The Hermits Part 7

Basil's austerities-or rather the severe climate of the Black Sea forests-brought him to an early grave. But his short life was spent well enough. He was a poet, with an eye for the beauty of Nature-especially for the beauty of the sea-most rare in those times; and his works are full of descriptions of scenery as healthy-minded as they are vivid and graceful.

In his travels through Egypt, Palestine, and Syria, he had seen the hermits, and longed to emulate them; but (to do him justice) his ideal of the so-called "religious life" was more practical than those of the solitaries of Egypt, who had been his teachers. "It was the life" (says Dean Milman {163}) "of the industrious religious community, not of the indolent and solitary anchorite, which to Basil was the perfection of Christianity. . . . The indiscriminate charity of these inst.i.tutions was to receive orphans" (of which there were but too many in those evil days) "of all cla.s.ses, for education and maintenance: but other children only with the consent or at the request of parents, certified before witnesses; and vows were by no means to be enforced upon these youthful pupils. Slaves who fled to the monasteries were to be admonished and sent back to their owners. There is one reservation" (and that one only too necessary then), "that slaves were not bound to obey their master, if he should order what is contrary to the law of G.o.d. Industry was to be the animating principle of these settlements. Prayer and psalmody were to have their stated hours, but by no means to intrude on those devoted to useful labour. These labours were strictly defined; such as were of real use to the community, not those which might contribute to vice or luxury. Agriculture was especially recommended. The life was in no respect to be absorbed in a perpetual mystic communion with the Deity."

The ideal which Basil set before him was never fulfilled in the East.

Transported to the West by St. Benedict, "the father of all monks," it became that conventual system which did so much during the early middle age, not only for the conversion and civilization, but for the arts and the agriculture of Europe.

Basil, like his bosom friend, Gregory of n.a.z.ianzen, had to go forth from his hermitage into the world, and be a bishop, and fight the battles of the true faith. But, as with Gregory, his hermit-training had strengthened his soul, while it weakened his body. The Emperor Valens, supporting the Arians against the orthodox, sent to Basil his Prefect of the Praetorium, an officer of the highest rank. The prefect argued, threatened; Basil was firm. "I never met," said he at last, "such boldness." "Because," said Basil, "you never met a bishop." The prefect returned to his Emperor. "My lord, we are conquered; this bishop is above threats. We can do nothing but by force." The Emperor shrank from that crime, and Basil and the orthodoxy of his diocese were saved. The rest of his life and of Gregory's belongs, like that of Chrysostom, to general history, and we need pursue it no further here.

I said that Basil's idea of what monks should be was never carried out in the East, and it cannot be denied that, as the years went on, the hermit life took a form less and less practical, and more and more repulsive also. Such men as Antony, Hilarion, Basil, had valued the ascetic training, not so much because it had, as they thought, a merit in itself, but because it enabled the spirit to rise above the flesh; because it gave them strength to conquer their pa.s.sions and appet.i.tes, and leave their soul free to think and act.

But their disciples, especially in Syria, seem to have attributed more and more merit to the mere act of inflicting want and suffering on themselves. Their souls were darkened, besides, more and more, by a doctrine unknown to the Bible, unknown to the early Christians, and one which does not seem to have had any strong hold of the mind of Antony himself-namely, that sins committed after baptism could only be washed away by tears, and expiated by penance; that for them the merits of him who died for the sins of the whole world were of little or of no avail.

Therefore, in perpetual fear of punishment hereafter, they set their whole minds to punish themselves on earth, always tortured by the dread that they were not punis.h.i.+ng themselves enough, till they crushed down alike body, mind, and soul into an abject superst.i.tion, the details of which are too repulsive to be written here. Some of the instances of this self-invented misery which are recorded, even as early as the time of Theodoret, bishop of Cyra, in the middle of the fifth century, make us wonder at the puzzling inconsistencies of the human mind. Did these poor creatures really believe that G.o.d could be propitiated by the torture of his own creatures? What sense could Theodoret (who was a good man himself) have put upon the words, "G.o.d is good," or "G.o.d is love," while he was looking with satisfaction, even with admiration and awe, on practices which were more fit for wors.h.i.+ppers of Moloch?

