安東尼傳 第 1 章 第 1/5 段

You have entered upon a noble contest with the monks of Egypt, having resolved either to equal or even to surpass them in your ascetic discipline of virtue.

For now among you too there are monasteries, and the name of monk has its place.

One might justly praise this resolve, and as you pray, may God bring it to perfection.

Since you have asked me also about the life of the blessed Antony, wishing to learn how he began his ascetic discipline, what he was before it, how his life came to its end, and whether the things said about him are true—so that you may bring yourselves to imitate his zeal—

I received your charge with much eagerness.

For to me too it is a great gain and benefit merely to remember Antony.

And I know that you too, when you have heard, besides admiring the man, will also desire to emulate his resolve.

For the life of Antony is a sufficient pattern of ascetic discipline for monks.

So do not disbelieve what you have heard about him from those who reported it; rather think that you have heard only a few things from them.

For surely even they recounted these things only with difficulty.

Since I too, urged on by you, will set down in this letter whatever I can indicate, recalling a few of the things concerning him,

and do not you cease to question those who sail from here.

For perhaps, as each tells what he knows, the account of him may with difficulty be made worthy of him.

I had indeed wished, upon receiving your letter, to send for some of the monks—especially those accustomed to visit him most frequently—

so that, learning something more, I might write to you more fully.

But since the sailing season was closing and the letter-carrier was in haste,

for this reason I have made haste to write to your reverence both what I myself know (for I saw him often) and what I was able to learn from him, having followed him for no short time and poured water over his hands.

Everywhere I have been mindful of the truth, so that no one hearing too much may disbelieve, nor again, learning less than is fitting, may despise the man.

Antony was by birth an Egyptian, born of well-born parents who possessed sufficient means; and since they were Christians, he too was reared as a Christian.

As a little child he was nurtured by his parents, knowing nothing beyond them and his home.

But when he had grown and become a boy, advancing in age, he would not endure to learn letters, wishing to keep apart even from association with other children;

his whole desire was, according to what is written of Jacob, to dwell as a plain man in his own house.

He used, however, to go with his parents to the Lord's house;

and neither was he idle as children are, nor did he grow contemptuous as he advanced in age;

but he was obedient to his parents, and attending to the readings, he kept in himself the benefit drawn from them.

Nor again, as a child in modest circumstances, did he trouble his parents for varied and costly food, nor seek the pleasures it brings;

he was content with what he found, and sought nothing more.

After the death of his parents, he was left alone with one very young sister;

and being about eighteen or twenty years old, he himself cared for the house and for his sister.

Not yet six months had passed since the death of his parents, when, going as usual to the Lord's house and collecting his thoughts, he pondered as he walked how the apostles had left all and followed the Savior;

and how those in the Acts sold their possessions and brought and laid them at the apostles' feet for distribution to the needy, and what great hope is laid up for these in heaven.

Pondering these things, he entered the church, and it happened that the Gospel was then being read, and he heard the Lord saying to the rich man:

"If you wish to be perfect, go, sell all that you have and give to the poor, and come, follow me, and you shall have treasure in heaven."

And Antony, as if the remembrance of the saints had come to him from God, and as if the reading had been given for his sake, going out at once from the Lord's house, gave to the villagers the possessions he had from his forebears (they were three hundred fertile and very fine acres), so that they might in no way trouble himself and his sister.

And all their other movable property he sold, and having gathered a considerable sum of money, he gave it to the poor, keeping back a little for his sister.

But when, entering the Lord's house again, he heard the Lord saying in the Gospel, "Take no thought for the morrow," he could no longer bear to remain, but went out and distributed even those things to the lowly.

Entrusting his sister to known and faithful virgins, and giving her to be reared in a convent, he himself thenceforth devoted himself to the ascetic life before his house, taking heed to himself and leading himself with endurance.

For there were not yet such continuous monasteries in Egypt, nor did any monk at all know the far desert; but each who wished to attend to himself practiced his discipline alone, not far from his own village.

Now there was at that time in the neighboring village an old man who from his youth had practiced the solitary life;

seeing him, Antony emulated him in goodness;

and at first he too began to remain in the places before the village.

And from there, if he heard of anyone zealous, he would go out and seek him like the wise bee;

and he would not return to his own place before he had seen him, and, as if receiving from him some provision for the road to virtue, then he would go back.

