The Life of Anthony

PROLOGUE You have entered upon a noble rivalry with the monks of Egypt by your determination either to equal or surpass them in your training in the way of virtue. For by this time there are monasteries among you, and the name of monk receives public recognition. With reason therefore, all men will approve this determination, and in answer to your prayers God will give it fulfilment. Now, since you asked me to give you an account of the blessed Antony's way of life, and are wishful to learn how he began the discipline, who and what manner of man he was previous to this, how he closed his life, and whether the things told of him are true, that you also may bring yourselves to imitate him, I very readily accepted your behest, for to me also the bare recollection of Antony is a great accession of help. And I know that you, when you have heard, apart from your admiration of the man, will be wishful to emulate his determination. Seeing that, for monks, the life of Antony is a sufficient pattern of discipline. Wherefore do not refuse credence to what you have heard from those who brought tidings of him, but think rather that they have told you only a few things, for at all events they scarcely can have given circumstance of so great import in any detail. And because I, at your request, have called to mind a few circumstances about him, and shall send as much as I can tell in a letter, do not neglect to question those who sail from here, for possibly when all have told their tale, the account will hardly be in proportion to his merits. On account of this, I was desirous, when I received your letter, to send for certain of the monks, those especially who were wont to be more frequently with him, that, if I could learn any fresh details, I might send them to you. But since the season for sailing was coming to an end, and the letter carrier urgent, I hastened to write to your party what I myself know, having seen him many times, and what I was able to learn from him, for I was his attendant for a long time, and poured water on his hands. In all points being mindful of the truth, that no one should disbelieve through hearing too much, nor on the other hand by hearing too little, should despise the man. ANTHONY ANTHONY, you must know, was by descent an Egyptian. His parents were of good family, and possessed considerable wealth, and as they were Christians, he also was reared in the same faith. In infancy he was brought up with his parents, knowing naught else but them and his home. But when he was grown and arrived at boyhood, and was advancing in years, he could not endure to learn letters, not caring to associate with other boys. But all his desire was, as it is written of Jacob, to live a plain man at home. With his parents he used to attend the Lord's house, and neither as a child was he idle, nor when older did he despise them, but was both obedient to his father and mother, and attentive to what was read, keeping in his heart what was profitable in what he heard. And though as a child, brought up in moderate affluence, he did not trouble his parents for varied or luxurious fare, nor was this a source of pleasure to him, but was content simply with what he found, nor sought anything further. After the death of his father and mother, he was left alone with one little sister. His age was about eighteen or twenty, and on him the care both of home and sister rested. Now it was not six months after the death of his parents, and going according to custom into the Lord's house, he communed with himself, and reflected as he walked, how the Apostles left all and followed the Saviour, and how they in the Acts sold their possessions, and brought and laid them at the Apostles' feet for distribution to the needy, and what and how great a hope was laid up for them in heaven. Pondering over these things, he entered the church, and it happened the Gospel was being read, and he heard the Lord saying to the rich man, if you would be perfect, go and sell that you have, and give to the poor, and come, follow me, and you shall have treasure in heaven. Antony, as though God had put him in the mind of the saints, and the passage had been read on his account, went out immediately from the church, and gave the possessions of his forefathers to the villagers. They were three hundred acres, productive and fair, that they should be no more a clog upon himself and his sister. And all the rest that was moveable he sold, and having got together much money, he gave it to the poor, reserving a little, however, for his sister's sake. And again, as he went into the church, hearing the Lord say in the Gospel, Matthew 6, verse 34, Be not anxious for the morrow, he could stay no longer, but went out and gave those things also to the poor. Having committed his sister to known and faithful virgins, and put her into a convent to be brought up, he henceforth devoted himself outside his house to discipline, taking heed to himself, and training himself with patience. For there were not yet so many monasteries in Egypt, and