Those who think these words too strong, may judge for themselves how far they apply to his story of Marana and Cyra.

Marana, then, and Cyra were two young ladies of Berha, who had given up all the pleasures of life to settle themselves in a roofless cottage outside the town. They had stopped up the door with stones and clay, and allowed it only to be opened at the feast of Pentecost. Around them lived certain female slaves who had voluntarily chosen the same life, and who were taught and exhorted through a little window by their mistresses; or rather, it would seem, by Marana alone: for Cyra (who was bent double by her "training") was never to speak. Theodoret, as a priest, was allowed to enter the sacred enclosure, and found them shrouded from head to foot in long veils, so that neither their faces or hands could be seen; and underneath their veils, burdened on every limb, poor wretches, with such a load of iron chains and rings that a strong man, he says, could not have stood under the weight. Thus had they endured for two-and-forty years, exposed to sun and wind, to frost and rain, taking no food at times for many days together. I have no mind to finish the picture, and still less to record any of the phrases of rapturous admiration with which Bishop Theodoret comments upon their pitiable superst.i.tion.

SIMEON STYLITES

Of all such anchorites of the far East, the most remarkable, perhaps, was the once famous Simeon Stylites-a name almost forgotten, save by antiquaries and ecclesiastics, till Mr. Tennyson made it once more notorious in a poem as admirable for its savage grandness, as for its deep knowledge of human nature. He has comprehended thoroughly, as it seems to me, that struggle between self-abas.e.m.e.nt and self-conceit, between the exaggerated sense of sinfulness and the exaggerated ambition of saintly honour, which must have gone on in the minds of these ascetics-the temper which could cry out one moment with perfect honesty-

"Although I be the basest of mankind, From scalp to sole one slough and crust of sin;"

at the next-

"I will not cease to grasp the hope I hold Of saintdom; and to clamour, mourn, and sob, Battering the gates of heaven with storms of prayer.

Have mercy, Lord, and take away my sin.

Let this avail, just, dreadful, mighty G.o.d, This not be all in vain, that thrice ten years Thrice multiplied by superhuman pangs, * * * * * *

A sign between the meadow and the cloud, Patient on this tall pillar I have borne Rain, wind, frost, heat, hail, damp, and sleet, and snow; And I had hoped that ere this period closed Thou wouldst have caught me up into thy rest, Denying not these weather-beaten limbs The meed of saints, the white robe and the palm.

O take the meaning, Lord: I do not breathe, Not whisper any murmur of complaint.

Pain heaped ten hundred-fold to this, were still Less burthen, by ten-hundred-fold, to bear Than were those lead-like tons of sin, that crush'd My spirit flat before thee."

Admirably also has Mr. Tennyson conceived the hermit's secret doubt of the truth of those miracles, which he is so often told that he has worked, that he at last begins to believe that he must have worked them; and the longing, at the same time, to justify himself to himself, by persuading himself that he has earned miraculous powers. On this whole question of hermit miracles I shall speak at length hereafter. I have given specimens enough of them already, and shall give as few as possible henceforth. There is a sameness about them which may become wearisome to those who cannot be expected to believe them. But what the hermits themselves thought of them, is told (at least, so I suspect) only too truly by Mr. Tennyson-

"O Lord, thou knowest what a man I am; A sinful man, conceived and born in sin: 'Tis their own doing; this is none of mine; Lay it not to me. Am I to blame for this, That here come those who wors.h.i.+p me? Ha! ha!

The silly people take me for a saint, And bring me offerings of fruit and flowers: And I, in truth (thou wilt bear witness here), Have all in all endured as much, and more Than many just and holy men, whose names Are register'd and calendar'd for saints.

Good people, you do ill to kneel to me.

What is it I can have done to merit this?

It may be I have wrought some miracles, And cured some halt and maimed: but what of that?

It may be, no one, even among the saints, Can match his pains with mine: but what of that?

Yet do not rise; for you may look on me, And in your looking you may kneel to G.o.d.

Speak, is there any of you halt and maimed?