Spending his beginnings there, then, he steadied his mind, so as not to turn back to his parents' affairs, nor to remember his kinsfolk;

but to have all his longing and all his zeal for the intensity of the ascetic discipline.

He worked, then, with his hands, having heard:

and part he spent on bread, and part on the needy.

And he prayed continually, having learned that one ought to pray in private without ceasing.

For he so attended to the reading that nothing of what was written fell from him to the ground, but he retained all, and henceforth his memory served him in place of books.

Leading himself thus, Antony was beloved by all;

and he himself genuinely submitted to the zealous ones to whom he went, and learned thoroughly for himself the special excellence of each one's zeal and discipline;

and in one he observed graciousness, in another intensity in prayers;

and in one he noted freedom from anger, in another love of mankind;

and he attended to one who kept vigil, to another who loved study;

and he admired one for his endurance, another for his fasting and sleeping on the ground;

and he carefully watched the gentleness of one, the long-suffering of another;

and he marked their love toward one another;

and thus filled, he returned to the place of his own hermitage;

thenceforth gathering into himself what came from each, and earnestly striving to display in himself the qualities of all.

For toward those of his own age he was not contentious, except only that he might not appear second to them in the better things;

and this he did so as to grieve no one, but rather that they too might rejoice over him.

All the villagers, then, and the lovers of goodness with whom he was familiar, seeing him thus, called him a God-loving man;

and some greeted him as a son, others as a brother.

But the devil, who hates good and is envious, could not bear to see such resolve in a young man.

But, as is his wont to do, he undertook to act against this one too;

and first he tried to draw him down from his ascetic discipline, suggesting the remembrance of his possessions, the guardianship of his sister, the closeness of kindred, love of money, love of glory, the manifold pleasure of food, and the other comforts of life, and finally the harshness of virtue and how great is the toil of it;

he also put before him the weakness of the body and the length of time.

And in short he stirred up in his mind a great cloud of reasonings, wishing to fence him off from his right purpose.

But when the enemy saw himself too weak against Antony's resolve, and rather himself being overthrown by that one's steadfastness, overturned by his great faith, and falling before Antony's continual prayers,

then, trusting in the weapons that are at the navel of the belly, and boasting in these (for these are his first ambushes against the young), he came against the young man, troubling him by night and so harassing him by day that even those who saw perceived the struggle going on between the two.

For the one suggested filthy thoughts, while the other overturned them with prayers;

and the one tickled the senses, while the other, seeming to blush, fortified his body with faith, prayers, and fastings;

and the wretched devil endured even to take on the appearance of a woman by night, and to imitate her in every way, only that he might deceive Antony;

but the other, calling Christ to mind, and considering the nobility that is in Christ and the spiritual nature of the soul, quenched the coal of his deception.

Again the enemy cast before him the smoothness of pleasure;

but he, like one angered and grieved, pondered the threat of fire and the torment of the worm;

and setting these in opposition, he passed through unharmed.

And all these things came to pass to the shame of the enemy.

For he who thought to become like God was now mocked by a youth;

and he who boasts over flesh and blood was overthrown by a man bearing flesh.

For the Lord was working with him, who bore flesh for our sake and gave to the body the victory over the devil;

so that each of those who truly contend may say:

"Not I, but the grace of God which is with me."

At length, then, when the dragon could not overthrow Antony even in this, but saw himself being thrust out of his heart, gnashing his teeth, as it is written, and as if beside himself, such as he is in mind, so afterward he appeared to him also in fantasy as a black boy;

and as if falling down before him, he no longer assailed him with thoughts (for the deceiver had been cast out), but henceforth, using a human voice, said:

"Many I have deceived, and very many I have cast down;

but now, attacking you and your labors as I did so many, I have grown weak."

Then, when Antony inquired:

"Who are you that speak such things to me?" he at once sent forth pitiable cries:

"I am the friend of fornication;

I have undertaken the ticklings against the young, and I am called the spirit of fornication.

How many wishing to be chaste have I deceived!

How many practicing self-control have I turned aside by tickling!

I am the one on account of whom the prophet too reproaches those who have fallen, saying:

'By a spirit of fornication you were led astray';

for it was through me that those were tripped up.

