Death of the Desert: Monastic Memory and the Loss of Egypt's Golden Age

By Christine Luckritz Marquis

In the late fourth century, the world of Christianity was torn apart by debate over the teachings of the third-century theologian Origen and his positions on the incorporeality of God. In the year 400, Archbishop Theophilus of Alexandria convened a council declaring Origen's later followers as heretics. Shortly thereafter, Theophilus banished the so-called Tall Brothers, four Origenist monks who led monastic communities in the western Egyptian desert, along with hundreds of their brethren. In some accounts, Theophilus leads a violent group of drunken youths and enslaved Ethiopians in sacking and desecrating the monastery; in others, he justly exercises his episcopal duties. In some versions, Theophilus' violent actions effectively bring the Golden Age of desert monasticism to an end; in others, he has shown proper respect for the desert fathers, whose life of asceticism is subsequently destroyed by bands of barbarian marauders. For some, the desert came to be inextricably connected to violence and trauma, while for others, it became a site of nostalgic recollection.

Which of these narratives subsequent generations believed depended in good part on the sources they were reading. In Death of the Desert, Christine Luckritz Marquis offers a fresh examination of this critical juncture in Christian history and brings into dialogue narrative strands that have largely been separated in the scholarly tradition. She takes the violence perpetrated by Theophilus as a turning point for desert monasticism and considers how monks became involved in acts of violence and how that violence came back to haunt them. More broadly, her careful attention to the dynamic relations between memory practices, the rhetorical constructions of place, racialized discourse, and language and deeds of violence speak to us in our own time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: University of Pennsylvania Press
• Release date: Mar 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9780812298239

Book preview

Cover Page for Death of the Desert

Death of the Desert

Divinations: Rereading Late Ancient Religion

Series Editors:

Daniel Boyarin, Virginia Burrus, Derek Krueger

A complete list of books in the series is available from the publisher.

Death of the Desert

Monastic Memory and the Loss of Egypt’s Golden Age

Christine Luckritz Marquis

UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA PRESS

PHILADELPHIA

Copyright © 2022 University of Pennsylvania Press

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A catalogue record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

ISBN 978-0-8122-5362-7

For Tim

Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1. Imagining and Inhabiting the Desert

Chapter 2. Psalmody and Prayer as Ascetic Weapons

Chapter 3. Monks and Memory Sanctions

Chapter 4. The Desert and the Discourse on Barbarians

Chapter 5. Reordering the Desert

Epilogue

Notes

Bibliography

Index

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Having liquored up some youths, he [Archbishop Theophilus] fell upon the monasteries in the dead of night. . . . First, he ordered that their saintly brother Dioscorus, bishop of the mountain, be deposed from his throne, literally dragged away by enslaved Ethiopians. . . . Next, he raided the mountain, giving the few possessions of the monks to his hired youths. . . . He set their cells on fire with sticks, burning all the sacred books of Scripture and other valued texts.

—Palladius, Dialogue on the Life of John Chrysostom 7.31‒34, 37‒38, 41‒42

Under the cover of darkness, Archbishop Theophilus and his band of accomplices stormed the desert monastic community at the mountain of Nitria. Enslaved individuals violated Bishop Dioscorus’s body and the sacrality of his bishop’s throne. Meanwhile, the drunken youths hired by Theophilus quickly looted and destroyed monastic property. Soon, the pitch-black sky filled with the light of homes set aflame. Fire devoured Scriptures, other valued texts, and perhaps even took the life of a young boy. The shock of unexpected violence, of abuse and destruction, traumatized the monks. Many left the Egyptian desert in the immediate aftermath. Although they had thought their desert home removed from the world, the monks living in the desert were no longer able to maintain their fragile illusion of separation. The monks were no longer safe, no longer outside the grasp of worldly, ecclesial power. Theophilus’s raid rent the monks from their home and shattered the powerful mystique of the desert. The desert as it had been known was dead.