I think you know I have some power with heaven From my long penance; let him speak his wish.

Yes, I can heal him. Power goes forth from me.

They say that they are heal'd. Ah, hark! they shout, 'St. Simeon Stylites!' Why, if so, G.o.d reaps a harvest in me. O my soul, G.o.d reaps a harvest in thee. If this be, Can I work miracles, and not be saved?

This is not told of any. They were saints.

It cannot be but that I shall be saved; Yea, crowned a saint." . . .

I shall not take the liberty of quoting more: but shall advise all who read these pages to study seriously Mr. Tennyson's poem if they wish to understand that darker side of the hermit life which became at last, in the East, the only side of it. For in the East the hermits seem to have degenerated, by the time of the Mahomedan conquest, into mere self-torturing fakeers, like those who may be seen to this day in Hindostan. The salt lost its savour, and in due tune it was trampled under foot; and the armies of the Moslem swept out of the East a superst.i.tion which had ended by enervating instead of enn.o.bling humanity.

But in justice, not only to myself, but to Mr. Tennyson (whose details of Simeon's asceticism may seem to some exaggerated and impossible), I have thought fit to give his life at length, omitting only many of his miracles, and certain stories of his penances, which can only excite horror and disgust, without edifying the reader.

There were, then, three hermits of this name, often confounded; and all alike famous (as were Julian, Daniel, and other Stylites) for standing for many years on pillars. One of the Simeons is said by Moschus to have been struck by lightning, and his death to have been miraculously revealed to Julian the Stylite, who lived twenty-four miles off. More than one Stylite, belonging to the Monophysite heresy of Severus Acephalus, was to be found, according to Moschus, in the East at the beginning of the seventh century. This biography is that of the elder Simeon, who died (according to Cedrenus) about 460, after pa.s.sing some forty or fifty years upon pillars of different heights. There is much discrepancy in the accounts, both of his date and of his age; but that such a person really existed, and had his imitators, there can be no doubt. He is honoured as a saint alike by the Latin and by the Greek Churches.

His life has been written by a disciple of his named Antony, who professes to have been with him when he died; and also by Theodoret, who knew him well in life. Both are to be found in Rosweyde, and there seems no reason to doubt their authenticity. I have therefore interwoven them both, marking the paragraphs taken from each.

Theodoret, who says that he was born in the village of Gesa, between Antioch and Cilicia, calls him that "famous Simeon-that great miracle of the whole world, whom all who obey the Roman rule know; whom the Persians also know, and the Indians, and aethiopians; nay, his fame has even spread to the wandering Scythians, and taught them his love of toil and love of wisdom;" and says that he might be compared with Jacob the patriarch, Joseph the temperate, Moses the legislator, David the king and prophet, Micaiah the prophet, and the divine men who were like them. He tells how Simeon, as a boy, kept his father's sheep, and, being forced by heavy snow to leave them in the fold, went with his parents to the church, and there heard the Gospel which blesses those who mourn and weep, and calls those miserable who laugh, and those enviable who have a pure heart. And when he asked a bystander what he would gain who did each of these things, the man propounded to him the solitary life, and pointed out to him the highest philosophy.

This, Theodoret says, he heard from the saint's own tongue. His disciple Antony gives the story of his conversion somewhat differently.

St. Simeon (says Antony) was chosen by G.o.d from his birth, and used to study how to obey and please him. Now his father's name was Susocion, and he was brought up by his parents.

When he was thirteen years old, he was feeding his father's sheep; and seeing a church he left the sheep and went in, and heard an epistle being read. And when he asked an elder, "Master, what is that which is read?"

the old man replied, "For the substance (or very being) of the soul, that a man may learn to fear G.o.d with his whole heart, and his whole mind."

Quoth the blessed Simeon, "What is to fear G.o.d?" Quoth the elder, "Wherefore troublest thou me, my son?" Quoth he, "I inquire of thee, as of G.o.d. For I wish to learn what I hear from thee, because I am ignorant and a fool." The elder answered, "If any man shall have fasted continually, and offered prayers every moment, and shall have humbled himself to every man, and shall not have loved gold, nor parents, nor garments, nor possessions, and if he honours his father and mother, and follows the priests of G.o.d, he shall inherit the eternal kingdom: but he who, on the contrary, does not keep those things, he shall inherit the outer darkness which G.o.d hath prepared for the devil and his angels. All these things, my son, are heaped together in a monastery."

