He was a Roman by birth, and was related to senators. He had been
trained up in learning and piety, was sincerely virtuous, and well
skilled, not only in the holy scriptures, but also in the profane
sciences, and in the Latin and Greek languages and literature. He was
in deacon’s orders, and led a retired life at home with his sister,
in Rome, when the emperor Theodosius the Great wanted a person to
whom he might intrust the care of his children, and desired the
emperor Gratian to apply for that purpose to the bishop of Rome,
who recommended Arsenius. Gratian sent him to Constantinople, where
he was kindly received by Theodosius, who advanced him to the rank
of a senator, with orders that he should be respected as the father
of his children, whose tutor and preceptor he appointed him. No one
in the court at that time wore richer apparel, had more sumptuous
furniture, or was attended by a more numerous train of servants than
Arsenius; he was attended by no fewer than a thousand, all richly
clad. Theodosius coming one day to see his children at their studies,
found them sitting, whilst Arsenius talked to them standing. Being
displeased thereat, he took from them for some time the marks of
their dignity, and caused Arsenius to sit, and them to listen to him
standing.
Arsenius had always a great inclination to a retired life, which the
care of his employment and the incumbrances of a great fortune made
him desire the more ardently; for titles and honors were burthensome
to him. At length, about the year 390, an opportunity offered itself.
Arcadius having committed a considerable fault, Arsenius whipped
him for it. The young prince, resenting the chastisement, grew the
more obstinate. Arsenius laid hold of this occasion to execute the
project he had long before formed of forsaking the world. The Lives
of the Fathers, both in Rosweide and Cotelier, make no mention of
this resentment of Arcadius, which circumstance is only related
by Metaphrastes; on which account it is omitted by Tillemont and
others. It is most certain that retirement had long been the object
of the saint’s most earnest wishes and desires; but before he left
the court, he for a long time begged by earnest prayer to know the
will of God; and one day making this request with great fervor, he
heard a voice, saying, “Arsenius, flee the company of men, and thou
shalt be saved.” He obeyed the call of heaven without delay, and
going on board a vessel, sailed to Alexandria, and thence proceeded
to the desert of Sceté, where he embraced an anachoretical life.
This happened about the year 394, he being in the fortieth year
of his age, and having lived eleven years at the court. There he
renewed his prayers to God, begging to be instructed in the way of
salvation, having no other desire than to make it his only study
to please God in all things. Whilst he prayed thus, he again heard
a voice which said, “Arsenius, flee, hold thy peace, and be quiet;
these are the principles of salvation,”[223] that is, the main things
to be observed in order to be saved. Pursuant to the repeated advice
or injunction of fleeing and avoiding human conversation, he made
choice of a very remote cell, and admitted very few visits even from
his own brethren. When he went to the church, upwards of thirty
miles distance from his habitation, he would place himself behind
one of the pillars, the better to prevent his seeing or being seen
by any one. Theodosius, in great affliction for the loss of him,
caused search to be made for him both by sea and land; but being
soon after called into the West to revenge the death of Valentinian
II., and to extinguish the rebellion of Arbogastus his murderer,
and Eugenius, died of a dropsy at Milan in 395. Arcadius being left
emperor of the East, advanced Rufin, who was the prefectus-prætorio,
and had been his flattering governor, to the rank of prime minister,
committing to him the direction not only of his armies, but also
of the whole empire. He at the same time earnestly desired to call
back to court his holy master Arsenius, that he might be assisted
by his wise and faithful counsels. Being informed that he was in
the desert of Sceté, he wrote to him, recommending himself to his
prayers, begging his forgiveness, and offering him the disposal of
all the tribute of Egypt, that he might make a provision for the
monasteries and the poor at his discretion; but the saint had no
other ambition on earth than to be allowed the liberty of enjoying
his solitude, that he might employ his time in bewailing his sins,
and in preparing his soul for eternity. He therefore answered the
emperor’s message only by word of mouth, saying, “God grant as all
the pardon of our sins; as to the distribution of the money, I am not
capable of such a charge, being already dead to the world.” When he
first presented himself to the ancients or superiors of the monks of
Sceté, and begged to be allowed to serve God under their direction,
they recommended him to the care of St. John the Dwarf, who, when the
rest in the evening sat down to take their repast, took his place
among them, and left Arsenius standing in the middle without taking
notice of him. Such a reception was a severe trial to a courtier;
but was followed by another much rougher; for, in the middle of the
repast, St. John took a loaf or portion of bread, and threw it on the
ground before him, bidding him, with an air of indifference, eat if
he would. Arsenius cheerfully fell on the ground, and in that posture
took his meal. St. John was so satisfied with his behavior in this
single instance, that he required no further trial for his admission,
and said to his brethren: “Return to your cells with the blessing of
the Lord. Pray for us. This person is fit for a religious life.”