I am the one who has often troubled you, and so many times been overturned by you."

But Antony, giving thanks to the Lord and taking courage against him, said to him:

"You are then very contemptible;

for you are black in mind, and weak as a child;

henceforth I have not a single care about you;

for the Lord is my helper, and I shall look upon my enemies."

Hearing these things, that black one at once fled, cowering at the words, and afraid even to come near the man.

This was Antony's first contest against the devil;

or rather this achievement too came to pass in Antony through the Savior, who condemned sin in the flesh, that the righteousness of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the spirit.

But neither did Antony, because the demon had fallen, thenceforth grow careless and despise himself;

nor did the enemy, as though defeated, cease from lying in wait.

For he prowled about again like a lion, seeking some pretext against him.

But Antony, having learned from the Scriptures that the wiles of the enemy are many, practiced his discipline intensely, reasoning that, even though he had not been able to deceive the heart through bodily pleasure, he would surely try to ensnare him by another method;

for the demon is a lover of sin.

More and more, then, he buffeted his body and brought it into subjection, lest, having conquered in some things, he should be dragged down in others.

He determined, therefore, to accustom himself to harsher modes of living.

And many marveled, but he himself bore the toil more easily;

for the eagerness of his soul, persisting for a long time, wrought in him a good habit;

so that, taking even a small occasion from others, he displayed much zeal in this;

for he kept vigil so much that often he passed the whole night without sleep;

and this not once, but very many times, so that he was marveled at.

He ate once a day, after sunset;

but there were times when he partook only every two days, and often only every four.

And his food was bread and salt;

as for meat and wine, it is superfluous even to speak;

seeing that nothing of the kind was found even among the other zealous ones.

For sleep he was content with a rush mat;

but for the most part he even lay on the bare ground.

He declined to anoint himself with oil, saying that it was rather fitting for the young to keep their discipline out of eagerness, and not to seek the things that pamper the body;

but rather to accustom it to toils, mindful of the saying of the Apostle:

"When I am weak, then I am strong."

For he said that then the strength of the soul has its vigor, when the pleasures of the body are weak.

And this reasoning of his was indeed truly marvelous;

for he did not think to measure the way of virtue by time, nor the withdrawal undertaken for its sake, but by longing and by resolve.

He himself, at any rate, did not call to mind the time that had passed;

but day by day, as if making a beginning of his discipline, he took greater pains for progress, repeating to himself continually the saying of Paul:

"Forgetting the things behind, and stretching forward to the things ahead";

remembering also the voice of the prophet Elijah, who says:

"The Lord lives, before whom I have stood today."

For he observed that, saying "today," he did not measure the time that had passed;

but as always laying a foundation, day by day he was eager to present himself such as one ought to appear before God, pure in heart and ready to obey His will, and no other's.

and to learn thoroughly the ascetic from the manner of life of the great Elijah, as in a mirror always beholding his own life.

Having thus girded himself, Antony departed to the tombs that lay far from the village, and having charged one of his acquaintances to bring him bread at intervals of many days, he himself entered into one of the tombs; and when that man had shut the door upon him, he remained alone within.

There, then, the enemy, unable to bear it, and indeed fearing lest he should gradually fill even the desert with his discipline,

approached one night with a multitude of demons, and beat him with so many blows that he lay speechless on the ground from the tortures;

for he affirmed that the pains had become so severe that he could say no blows from men could ever produce such torment.

But by God's providence (for the Lord does not overlook those who hope in Him), on the next day his acquaintance came, bringing him the loaves;

and having opened the door and seen him lying on the ground like a corpse, he lifted him up and carried him to the village church, and laid him on the ground.

And many of his kinsfolk and the villagers sat around Antony as around a dead man.

But about midnight Antony came to himself, and waking up, when he saw all sleeping and only his acquaintance keeping watch, he beckoned him to come to him, and asked him again to lift him up and carry him to the tombs, without waking anyone.

So he was carried away by the man, and as usual the door being shut, he was again alone within.

And he could not stand because of the blows;

and after the prayer he said with a loud cry:

"I do not flee from your blows;"

"for even if you deal me more, nothing shall separate me from the love of Christ."

"Though a host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear."