Hearing this, the blessed Simeon fell at his feet, saying, "Thou art my father and my mother, and my teacher of good works, and guide to the kingdom of heaven. For thou hast gained my soul, which was already being sunk in perdition. May the Lord repay thee again for it. For these are the things which edify. I will now go into a monastery, where G.o.d shall choose; and let his will be done on me." The elder said, "My son, before thou enterest, hear me. Thou shalt have tribulation; for thou must watch and serve in nakedness, and sustain ills without ceasing; and again thou shalt be comforted, thou vessel precious to G.o.d."

And forthwith the blessed Simeon, going out of the church, went to the monastery of the holy Timotheus, a wonder-working man; and falling down before the gate of the monastery, he lay five days, neither eating nor drinking. And on the fifth day, the abbot, coming out, asked him, "Whence art thou, my son? And what parents hast thou, that thou art so afflicted? Or what is thy name, lest perchance thou hast done some wrong? Or perchance thou art a slave, and fleest from thy master?" Then the blessed Simeon said with tears, "By no means, master; but I long to be a servant of G.o.d, if he so will, because I wish to save my lost soul.

Bid me, therefore, enter the monastery, and leave all; and send me away no more." Then the Abbot, taking his hand, introduced him into the monastery, saying to the brethren, "My sons, behold I deliver you this brother; teach him the canons of the monastery." Now he was in the monastery about four months, serving all without complaint, in which he learnt the whole Psalter by heart, receiving every day divine food. But the food which he took with his brethren he gave away secretly to the poor, not caring for the morrow. So the brethren ate at even: but he only on the seventh day.

But one day, having gone to the well to draw water, he took the rope from the bucket with which the brethren drew water, and wound it round his body from his loins to his neck: and going in, said to the brethren, "I went out to draw water, and found no rope on the bucket." And they said, "Hold thy peace, brother, lest the abbot know it; till the thing has pa.s.sed over." But his body was wounded by the tightness and roughness of the rope, because it cut him to the bone, and sank into his flesh till it was hardly seen. But one day, some of the brethren going out, found him giving his food to the poor; and when they returned, said to the abbot, "Whence hast thou brought us that man? We cannot abstain like him, for he fasts from Lord's day to Lord's day, and gives away his food." . . .

Then the abbot, going out, found as was told him, and said, "Son, what is it which the brethren tell of thee? Is it not enough for thee to fast as we do? Hast thou not heard the Gospel, saying of teachers, that the disciple is not above his master?" . . . The blessed Simeon stood and answered nought. And the abbot, being angry, bade strip him, and found the rope round him, so that only its outside appeared; and cried with a loud voice, saying, "Whence has this man come to us, wanting to destroy the rule of the monastery? I pray thee depart hence, and go whither thou wiliest." And with great trouble they took off the rope, and his flesh with it, and taking care of him, healed him.

But after he was healed he went out of the monastery, no man knowing of it, and entered a deserted tank, in which was no water, where unclean spirits dwelt. And that very night it was revealed to the abbot, that a mult.i.tude of people surrounded the monastery with clubs and swords, saying, "Give us Simeon the servant of G.o.d, Timotheus; else we will burn thee with thy monastery, because thou hast angered a just man." And when he woke, he told the brethren the vision, and how he was much disturbed thereby. And another night he saw a mult.i.tude of strong men standing and saying, "Give us Simeon the servant of G.o.d; for he is beloved by G.o.d and the angels: why hast thou vexed him? He is greater than thou before G.o.d; for all the angels are sorry on his behalf. And G.o.d is minded to set him on high in the world, that by him many signs may be done, such as no man has done." Then the abbot, rising, said with great fear to the brethren, "Seek me that man, and bring him hither, lest perchance we all die on his account. He is truly a saint of G.o.d, for I have heard and seen great wonders of him." Then all the monks went out and searched, but in vain, and told the abbot how they had sought him everywhere, save in the deserted tank. . . . Then the abbot went, with five brethren, to the tank. And making a prayer, he went down into it with the brethren. And the blessed Simeon, seeing him, began to entreat, saying, "I beg you, servants of G.o.d, let me alone one hour, that I may render up my spirit; for yet a little, and it will fail. But my soul is very weary, because I have angered the Lord." But the abbot said to him, "Come, servant of G.o.d, that we may take thee to the monastery; for I know concerning thee that thou art a servant of G.o.d." But when he would not, they brought him by force to the monastery. And all fell at his feet, weeping, and saying, "We have sinned against thee, servant of G.o.d; forgive us." But the blessed Simeon groaned, saying, "Wherefore do ye burden an unhappy man and a sinner? You are the servants of G.o.d, and my fathers." And he stayed there about one year.