Arsenius, after his retreat, only distinguished himself among the
anchorets by his greater humility and fervor. At first he used,
without perceiving it, to do certain things which he had practised in
the world, which seemed to savor of levity or immortification, as,
for instance, to sit cross-legged, or laying one knee over another.
The seniors were unwilling, through the great respect they bore him,
to tell him of this in a public assembly in which they were met to
hold a spiritual conference together; but abbot Pemen or Pastor made
use of this stratagem: He agreed with another that he should put
himself in that posture; and then he rebuked him for his immodesty;
nor did the other offer any excuse. Arsenius perceived that the
reproof was meant for him, and corrected himself of that custom.
In other respects he appeared from the beginning an accomplished
master in every exercise of virtue in that venerable company of
saints. To punish himself for his seeming vanity at court, because
he had there gone more richly habited than others, his garments were
always the meanest of all the monks in Sceté. He employed himself
on working-days till noon in making mats of palm-tree leaves; and
he always worked with a handkerchief in his bosom, to wipe off the
tears which continually fell from his eyes. He never changed the
water in which he moistened his palm-tree leaves, but only poured in
fresh water upon it as it wasted. When some asked him one day why he
did not cast away the corrupted water, he answered, “I ought to be
punished by this ill smell for the sensuality with which I formerly
used perfumes when I lived in the world.” To satisfy for former
superfluities he lived in the most universal poverty, so that in a
violent fit of illness having occasion for a small sum to procure
him some little necessaries, he was obliged to receive it in alms,
whereupon he gave God thanks for being made worthy to be thus reduced
to the necessity of asking alms in his name. The distemper continued
so long upon him that the priest of this desert of Sceté caused him
to be carried to his apartment contiguous to the church, and laid
him on a little bed made of the skins of beasts, with a pillow under
his head. One of the monks coming to see him, was much scandalized
at his lying so easy, and said, “Is this the abbot Arsenius?” The
priest took him aside, and asked him what his employment had been
in the village before he was a monk? The old man answered, “I was a
shepherd, and lived with much pains and difficulty.” Then the priest
said, “Do you see this abbot Arsenius? when he was in the world he
was the father of the emperors: he had a thousand slaves clothed in
silk, with bracelets and girdles of gold, and he slept on the softest
and richest beds. You who was a shepherd, did not find in the world
the ease which you now enjoy.” The old man, moved by these words,
fell down, and said, “Pardon me, father, I have sinned; he is in
the true way of humiliation;” and he went away exceedingly edified.
Arsenius in his sickness wanting a linen garment, accepted something
given him in charity, to buy one, saying, “I return thanks to thee,
O Lord, for thy grace and mercy, in permitting me to receive alms in
thy name.” One of the emperor’s officers, at another time, brought
him the will of a senator, his relation, who was lately dead and had
left him his heir. The saint took the will, and would have torn it to
pieces, but the officer threw himself at his feet, and begged him not
to tear it, saying, such an accident would expose him to be tried for
his life. St. Arsenius, however, refused the estate, saying, “I died
before him, and cannot be made his heir.”
Though no one knew the saint’s fasts, they must have been excessive,
as the measure of corn, called thallin,[224] sent him for the year,
was exceeding small; this, however, he managed so well as not only
to make it suffice for himself, but also to impart some of it to his
disciples when they came to visit him. When new fruit was brought
him he just tasted it, and gave thanks to God; but he took so little
as to show he did it only to avoid the vanity of singularity. Great
abstinence makes little sleep to suffice nature. Accordingly St.
Arsenius often passed the whole night in watching and prayer, as we
learn from his disciple Daniel. At other times, having watched a
considerable part of the night, when nature could hold out no longer,
he would allow himself a short repose, which he took sitting, after
which he resumed his wonted exercises. On Saturday evenings, as the
same disciple relates, it was his custom to go to prayers at sun-set,
and continue in that exercise with his hands lifted up to heaven till
the sun beat on his face the next morning. His affection for the holy
exercise of prayer, and his dread of the danger of vain-glory, gave
him the strongest love of retirement. He had two disciples who lived
near him, and did all his necessary business abroad. Their names were
Alexander and Zoilus; he afterward admitted a third, called Daniel.
All three were famous for their sanctity and discretion, and frequent
mention is made of them in the histories of the fathers of the
deserts of Egypt. St. Arsenius would seldom see strangers who came to
visit him, saying, he would only use his eyes to behold the heavens.
