A MONK gave away his wealth to the poor, but kept back some for himself.
Antony said to him, “Go to the village and buy meat, and bring it to me
on thy bare back.” He did so: and the dogs and birds attacked him, and
tore him as well as the meat. Quoth Antony, “So are those who renounce
the world, and yet must needs have money, torn by dæmons.”
Antony heard high praise of a certain brother; but, when he tested him,
he found that he was impatient under injury. Quoth Antony, “Thou art
like a house which has a gay porch, but is broken into by thieves through
the back door.”
Antony, as he sat in the desert, was weary in heart, and said, “Lord, I
long to be saved, but my wandering thoughts will not let me. Show me
what I shall do.” And looking up, he saw one like himself twisting
ropes, and rising up to pray. And the angel (for it was one) said to
him, “Work like me, Antony, and you shall be saved.”
One asked him how he could please God. Quoth Antony, “Have God always
before thine eyes; whatever work thou doest, take example for it out of
Holy Scripture: wherever thou stoppest, do not move thence in a hurry,
but abide there in patience. If thou keepest these three things, thou
shalt be saved.”
Quoth Antony, “If the baker did not cover the mill-horse’s eyes he would
eat the corn, and take his own wages. So God covers our eyes, by leaving
us to sordid thoughts, lest we should think of our own good works, and be
puffed up in spirit.”
Quoth Antony, “I saw all the snares of the enemy spread over the whole
earth. And I sighed, and said, ‘Who can pass through these?’ And a
voice came to me, saying, ‘Humility alone can pass through, Antony, where
the proud can in no wise go.’”
Antony was sitting in his cell, and a voice said to him, “Thou hast not
yet come to the stature of a currier, who lives in Alexandria.” Then he
took his staff, and went down to Alexandria; and the currier, when he
found him, was astonished at seeing so great a man. Said Antony, “Tell
me thy works; for on thy account have I come out of the desert.” And he
answered, “I know not that I ever did any good; and, therefore, when I
rise in the morning, I say that this whole city, from the greatest to the
least, will enter into the kingdom of God for their righteousness: while
I, for my sins, shall go to eternal pain. And this I say over again,
from the bottom of my heart, when I lie down at night.” When Antony
heard that, he said, “Like a good goldsmith, thou hast gained the kingdom
of God sitting still in thy house; while I, as one without discretion,
have been haunting the desert all my time, and yet not arrived at the
measure of thy saying.”
Quoth Antony, “If a monk could tell his elders how many steps he walks,
or how many cups of water he drinks, in his cell, he ought to tell them,
for fear of going wrong therein.”
At Alexandria, Antony met one Didymus, most learned in the Scriptures,
witty, and wise: but he was blind. Antony asked him, “Art thou not
grieved at thy blindness?” He was silent: but being pressed by Antony,
he confessed that he was sad thereat. Quoth Antony, “I wonder that a
prudent man grieves over the loss of a thing which ants, and flies, and
gnats have, instead of rejoicing in that possession which the holy
Apostles earned. For it is better to see with the spirit than with the
flesh.”
A Father asked Antony, “What shall I do?” Quoth the old man, “Trust not
in thine own righteousness; regret not the thing which is past; bridle
thy tongue and thy stomach.”
Quoth Antony, “He who sits still in the desert is safe from three
enemies: from hearing, from speech, from sight: and has to fight against
only one, his own heart.”
A young monk came and told Antony how he had seen some old men weary on
their journey, and had bidden the wild asses to come and carry him, and
they came. Quoth Antony, “That monk looks to me like a ship laden with a
precious cargo; but whether it will get into port is uncertain.” And
after some days he began to tear his hair and weep; and when they asked
him why, he said, “A great pillar of the Church has just fallen;” and he
sent brothers to see the young man, and found him sitting on his mat,
weeping over a great sin which he had done; and he said, “Tell Antony to
give me ten days’ truce, and I hope I shall satisfy him;” and in five
days he was dead.
Abbot Elias fell into temptation, and the brethren drove him out. Then
he went to the mountain to Antony. After awhile, Antony sent him home to
his brethren; but they would not receive him. Then the old man sent to
them, and saying, “A ship has been wrecked at sea, and lost all its
cargo; and, with much toil, the ship is come empty to land. Will you
sink it again in the sea?” So they took Elias back.
Quoth Antony, “There are some who keep their bodies in abstinence: but,
because they have no discretion, they are far from God.”
A hunter came by, and saw Antony rejoicing with the brethren, and it
displeased him. Quoth Antony, “Put an arrow in thy bow, and draw;” and
he did. Quoth Antony, “Draw higher;” and again, “Draw higher still.”