This vignette describing events that occurred in 401 C.E. introduces several of the individuals and adjacent communities central to this book. Theophilus was archbishop of Alexandria from 385 until his death in 412. Initially a student and then a friend of the monks at Nitria, his attack on them marked a sudden and sharp shift in attitude. Prominent among these monks were a group known as the Tall Brothers: Dioscorus, Ammonius, Eusebius, and Euthymius. All four Tall Brothers were ascetics whom others frequently sought for advice and wisdom. Dioscorus, the local bishop, was especially revered. His appointment as bishop to the monks served as a marker of the respect with which the larger monastic community held him. The struggle that ensued pitted worldly, ecclesial power, as represented by Theophilus, against ascetic ideals, as represented by Dioscorus and his fellow Tall Brothers.

Other characters play unnamed but critical roles in the scene above. There are the unknown Nitrian colleagues and supporters of the Tall Brothers. They are depicted in the full version of this story as all rallying around Dioscorus and the other Tall Brothers, hiding three of them from the violence of Theophilus and his band. There are the drunken youths and the enslaved Ethiopians. Both of these groups would have been viewed as unsavory, as the mention of hired young men and enslaved Ethiopians would have evoked tropes concerning violent bandits and uncivilized barbarians, respectively. Finally, there is the author behind the vignette: Palladius, bishop of Helenopolis. Although he paints the scene quite vividly, in the passage from which this excerpt is taken (from his Dialogue on the Life of John Chrysostom) he makes clear that he was not himself present. Formerly a member of the northwestern desert’s ascetic community, Palladius had left shortly before the events described in order to become bishop of Helenopolis, serving under Theophilus’s rival John Chrysostom, archbishop of Constantinople. Palladius relates that his knowledge of Theophilus’s violence came from eyewitnesses—presumably, the Tall Brothers and their Nitrian supporters—who fled Egypt the next day, ultimately arriving in Constantinople by way of Palestine.¹

Previous scholarship has largely glossed over this moment of violence in the Egyptian desert, if it has noted it at all. Consigned to an early chapter in the so-called Origenist controversy, a theological dispute that eventually spanned much of the Christian world, Theophilus’s attack has been treated as an anomalous event in Egyptian monasticism’s otherwise peaceful Golden Age. In this book, however, I argue that this violent incident ought to hold an important place in historical narrations not only of the Origenist controversy but also of late fourth-century Egyptian monasticism more broadly, and of how it was later remembered. Understanding the significance of Theophilus’s attack will require carefully revisiting scholarly reliance on a collection of sayings known as the Sayings of the Desert Fathers (hereafter, Sayings). Although some scholars have recognized the largely nostalgic cast of the Sayings’s depiction of Egyptian monasticism, many still either engage the sayings as relatively transparent historical windows or unintentionally repeat earlier scholarly assertions built on such uncritical readings.² But the Sayings are not straightforward memories retained and passed down pristinely from monastic generation to monastic generation.³ Rather, they are reconstructed memorials made by late fifth-century monks in Palestine who gathered and edited the sayings to serve their community’s purposes. At best, what was retained across the fifth century were reverberations of a remembered past, one that sought to efface the actual trauma that brought the Golden Age to a close—that is, Theophilus’s violence.

This book tells several overlapping stories at once. It moves through chronological layers of the late fourth and early fifth centuries, the late fifth century, and the modern colonial and post-colonial periods. At its base, it attempts to figure out what we can meaningfully say about the history of the late fourth- and early fifth-century Egyptian desert—a time and a place that take on quasi-canonical status in monastic memory and tradition. It is crucial to begin by attending to contemporary voices: Evagrius of Pontus, a transplant to the Egyptian desert but a pupil of some of the most prominent desert abbas and the desert’s most prolific extant writer; Palladius of Helenopolis, who wrote not only the Dialogue excerpted above but also the better known Lausiac History; John Cassian, a previous member of the desert community who went on to found monasteries in Roman Gaul; Rufinus of Aquileia, a visitor and later regular correspondent with the Egyptian brethren; Theophilus of Alexandria himself, whose extant letters remain in translation and help us understand not only his attack on Nitria but also its context and his motives; Jerome, a one-time visitor to the Egyptian desert and later Bethlehem-based ascetic competitor; and the anonymous author of the History of the Monks of Egypt (sometimes referred to by its Latin title, Historia Monachoarum in Aegypto), the narrated travelogue of some adventurous Palestinian monks. Although scholars have previously deemed the writings of several of these authors to be too one-sided, partial, or hagiographical for reconstruction of the fourth-century Egyptian desert, I foreground them for their contemporaneity: All were written by figures who actually lived among or near the northwestern Egyptian desert monks or who visited them. As with the Sayings, the biases of these sources are themselves part of the history to be told, but they do not fully control the writings or the historical uses that can be made of them.