Theophilus, the patriarch of Alexandria, came one day in company
with a certain great officer and others to visit him, and begged he
would entertain them on some spiritual subject for the good of their
souls. The saint asked them whether they were disposed to comply with
his directions; and being answered in the affirmative, he replied;
“I entreat you, then, that wherever you are informed of Arsenius’s
abode, you would leave him to himself, and spare yourselves the
trouble of coming after him.” On another occasion, when the same
patriarch sent to know if he would open his door to him if he came,
St. Arsenius returned for answer, that if he came alone he would;
but that if he brought others with him he would seek out some other
place, and would stay there no longer. Melania, a noble Roman lady,
travelled as far as Egypt only to see Arsenius, and by means of
Theophilus, contrived to meet him as he was coming out of his cell.
She threw herself at his feet. The saint said to her, “A woman ought
not to leave her house. You have crossed these great seas that you
may be able to say at Rome that you have seen Arsenius, and raise in
others a curiosity to come and see me.” Not daring to lift up her
eyes, as she lay on the ground, she begged he would always remember
her and pray for her. He answered, “I pray that the remembrance of
you be blotted out of my mind.” Melania returned to Alexandria in
great grief at this answer: but Theophilus comforted her, saying, “He
only prayed that he might forget your person on account of your sex;
but as for your soul, doubt not but he will pray for you.”
The saint never visited his brethren, contenting himself with meeting
them at spiritual conferences. The abbot Mark asked him one day in
the name of the hermits, why he so much shunned their conversation?
The saint answered: “God knoweth how dearly I love you all; but I
find I cannot be both with God and with men at the same time; nor
can I think of leaving God to converse with men.” This disposition,
however, did not hinder him from giving short lessons of virtue to
his brethren, and several of his apophthegms are recorded among those
of the ancient fathers. He said often, “I have always something
to repent of after having conversed with men; but have never been
sorry for having been silent.” He had frequently in his mouth those
words which St. Euthymius and St. Bernard used also to repeat to
themselves, to renew their fervor in the discharge of the obligations
of their profession: “Arsenius, why hast thou forsaken the world, and
wherefore art thou come hither?” Being asked one day why he, being
so well versed in the sciences, sought the instruction and advice of
a certain monk who was an utter stranger to all human literature? he
replied, “I am not unacquainted with the learning of the Greeks and
Romans; but I have not yet learned the alphabet of the science of the
saints, whereof this seemingly ignorant person is master.”
Though the saint was excellently versed in sacred learning, and in
the maxims and practice of perfect Christian virtue, he never would
discourse on any point of scripture, and chose rather to hear than to
instruct or speak, making it the first part of his study to divest
his mind of all secret opinion of himself, or confidence in his own
abilities or learning; and this he justly called the foundation
of humility and all Christian virtue. Evagrius of Pontus, who had
distinguished himself at Constantinople by his learning, and had
retired to Jerusalem, and thence into the deserts of Nitria in 385,
expressed his surprise to our saint, that many very learned men
made no progress in virtue, whilst many Egyptians who knew not the
very letters of the alphabet arrived at a high degree of sublime
contemplation. To whom Arsenius made this answer: “We make no
progress in virtue, because we dwell in that exterior learning which
puffs up the mind; but these illiterate Egyptians have a true sense
of their own weakness, blindness, and insufficiency; by which they
are qualified to labor successfully in the pursuit of virtue.” This
saint used often to cry out to God with tears, in the most profound
sentiment of humility, “O Lord, forsake me not; I have done nothing
that can be acceptable in thy sight; but for the sake of thy infinite
mercy enable and assist me that I may now begin to serve thee
faithfully.”
Nothing is so remarkable or so much spoken of by the ancients
concerning our saint, as the perpetual tears which flowed from his
eyes almost without intermission. The source from which they sprung
was the ardor with which he sighed after the glorious light of
eternity, and the spirit of compunction with which he never ceased to
bewail the sins of his life past, and the daily imperfections into
which he fell. But nothing was more amiable or sweet than these tears
of devotion, as appeared in the venerable and majestic serenity of
his countenance. His example was a proof of what the saints assure
us concerning the sweetness of the tears of divine love. “When you
hear tears named,” says St. Chrysostom,[225] “do not represent to
yourselves any thing grievous or terrible. They are sweeter than
any carnal delights which the world can enjoy.” St. Austin says to
the same purpose:[226] “The tears of devotion are sweeter than the
joys of theatres.” St. John Climacus unfolds to us at large the
incomparable advantages and holy pleasure of pious tears, and among
other things writes thus:[227] “I am astonished when I consider the
happiness of holy compunction; and I wonder how carnal men can think
it affliction. It contains in it a pleasure and spiritual joy as
wax does honey. God in an invisible manner visits and comforts the
heart that is broken with this holy sorrow.” Saint Arsenius being
asked by a certain person what he must do to deliver himself from
a troublesome temptation of impure thoughts, the saint gave him
this answer,--“What did the Midianites do? They decked and adorned
their daughters, and led them to the Israelites, though they used no
violence upon them. Those among the servants of God that treated them
with severity, and revenged their treachery and criminal designs with
their blood, put a stop to their lewdness. Behave in the same manner
with regard to your evil thoughts. Repulse them vigorously, and
punish yourself for this attempt made in yourself towards a revolt.”