no monk at all knew of the distant desert. But all who wished to give heed to themselves practised the discipline in solitude near their own village. Now there was then in the next village an old man, who had lived the life of a hermit from his youth up. Antony, after he had seen this man, imitated him in piety, and at first he began to abide in places outside the village. Then, if he heard of a good man anywhere like the prudent bee, he went forth and sought him, nor turned back to his own palace until he had seen him, and he returned, having got from the good man, as it were, supplies for his journey in the way of virtue. So dwelling there at first, he confirmed his purpose not to return to the abode of his father's, nor to the remembrance of his kinfolk, but to keep all his desire and energy for perfecting his discipline. He worked, however, with his hands, having heard, He who is idle, let him not eat, and part he spent on bread, and part he gave to the needy. And he was constant in prayer, knowing that a man ought to pray in secret unceasingly. For he had given such heed to what was read, that none of the things that were written fell from him to the ground, but he remembered all, and afterwards his memory served him for books. Thus conducting himself, Antony was beloved by all. He subjected himself in sincerity to the good men whom he visited, and learned thoroughly where each surpassed him in zeal and discipline. He observed the graciousness of one, the unceasing prayer of another. He took knowledge of another's freedom from anger, and another's loving-kindness. He gave heed to one as he watched, to another as he studied, one he admired for his endurance, another for his fasting and sleeping on the ground. The meekness of one, and the long-suffering of another, he watched with care, while he took note of the piety towards Christ, and the mutual love which animated all. Thus filled, he returned to his own place of discipline, and henceforth would strive to unite the qualities of each, and was eager to show in himself the virtues of all. With others of the same age, he had no rivalry, save this only, that he should not be second to them in higher things. And this he did, so as to hurt the feelings of nobody, but made them rejoice over him. So all they of that village, and the good men in whose intimacy he was, when they saw that he was a man of this sort, used to call him God-beloved, and some welcomed him as a son, others as a brother. But the devil, who hates and envies what is good, could not endure to see such a resolution in their youth, but endeavoured to carry out against him what he had been wont to effect against others. First of all, he tried to lead him away from the discipline, whispering to him the remembrance of his wealth, care for his sister, claims of kindred, love of money, love of glory, the various pleasures of the table, and the other relaxions of life, and at last, the difficulty of virtue, and the labour of it. He suggested also the infirmity of the body, and the length of the time. In a word, he raised in his mind a great dust of debate, wishing to debar him from his settled purpose. But when the enemy saw himself to be too weak for Antony's determination, and that he rather was conquered by the other's firmness, overthrown by his great faith, and falling through his constant prayers, than at length putting his trust in the weapons which are in the navel of his belly, and boasting in them, for they are his first snare for the young, he attacked the young man, disturbing him by night, and harassing him by day, so that even the onlockers saw the struggle which was going on between them. The one would suggest foul thoughts, and the other counter them with prayers. The one fire with lust, the other, as one who seemed to blush, fortify his body with faith, prayers, and fasting. And the devil, unhappy white, one night even took upon him the shape of a woman, and imitated all her acts, simply to beguile Antony. But he, his mind filled with Christ, and the nobility inspired by him, and considering the spirituality of the soul, quenched the coal of the other's deceit. Again the enemy suggested the ease of pleasure. But he, like a man filled with rage and grief, turned his thoughts to the threatened fire and the gnawing worm, and setting these in array against his adversary, passed through the temptation unscathed. All this was a source of shame to his foe, for he, deeming himself like God, was now mocked by a young man. And he, who boasted himself against flesh and blood, was being put to flight by a man in the flesh, for the Lord was working with Antony. The Lord, who for our sake took flesh and gave the body victory over the devil, so that all who truly fight can say, 1 Corinthians 15.10, Not I, but the grace of God which was with me. At last, when the dragon could not even thus overthrow Antony, but saw himself thrust out of his heart, gnashing his teeth, as it is written, and as it were beside himself, he appeared to Antony like a black boy, taking a visible