After this (says Theodoret) he came to the Telana.s.sus, under the peak of the mountain on which he lived till his death; and having found there a little house, he remained in it shut up for three years. But eager always to increase the riches of virtue, he longed, in imitation of the divine Moses and Elias, to fast forty days; and tried to persuade Ba.s.sus, who was then set over the priests in the villages, to leave nothing within by him, but to close up the door with clay. He spoke to him of the difficulty, and warned him not to think that a violent death was a virtue. "Put by me then, father," he said, "ten loaves, and a cruse of water, and if I find my body need sustenance, I will partake of them."

At the end of the days, that wonderful man of G.o.d, Ba.s.sus, removed the clay, and going in, found the food and water untouched, and Simeon lying unable to speak or move. Getting a sponge, he moistened and opened his lips and then gave him the symbols of the divine mysteries; and, strengthened by them, he arose, and took some food, chewing little by little lettuces and succory, and such like.

From that time, for twenty-eight years (says Theodoret), he had remained fasting continually for forty days at a time. But custom had made it more easy to him. For on the first days he used to stand and praise G.o.d; after that, when through emptiness he could stand no longer, he used to sit and perform the divine office; and on the last day, even lie down.

For when his strength failed slowly, he was forced to lie half dead. But after he stood on the column he could not bear to lie down, but invented another way by which he could stand. He fastened a beam to the column, and tied himself to it by ropes, and so pa.s.sed the forty days. But afterwards, when he had received greater grace from on high, he did not want even that help: but stood for the forty days, taking no food, but strengthened by alacrity of soul and divine grace.

When he had pa.s.sed three years in that little house, he took possession of the peak which has since been so famous; and when he had commanded a wall to be made round him, and procured an iron chain, twenty cubits long, he fastened one end of it to a great stone, and the other to his right foot, so that he could not, if he wished, leave those bounds.

There he lived, continually picturing heaven to himself, and forcing himself to contemplate things which are above the heavens; for the iron bond did not check the flight of his thoughts. But when the wonderful Meletius, to whom the care of the episcopate of Antioch was then commended (a man of sense and prudence, and adorned with shrewdness of intellect), told him that the iron was superfluous, since the will is able enough to impose on the body the chains of reason, he gave way, and obeyed his persuasion. And having sent for a smith, he bade him strike off the chain.

[Here follow some painful details unnecessary to be translated.]

When, therefore, his fame was flying far and wide everywhere, all ran together, not only the neighbours, but those who were many days' journey off, some bringing the palsied, some begging health for the sick, some that they might become fathers, and all wis.h.i.+ng to receive from him what they had not received from nature; and when they had received, and gained their request, they went back joyful, proclaiming the benefits they had obtained, and sending many more to beg the same. So, as all are coming up from every quarter, and the road is like a river, one may see gathered in that place an ocean of men, which receives streams from every side; not only of those who live in our region, but Ishmaelites, and Persians, and the Armenians who are subject to them, and Iberi, and Homerites, and those who dwell beyond them. Many have come also from the extreme west, Spaniards, and Britons, and Gauls who live between the two. Of Italy it is superfluous to speak; for they say that at Rome the man has become so celebrated that they have put little images of him in all the porches of the shops, providing thereby for themselves a sort of safeguard and security.