind to prayer.

The earliest examples were developed, probably out of Spanish patterns, in Ireland and England. We find the so-called Book of Cerne, now in the University Library at Cambridge, a manuscript written between 72

1 and 740 for Bishop Ethelwold of Lindisfarne. Shortly afteru ard we have a book of prayers handed down under the name of Alcuin, Charlemagne's advisor and educator.

As in Cassian the psalter remained dominant—and would always remain dominant. But its texts are woven with other words, litanies or hymns.

I'he psalter began to be not only the public prayer book of the Church and the private prayer book of the monks, but the book of devotion for educated laity of the Church.

Some psalms were difficult to understand or translate. A few psalms were difficult to use as prayer. Therefore the Middle Ages made repeated efforts to make the psalms more easily available—by selection, or shortening, or brief explanation. The Benedictines did what they could, k'or the use of Carolingian kings they illuminated the psalms with lovely illustrations, for the people and for the monks, each psalm was given a heading or a little summary, with its Christian interpretation. These summaries became an important part of early medieval devotion. d'his process of selection was the father of the numerous prayer books for private and devotional use. And these books made Cassian's ideals of private prayer easier for the less instructed to put into practice.

Whether Cassian would have approved a selection from the psalter instead of the whole psalter, which was the Word of God, is a question.

But probably his conviction that ordinary men and women are called to the use of the psalter in private prayer would have triumphed over a hesitation based on dogma, and he would have been grateful for the work of his Benedictine heirs.

In that moment when other sources besides the psalms were allowed to come into the books of devotion, a chance of enrichment lay at hand, d'his made an opportunity never open to Cassian and never desired by (Cassian.

INTRODUCTION

The Meditations and Prayers of Anselm, later to be Archbishop of Canterbury, w ere \\ ritten or selected for his Benedictines at the abbey of Bee in Normandy. As a Benedictine, Anselm stood in the tradition of Cassian. Mis l)ook has not only psalms.

It has much devotion to the Blessed \ irgin.

It marks a stage in the development of the cult of Saint Mary during the Middle Ages.

I'he division between the popular cult of the lay congregation and the pure prayer of the monastic community w as bridged. W hether or not w e think that bridge desirable, it w as inevitable. Monks w ere not born out of nothing.

I hev came from a people, accustomed to a people's devotion, and they still needed a people's devotion.

In the high Middle Ages the devotion grew ever more Christ-centered in language, in minds like those of Saint Bernard of (dairvaux or Saint Bonaventura. Not that (>assian w as not Christcentered. On the contrary. But the language oi Christ-centeredness, in its w armth and fullness as a (dstercian like Saint Bernard used it, could not be Cassian's because his central book of devotion w as a hvmnbook from a pre-(diristian epoch and he did not think it right or possible to use nonbiblical language. W hether or not the particular enrichments that occurred w ere all good—and some w ere pious, some of doubtful taste, some touched with superstition—the history of monasticism proved that long hours of prayer needed much nourishment, at least for many souls.

I he multitude of later medieval books of devotion proves that (Cassian w as w rong in thinking his Bible a sufficient ground of religious meditation for the multitude, at least in the conditions of devotion and education that prevailed during the later Middle Ages.

It must also be said that (>assian, though he may have guided nuns, w rote for an essentially male community. The spread of nunneries during the later Middle Ages meant that books of devotion needed to satisfy feminine psychology, which might not always be the same as masculine, and w hich at times tended to a w armth of affectionate expression that could hardly rest content w ith the austere prose of C>assian and his "pure prayer."

Mil About 850, John the Scot, the Irishman know n as Krigena, arrived at the court of France.

I le had a mystical spirit. And he knew (ireek.

I le translated into Latin the works of the pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite—ultra-Platonic mysticism from (Constantinople.

I le w as not at first influential. But so far as mystical experience went, or rather the language of analysis of mystical experience, the W estern inOuence of

I RODUCTION

the Arcopagite marked a new phase of spirituality.

I he restraint, the refusal to define or describe, found in Cassian or Gregory would give place to a loftier but more doubtful series of descriptions, at least among the minority w ho were drawn to the language of mysticism. Cassian w as hardly a source for the language of later medieval mysticism. Mis language w as too plain, for everyone believed the Areopagite to be the disciple and friend of Saint Paul the Apostle.

Most souls w ere not drawn to that more mystical language. Meditation on Scripture remained the normal instrument of devotional life, fhe influence of Cassian remained among the monks, and in several of their best theorists. Like the Rule of Saint Benedict, his work was a protection against excess, and a constant recall to that primitive simplicity w here Eastern spirituality met Western.

↑ Back to top