shape in accordance with the color of his mind. And cringing to him, as it were, he plied him with thoughts no longer, for guileful as he was, he had been worsted, but at last spoke in human voice, and said, Many I deceived, many I cast down, but now attacking you and your labors, as I had many others, I proved weak. When Antony asked, Who are you who speakest thus to me? He answered with a lamentable voice, I am the friend of Hortum, and have taken upon me incitements which lead to it against the young. I am called the spirit of lust. How many have I deceived who wished to live soberly? How many are the chaste, whom by my incitements I have over-persuaded? I am he on account of whom also the prophet reproves those who have fallen, saying, Hosea 4 verse 12, You have been caused to err by the spirit of Hortum, for by me they have been tripped up. I am he who have so often troubled you, and have so often been overthrown by you. But Antony, having given thanks to the Lord with good courage, said to him, You are very despicable then, for you are black-hearted and weak as a child. Henceforth I shall have no trouble from you, for the Lord is my helper, and I shall look down on mine enemies. Having heard this, the black one straightway fled, shuddering at the words, and dreading any longer even to come near the man. This was Antony's first struggle against the devil, or rather this victory was the Saviour's work in Antony, who condemned sin in the flesh that the ordinance of the law might be fulfilled in us who walk not after the flesh, but after the spirit. But neither did Antony, although the evil one had fallen, henceforth relax his care and despise him, nor did the enemy, as though conquered, cease to lay snares for him. For again he went round as a lion, seeking some occasion against him. But Antony, having learned from the scriptures that the devices, Ephesians 6 verse 11, of the devil are many, zealously continued the discipline, recognising that, though the devil had not been able to deceive his heart by bodily pleasure, he would endeavour to ensnare him by other means. For the demon loved sin. Wherefore more and more he repressed the body, and kept it in subjection, lest happily having conquered on one side, he should be dragged down on the other. He therefore planned to accustom himself to a severer mode of life. And many marvelled, but he himself used to bear the labour easily. For the eagerness of soul, through the length of time it had abode in him, had wrought a good habit in him, so that, taking but little initiation from others, he showed great zeal in this matter. He kept vigil to such an extent that he often continued the whole night without sleep, and this not once but often, to the marvel of others. He ate once a day, after sunset, sometimes once in two days, and often even in four. His food was bread and salt, his drink water only. Of flesh and wine it is superfluous even to speak, since no such thing was found with the other earnest men. A rush-mat served him to sleep upon, but for the most part he lay upon the bare ground. He would not anoint himself with oil, saying it behooved young men to be earnest in training, and not to seek what would enervate the body, but they must accustom it to labour, mindful of the Apostle's words, 2 Corinthians 12 verse 10, when I am weak, then I am strong. For, said he, the fibre of the soul is then sound when the pleasures of the body are diminished. And he had come to this truly wonderful conclusion, that progress in virtue, and retirement from the world for the sake of it, ought not to be measured by time, but by desire and fixity of purpose. He at least gave no thought to the past, but day by day, as if he were at the beginning of his discipline, applied greater pains for advancement, often repeating to himself the saying of Paul, Philippians 3 verse 14, forgetting the things which are behind, and stretching forward to the things which are before. He was also mindful of the words spoken by the prophet Elias, 1 Kings 18 verse 15, The Lord lives before whose presence I stand to-day. For he observed that, in saying to-day, the prophet did not compute the time that had gone by, but daily, as though ever commencing, he eagerly endeavoured to make himself fit to appear before God, being pure in heart, and ever ready to submit to his counsel and to him alone. And he used to say to himself, that from the life of the great Elias the hermit ought to see his own, as in a mirror. Thus tightening his hold upon himself, Antony departed to the tombs, which happened to be at a distance from the village, and having bid one of his acquaintances to bring him bread at intervals of many days, he entered one of the tombs, and the other, having shut the door on him, he remained within, alone. And when the enemy could not endure it, but was even fearful that in a short time Antony would fill the desert with the discipline, coming one night with a multitude of demons, he so cut him with stripes, that he lay on the ground speechless from the excessive pain. For he