This great saint lived in a continual remembrance and apprehension
of death and the divine judgment. This made Theophilus, the busy
patriarch of Alexandria, cry out when he lay on his death-bed in 312:
“Happy Arsenius! who has had this moment always before his eyes.”
His tears did not disfigure his countenance, which, from the inward
peace and joy of his soul, mixed with sweet compunction; and from his
assiduous conversation with God, appeared to have something angelical
or heavenly; being equally venerable for a certain shining beauty,
and an inexpressible air of majesty and meekness, in a fair and
vigorous old age. The great and experienced master in a contemplative
life, St. John Climacus, proposes St. Arsenius as an accomplished
model, and calls him a man equal to the angels,[228] saying that he
shunned so rigorously the conversation of men, only that he might
not lose something more precious, which was God, who always filled
his soul. Our saint called it a capital and indispensable duty of
a monk never to intermeddle in any temporal concerns, and never to
listen to any news of the world. He was tall and comely, but stooped
a little in his old age; had a graceful mien, his hair was all white,
and his beard reached down to his girdle; but the tears which he
shed continually had worn away his eyelashes. He was forty years old
when he quitted the court, and he lived in the same austere manner
from that time to the age of ninety-five; he spent forty years in
the desert of Sceté, except that about the year 395, he was obliged
to leave it for a short time, on account of an irruption of the
Mazici, a barbarous people of Lybia; but the plunderers were no
sooner returned home but he hastened back to his former solitude,
where he remained till a second inroad of the same barbarians, in
which they massacred several hermits, compelled him entirely to
forsake this abode about the year 434. He retired weeping to the
rock of Troë, called also Petra, over against Memphis, and ten years
after, to Canopus near Alexandria; but not being able to bear the
neighborhood of that great city, he stayed here only three years;
then returned to Troë, where he died two years after. Knowing that
his end was drawing near he said to his disciples,--“One only thing
I beg of your charity, that when I am dead I may be remembered in
the holy sacrifice. If in my life I have done any thing that is
accepted by God, through his mercy, that I shall now find again.”
They were much grieved to hear him speak as if they were going soon
to lose him. Upon which he said, “My hour is not yet come. I will
acquaint you of it; but you shall answer at the tribunal of Christ,
if you suffer any thing belonging to me to be kept as a relic.” They
said with tears (being solicitous for a funeral procession), “What
shall we do alone, father? for we know not how to bury the dead.”
The saint answered, “Tie a cord to my feet, and drag my carcass to
the top of the mountain, and there leave it.” His brethren seeing
him weep in his agony, said to him, “Father, why do you weep? are
you like others, afraid to die?” The saint answered, “I am seized
with great fear: nor has this dread ever forsaken me from the time I
first came into these deserts.” The saints all serve God in fear and
trembling, in the constant remembrance of his judgment; but this is
always accompanied with a sweet confidence in his infinite love and
mercies. The Holy Ghost indeed so diversifies his gifts and graces
as to make these dispositions more sensible in some than in others.
Notwithstanding this fear, St. Arsenius expired in great peace,
full of faith, and of that humble confidence which perfect charity
inspires, about the year 449. He was ninety-five years old, of which
he had spent fifty-five in the desert. Abbot Pemen having seen him
expire, said with tears, “Happy Arsenius! who have wept for yourself
so much here on earth! Those who weep not here shall weep eternally
hereafter.” This saint was looked upon by the most eminent monks of
succeeding ages as a most illustrious pattern of their state. The
great St. Euthymius endeavored in all his exercises to form himself
upon the model of his life, and to copy in himself his humility,
his meekness and constant evenness of mind, his abstinences and
watching, his compunction and tears, his love of retirement, his
charity, discretion, fervor, assiduous application to prayer, and
that greatness of soul which appeared with so much lustre in all his
actions. The name of St. Arsenius occurs in the Roman Martyrology on
the 19th of July. See his life written by St. Theodore the Studite;
and another in Metaphrastes; also the Lives of the Fathers of the
Desert, in Rosweide and D’Andilly, t. 2, p. 183, collated with a very
fair ancient MS. probably of Saint Edmund’s-bury, more ample than
that published by Rosweide, in the hands of Mr. Martin, attorney at
law in Palgrave, in Suffolk. See likewise the Apophthegms of the
Fathers in Cotelier’s Monumenta Ecclesiæ Græcæ; the collections and
remarks of Pinius the Bollandist, Jul. t. 4, p. 605, and F. Marian,
Vies des Pères des Déserts d’Orient, t. 3, p. 284 ad 339.