So the ascetic thought and said these things;

but the enemy, amazed that even after the blows he had dared to come, summoning his dogs and bursting with rage, said:

"You see that we have not stopped this man by the spirit of fornication, nor by blows;

but he even grows bold against us;"

"and the devil has ready forms for evil."

Then, therefore, in the night they made such a din that the whole place seemed to be shaken;

and the demons, as if breaking through the four walls of the little dwelling, seemed to enter through them, transformed into the appearance of beasts and reptiles;

and the place was immediately filled with the phantoms of lions, bears, leopards, bulls, and serpents, asps, scorpions, and wolves.

And each of these moved according to its own kind.

The lion roared, wishing to spring upon him; the bull seemed to gore; the serpent crawling could not reach him, and the wolf rushing was held back;

and altogether the noises of all the apparitions together were terrible, and their fury savage.

But Antony, scourged and goaded by them, felt a yet more grievous bodily pain.

Yet he lay still, and rather kept watch in his soul;

and he groaned indeed because of the pain of the body;

but, sober in mind and as if mocking them, he said:

"If there were any power in you, it would have sufficed for only one of you to come;

but since the Lord has stripped you of your strength, therefore you try by your multitude to frighten me somehow;

it is a token of your weakness that you imitate the shapes of the irrational beasts."

Taking courage, then, he said again:

"If you can, and have received authority over me, do not delay, but set upon me;

but if you cannot, why do you trouble yourselves in vain? For our seal and our wall for security is our faith in our Lord."

So after many attempts, they gnashed their teeth at him, because they were rather mocking themselves and not him.

the Lord did not forget Antony's struggle, but came to his aid.

Looking up, then, he saw the roof as if opening, and a certain ray of light coming down toward him.

And the demons suddenly became invisible;

and the pain of the body at once ceased, and the dwelling was again whole.

But Antony, perceiving the help, and breathing more freely and relieved of his pains, entreated the vision that had appeared, saying:

"Where were you? Why did you not appear from the beginning, to stop my pains?" And a voice came to him:

"Antony, I was here, but I waited to see your contest.

Since, then, you endured and were not defeated, I will be your helper always, and will make you renowned everywhere."

Hearing these things, he rose and prayed;

and he became so strong that he perceived he had more power in his body than he had before.

He was then about thirty-five years old.

And going forth the next day, he was yet more eager for the worship of God, and coming to that old man of long standing, he asked to dwell in the desert together with him.

But when the old man declined, both because of his age and because there was not yet such a custom, he himself at once set out for the mountain.

But again the enemy, seeing his zeal and wishing to hinder it, cast in his way the phantom of a great silver dish.

But Antony, understanding the craft of the hater of good, stood still, and looking at the dish, rebuked the devil in it, saying:

"Whence a dish in the desert? This is not a beaten road, nor is there any track of people who have traveled here;

having fallen, it could not escape notice, being so large.

Moreover, the one who lost it, turning back and searching, would have found it, because the place is deserted.

This is a craft of the devil.

You shall not hinder my resolve by this, devil;

for let this go with you to perdition."

And as Antony said this, that one vanished, like smoke from the face of fire.

Then again, no longer a phantom, but real gold cast in the road he saw as he went on.

Whether the enemy displayed it, or some higher power was training the athlete and showing the devil that he truly cared nothing even for real wealth,

neither did he himself report, nor did we learn; only that it was gold that appeared.

And Antony marveled at the quantity, but, as if leaping over fire, so he passed it by without even turning aside;

but rather hastened at such a run as to hide and lose sight of the place.

More and more, then, intensifying his resolve, he hastened to the mountain.

And finding beyond the river a deserted fort, full of reptiles because of the lapse of time, he removed himself thither and dwelt in it.

The reptiles, then, as if someone were driving them, at once withdrew;

and he himself, having blocked up the entrance and laid by bread for six months (the Thebans do this, and often it keeps unspoiled even a whole year), and having water within, like one diving into an inner shrine, remained alone within, neither going out himself nor seeing any of those who came.

He himself, then, continued thus practicing his discipline for a long time;

only once a year receiving the loaves from above, through the roof. And those of his acquaintances who came to him, since he did not allow them to enter, often spending days and nights outside, heard as it were crowds within making an uproar, clattering, sending forth pitiable cries, and shouting:

"What have you to do with the desert? You do not bear our plotting."