affirmed that the torture had been so excessive that no blows inflicted by man could ever have caused him such torment. But by the providence of God, for the Lord never overlooks them that hope in him, the next day his acquaintance came bringing him the loaves. And having opened the door, and seeing him lying on the ground as though dead, he lifted him up, and carried him to the church in the village, and laid him upon the ground. And many of his kinsfolk and the villagers sat around Antony as round a corpse. But about midnight he came to himself in a rose, and when he saw them all asleep, and his comrade alone watching, he motioned with his head for him to approach, and asked him to carry him again to the tombs, without waking anybody. And he was carried therefore by the man, and as he was wont, when the door was shut, he was within, alone. And he could not stand up on account of the blows, but he prayed as he lay. And after he had prayed, he said with a shout, Here am I, Antony, I flee not from your stripes, for even if you inflict more, nothing shall separate me, Romans 8.35, from the love of Christ. And then he sang, Though a camp be set against me, my heart shall not be afraid. These were the thoughts and words of this ascetic. But the enemy who hates good, marvelling that after the blows he dared to return, called to gather his hounds, and burst forth. You see, said he, that neither by the spirit of lust, nor by blows did we stay the man, but that he braves us, let us attack him in another fashion. But changes of form for evil are easy for the devil. So in the night they made such a din, that the whole of that place seemed to be shaken by an earthquake, and the demons as if breaking the four walls of the dwelling, seemed to enter through them, coming in the likeness of beasts and creeping things. And the place was on a sudden filled with the forms of lions, bears, leopards, bulls, serpents, asps, scorpions, and wolves, and each of them was moving according to his nature. The lion was roaring, wishing to attack, the bull seeming to toss with its horns, the serpent writhing, but unable to approach, and the wolf as it rushed on was restrained. Altogether the noises of the apparitions, with their angry ragings were dreadful. But Antony, stricken and goaded by them, felt bodily pains severer still. He lay watching, however, with unshaken soul, groaning from bodily anguish, but his mind was clear. And as in mockery he said, if there had been any power in you, it would have sufficed if Christ had one of you come. But since the Lord has made you weak, you attempt to terrify me by numbers. And a proof of your weakness is that you take the shapes of brute beasts. And again with boldness he said, if you are able, and have received power against me, delay not to attack. But if you are unable, why trouble me in vain? For faith in our Lord is a seal and a wall of safety to us. So after many attempts they gnashed their teeth upon him, because they were mocking themselves rather than him. Nor was the Lord then forgetful of Antony's wrestling, but was at hand to help him. So looking up he saw the roof as it were opened, and a ray of light descending to him. The demon suddenly vanished, the pain of his body straight away ceased, and the building was again whole. But Antony, feeling the help in getting his breath again, and being freed from pain, besought the vision which had appeared to him, saying, Where were thou? Why did you not appear at the beginning to make my pains to cease? And the voice came to him, Antony, I was here, but I wanted to see your fight. Wherefore, since you have endured and hast not been worsted, I will ever be a sucker to you, and will make your name known everywhere. Having heard this, Antony arose and prayed, and received such strength that he perceived that he had more power in his body than formerly. And he was then about thirty-five years old. And on the day following he went forth till more eagerly bent on the service of God, and having fallen in with the old man he had met previously, he asked him to dwell with him in the desert. But when the other declined on account of his great age, and because as yet there was no such custom, Antony himself set off immediately to the mountain. And yet again the enemy, seeing his zeal and wishing to hinder it, cast in his way what seemed to be a great silver dish. But Antony, seeing the guile of the evil one, stood, and having looked on the dish, he put the devil in it to shame, saying, Whence comes a dish in the desert? This road is not well worn, nor is there here a trace of any wayfarer. It could not have fallen without being missed on account of its size, and he who had lost it, having turned back to seek it, would have found it, for it is a desert place. This is some wile of the devil. O thou evil one, not with this shall you hinder my purpose. Let it go with you to destruction. And when Antony had said this, it vanished like smoke from the face of fire. Then again, as he went on, he saw what was this time not visionary, but real