The Advantages of the Coenobium

So I will briefly explain what advantages I now enjoy in this way of life. You must weigh my words and judge whether those advantages of the desert outweigh these comforts. By this you will also be able to test whether I chose to be cramped within the narrow limits of the coenobium out of dislike for the purity of the solitary life or out of desire for it. In this life, then, there is no providing for the day’s work, no distractions of buying and selling, no unavoidable care about the year’s food, no anxiety about bodily things, by which one must get ready what is needed, not only for one’s own wants, but also for those of any number of visitors. And finally there is no conceit from the praise of men, which is worse than all these things, and which in the sight of God sometimes wipes out the good of even great efforts in the desert. [a]

But to pass over those waves of spiritual pride and the deadly danger of empty glory in the anchorite’s life, let us come back to this common burden that affects everyone, that is, the ordinary anxiety of providing food. This has gone beyond, I will not say the measure of that ancient strictness which did without oil altogether, but even the relaxed practice of our own day, with which it is beginning not to be content. By that practice everything needed in the way of food for a whole year was met by preparing a single pint of oil and about a peck of lentils for the use of visitors. But now the necessary supply of food is scarcely met by two or three times that amount. And this dangerous relaxation has grown so strong among some that, when they mix vinegar and sauce, they do not add that single drop of oil which our predecessors, who kept the rules of the desert with greater powers of abstinence, used to pour in simply to avoid empty glory. Instead they break an Egyptian cheese into it for the sake of luxury and pour over it more oil than is needed. So under a single pleasant relish they take two kinds of food, each with its own flavor, either of which ought by itself to be a pleasant refreshment for a monk at a different time.

The acquisition of material things has grown so far that, under the pretense of hospitality and welcoming guests, anchorites have actually begun to keep a blanket in their cells, a thing I cannot mention without shame. And I say nothing of the things that especially hamper a mind that is awed by and intent on spiritual meditation: the throng of brothers, the duty of welcoming those who come and seeing off those who go, visits to one another, and the endless bother of all sorts of conversations and occupations. Because these customary interruptions never stop, the expectation of them keeps the mind on the stretch even at times when such bothers seem to cease. So the result is that the freedom of the anchorite’s life is so hindered by these ties that it can never rise to that indescribable keenness of heart, and so it loses the fruits of the hermit’s life. And if this is now denied me while I live in the congregation and among others, at least I do not lack peace of mind and a tranquil heart free from all business. Unless this is ready to hand for those who live in the desert too, they will indeed have to undergo the labors of the anchorite’s life, but will lose its fruits, which can be gained only in a peaceful steadiness of mind.

Finally, even if my purity of heart is somewhat lessened while I live in the coenobium, I will be content to keep in exchange that one command of the gospel, which certainly cannot be valued less than all those fruits of the desert: I mean, that I should take no thought for tomorrow, and, by submitting myself completely to the abbot, should seem in some degree to imitate him of whom it is said, “He humbled himself, and became obedient to death,” and so be able humbly to use his words: “For I came not to do my own will, but the will of the Father who sent me.” [e]