And he said, “If I overdraw, I shall break my bow.” Quoth Antony, “So it
is in the work of God. If we stretch the brethren beyond measure, they
fail.”
A brother said to Antony, “Pray for me.” Quoth he, “I cannot pity thee,
nor God either, unless thou pitiest thyself, and prayest to God.”
Quoth Antony, “The Lord does not permit wars to arise in this generation,
because he knows that men are weak, and cannot bear them.”
Antony, as he considered the depths of the judgments of God, failed; and
said, “Lord, why do some die so early, and some live on to a decrepit
age? Why are some needy, and others rich? Why are the unjust wealthy,
and the just poor?” And a voice came to him, “Antony, look to thyself.
These are the judgments of God, which are not fit for thee to know.”
Quoth Antony to Abbot Pastor, “This is a man’s great business—to lay each
man his own fault on himself before the Lord, and to expect temptation to
the last day of his life.”
Quoth Antony, “If a man works a few days, and then is idle, and works
again and is idle again, he does nothing, and will not possess the
perseverance of patience.”
Quoth Antony to his disciples, “If you try to keep silence, do not think
that you are exercising a virtue, but that you are unworthy to speak.”
Certain old men came once to Antony; and he wished to prove them, and
began to talk of holy Scripture, and to ask them, beginning at the
youngest, what this and that text meant. And each answered as best they
could. But he kept on saying, “You have not yet found it out.” And at
last he asked Abbot Joseph, “And what dost thou think this text means?”
Quoth Abbot Joseph, “I do not know.” Quoth Antony, “Abbot Joseph alone
has found out the way, for he says he does not know it.”
Quoth Antony, “I do not now fear God, but love Him, for love drives out
fear.”
He said again, “Life and death are very near us; for if we gain our
brother, we gain God: but if we cause our brother to offend, we sin
against Christ.”
A philosopher asked Antony, “How art thou content, father, since thou
hast not the comfort of books?” Quoth Antony, “My book is the nature of
created things. In it, when I choose, I can read the words of God.”
Brethren came to Antony, and asked of him a saying by which they might be
saved. Quoth he, “Ye have heard the Scriptures, and know what Christ
requires of you.” But they begged that he would tell them something of
his own. Quoth he, “The Gospel says, ‘If a man smite you on one cheek,
turn to him the other.’” But they said that they could not do that.
Quoth he, “You cannot turn the other cheek to him? Then let him smite
you again on the same one.” But they said they could not do that either.
Then said he, “If you cannot, at least do not return evil for evil.” And
when they said that neither could they do that, quoth Antony to his
disciples, “Go, get them something to eat, for they are very weak.” And
he said to them, “If you cannot do the one, and will not have the other,
what do you want? As I see, what you want is prayer. That will heal
your weakness.”
Quoth Antony, “He who would be free from his sins must be so by weeping
and mourning; and he who would be built up in virtue must be built up by
tears.”
Quoth Antony, “When the stomach is full of meat, forthwith the great
vices bubble out, according to that which the Saviour says: ‘That which
entereth into the mouth defileth not a man; but that which cometh out of
the heart sinks a man in destruction.’”
[This may be a somewhat paradoxical application of the text: but the last
anecdote of Antony which I shall quote is full of wisdom and humanity.]
A monk came from Alexandria, Eulogius by name, bringing with him a man
afflicted with elephantiasis. Now Eulogius had been a scholar, learned,
and rich, and had given away all he had save a very little, which he kept
because he could not work with his own hands.
And he told Antony how he had found that wretched man lying in the street
fifteen years before, having lost then nearly every member save his
tongue, and how he had taken him home to his cell, nursed him, bathed
him, physicked him, fed him; and how the man had returned him nothing
save slanders, curses, and insults; how he had insisted on having meat,
and had had it; and on going out in public, and had company brought to
him; and how he had at last demanded to be put down again whence he had
been taken, always cursing and slandering. And now Eulogius could bear
the man no longer, and was minded to take him at his word.
Then said Antony with an angry voice, “Wilt thou cast him out, Eulogius?
He who remembers that he made him, will not cast him out. If thou cast
him out, he will find a better friend than thee. God will choose some
one who will take him up when he is cast away.” Eulogius was terrified
at these words, and held his peace.
Then went Antony to the sick man, and shouted at him, “Thou elephantiac,
foul with mud and dirt, not worthy of the third heaven, wilt thou not
stop shouting blasphemies against God? Dost thou not know that he who
ministers to thee is Christ? How darest thou say such things against
Christ?” And he bade Eulogius and the sick man go back to their cell,
and live in peace, and never part more. Both went back, and, after forty
days, Eulogius died, and the sick man shortly after, “altogether whole in
spirit.”