gold, scattered in the way. But whether the devil showed it, or some better power to try the athlete, and show the evil one that Antony truly cared naught for money, neither he told, nor do we know. But it is certain that that which appeared was gold, and Antony marveled at the quantity, but passed it by as though he were going over fire. So he did not even turn, but hurried on at a run to lose sight of the place. More and more confirmed in his purpose, he hurried to the mountain, and having found a fort so long deserted that it was full of creeping things, on the other side of the river, he crossed over it and dwelt there. The reptiles, as though some one were chasing them, immediately left the place. But he built up the entrance completely, having stored up loaves for six months. This is a custom of the Thebans, and the loaves often remained fresh a whole year. And as he found water within, he descended as into a shrine, and abode within by himself, never going forth, nor looking at any one who came. Thus he employed a long time training himself, and received loaves that down from above twice in the year. But those of his acquaintances who came, since he did not permit them to enter, often used to spend days and nights outside, and heard as it were crowds within, clambering, dinning, sending forth piteous voices, and crying, ìGo from what is ours! What do you even in the desert? You cannot abide our attack!î So at first those outside thought there were some men fighting with him, and that they had entered by ladders. But when stooping down, they saw through a hole there was nobody They were afraid, accounting them to be demons, and they called on Antony. Then he quickly heard, though he had not given a thought to the demons. In coming to the door he besought them to depart, and not to be afraid. For thus said he, ìThe demons make their seeming onslaughts against those who are cowardly. Sign yourselves therefore with the cross, and depart boldly, and let these make sport for themselves.î So they departed fortified with the sign of the cross. But he remained in no wise harmed by the evil spirits, nor was he wearied with the contest. For there came to his aid visions from above, and the weakness of the foe relieved him of much trouble, and armed him with greater zeal. For his acquaintances used often to come expecting to find him dead, and would hear him singing, ìLet God arise, and let his enemies be scattered. Let them also that hate him flee before his face. As smoke vanishes, let them vanish. As wax melt before the face of fire, so let the sinners perish from the face of God.î And again, ìAll nations compassed me about, and in the name of the Lord I requited them.î And so for nearly twenty years he continued trading himself in solitude, never going forth, and but seldom seen by any. After this, when many were eager and wishing to imitate his discipline, and his acquaintances came and began to cast down and wrench off the door by force, Antony, as from a shrine, came forth initiated in the mysteries, and filled with the spirit of God. Then, for the first time, he was seen outside the fort by those who came to see him, and they, when they saw him, wondered at the sight. For he had the same habit of body as before, and was neither fat like a man without exercise, nor lean from fasting and striving with the demons. But he was just the same as they had known him before his retirement. And again, his soul was free from blemish, for it was neither contracted, as if by grief, nor relaxed by pleasure, nor possessed by laughter or detection. For he was not troubled when he beheld the crowd, nor overjoyed at being saluted by so many. But he was altogether even as being guided by reason, and abiding in a natural state. Through him the Lord healed the bodily ailments of many present, and cleansed others from evil spirits. And he gave grace to Antony in speaking, so that he consoled many that were sorrowful, and set those at variance at one, exhorting all to prefer the love of Christ before all that is in the world. And while he exhorted and advised them to remember the good things to come, and the loving-kindness of God towards us, he spared not his own son, but delivered him up for us all. He persuaded many to embrace the solitary life. And thus it happened, in the end, that cells arose, even in the mountains. And the desert was colonized by monks, who came forth from their own people, and enrolled themselves for the citizenship in the heavens. But when he was obliged to cross the Arsenonic Canal, and the occasion of it was the visitation of the brethren, the canal was full of crocodiles. And by simply praying, he entered it, and all they with him, and passed over in safety. And having returned to his cell, he applied himself to the same noble and valiant exercises. And by frequent conversation he increased the eagerness of those already monks, stirred up in most of the rest the love of the discipline, and speedily by the attraction of his words, cells multiplied, and he directed them all as a father.