Now those outside at first thought that there were certain men fighting with him, and that these had entered to him by means of ladders;

[but when they peeped in and saw no one,] they understood that these were demons, and being afraid themselves, they called for Antony.

But he gave heed to these rather than be concerned about those.

And coming near the door, he exhorted the men to withdraw and not to be afraid;

for so, he said, the demons make their apparitions against those who are cowardly.

"You, then, seal yourselves and go away with confidence;

and leave these to make sport for themselves."

So they departed, fortified by the sign of the cross.

But he remained, and was in no way harmed by them;

nor indeed did he grow weary in contending;

for the addition of the visions from above that came to him, and the weakness of the enemies, afforded him much respite from his toils, and prepared him for greater eagerness.

For his acquaintances came by continually, expecting to find him dead, and heard him singing:

"Let God arise, and let His enemies be scattered, and let those who hate Him flee from before His face.

As smoke is driven away, so drive them away;

as wax melts before the fire, so let the sinners perish from before the face of God.

All the nations compassed me about, but in the name of the Lord I drove them off."

For nearly twenty years, then, he continued thus practicing his discipline by himself, neither going out nor being seen continually by anyone.

After this, when many longed and wished to emulate his discipline, and other acquaintances came and broke down the door by force and thrust it open,

Antony came forth as if from some inner shrine, initiated into mysteries and inspired by God;

and then for the first time he appeared from the fort to those who came to him.

They then, when they saw him, marveled to behold his body keeping the same condition, neither grown fat as from inactivity, nor wasted as from fastings and combat with demons;

for he was just such as they had known him before his withdrawal;

and the disposition of his soul was again pure;

for neither was he as if contracted by grief, nor relaxed by pleasure, nor possessed by laughter or dejection;

for neither was he disturbed at seeing the crowd, nor elated as if greeted by so many;

but he was wholly balanced, as one governed by reason and standing firm in that which is according to nature.

Many of those present, then, who suffered in body, the Lord healed through him;

and others he cleansed from demons.

And the Lord gave grace to Antony in speaking;

and thus he comforted many who were grieving, and reconciled others who were quarreling into friendship;

saying to all to prefer nothing in the world to the love of Christ.

He persuaded many to choose the solitary life;

and thus thenceforth there came to be monasteries even in the mountains, and the desert was made a city by monks, who went forth from their own homes and enrolled themselves for the citizenship in the heavens.

And when there was need for him to cross the canal of Arsinoe (the need being the visitation of the brethren), the canal was full of crocodiles.

And having only prayed, he went in, both himself and all who were with him, and they passed through unharmed.

Returning to the monastery, he kept to the same noble and vigorous labors.

On one day, then, having come forth, when all the monks came to him and asked to hear a word from him, he said these things to them in the Egyptian tongue:

[He said] that the Scriptures are sufficient for instruction;

but it is good for us to encourage one another in the faith, and to anoint one another with words.

"You, then, as children, bring to your father the things you know;

and I too, as older than you in age, share what I know and what I have experienced.

Let this zeal above all be common to all: that, having begun, we do not give in, nor grow weary in our labors, nor say:

'We have spent a long time in our discipline';

but rather, as if beginning each day, let us increase our eagerness.

For the whole life of man is exceedingly short, measured against the ages to come;

so that even all our time is nothing compared with eternal life.

And every thing in the world is sold at its worth, and one gives equal in exchange for equal;

but the promise of eternal life is bought for a very little.

The days of our life in them are seventy years, but if in strength, eighty years; and the more part of them is toil and trouble.

When, therefore, we persevere all the eighty, or even a hundred years, in the discipline, we shall not reign equal to those hundred years, but in place of the hundred we shall reign for ages of ages;

and having striven on earth, we shall not inherit on earth, but in the heavens we have the promises;

and again, having laid aside the corruptible body, we receive it back incorruptible.

Wherefore, children, let us not grow weary, nor think that we are taking a long time, or doing some great thing.

For the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that shall be revealed to us.

Nor, looking to the world, let us think that we have renounced great things;

for indeed the whole earth itself is exceedingly small compared with the whole heaven.

If, then, we were lords of all the earth, and renounced the whole earth, it would still be nothing worthy compared with the kingdom of the heavens.