It is not inaccurate to highlight, for example, that Palladius is negatively biased in his presentation of Theophilus’s attack or that Cassian’s focus is more on appropriation of Egyptian monastic culture for his Gaulic monasteries than on presenting it on its own terms.⁴ However, I contend that historians can account for the agendas of these authors, situating their descriptions in context rather than erasing them from histories of fourth-century Egyptian monasticism. Both Palladius and Cassian had Evagrius as an abba during their tenure in Egypt. Thus, when they share thoughts on monastic life that resonate with Evagrius despite their later agendas, we would do well to note this congruence. That Rufinus and his counterpart Melania the Elder sent Evagrius to the Egyptian abbas in the first place highlights the tight network of many of our sources. As Elizabeth Clark argued several decades ago, the social networks of these fourth-century figures were rich, complex, and often entangled through both alignment and confrontation.⁵ Theophilus and, to a lesser extent, Jerome offer important evidence of individuals who once allied themselves with the northwestern Egyptian monks but who later found themselves in deadly opposition to the abbas. I do not disagree that this list of authors fails to offer us a complete or fully accurate picture of this era of Egyptian monasticism. But if we accept that the text of the Sayings does not offer a direct window into the late fourth- and early fifth-century Egyptian desert, then we must wrestle fully with the witnesses we do have. As I show throughout this book, doing so reveals the politics that permeated not only the lives and careers of monastics and bishops but also the desert itself and its later legacy.

That later legacy constitutes the second and third layers of my historical reconstruction. I explore how particular portrayals of the earlier era came to be, alternately, either amplified or erased by other authors across the fifth century, especially in the depictions found in the Sayings. Given that the pithy format and legendary nature of the Sayings calls for careful contextualization, I attempt to align them with known fourth-century witnesses in order to understand both what the later Sayings tradition retained and how it altered or expanded these traditions for new purposes in Gaza. By attending to the dynamics of the late fifth-century, post-Origenist world, I show how later authors suppressed Theophilus’s violent role in monastic loss and instead played on popular rhetorical schemas concerning the inherent violence among barbarians, focusing on the propensity of desert attacks from barbarian raiders, to account for damage wrought in the desert. Finally, to explain how this late fifth-century revision came to be uncritically accepted by modern historians, I unpack and address the historiographical reasons for the replacement of fourth-century monastic voices and Theophilus’s violence with the Sayings and tales of barbarian attacks. This last layer is far more recent, inviting us to grapple with the racialized rhetoric of a colonialist and post-colonialist scholarly world that made such a continued misremembering possible.

Ultimately, this book demonstrates that the sources for the Origenist controversy and the Sayings must be considered alongside one another in order to more accurately trace the history of monasticism in both late fourth- to early fifth-century Egypt and late fifth-century Palestine. The violent attack of Theophilus with which we began serves as a pivotal link between these two important areas of late ancient scholarship. Moreover, violence is a critical thread that weaves through the three historical eras this book covers. Indeed, I argue that violence was inherent in the Egyptian monastic project from its outset. The desert as it was imagined did not exist without ascetic violence—violence in struggle with the demons, especially through prayer and psalmody, and divinely sanctioned violence against self and others when needed. This violent orientation of ascetics coupled with rhetorical portrayals of barbarians as inherently violent made it imaginable for late fifth-century collators of the Sayings to memorialize their predecessors as being even more violent than they portrayed themselves and to displace Theophilus’s attack with stories of ravaging barbarians. Later, and in turn, modern colonialist violence that authorized domination of other peoples and their lands produced modern scholars who could easily accept narratives about barbarian attacks as congruent with contemporary experiences of the uncivilized Other. Although my main focus is on following the dialogue between ideological and real violence in the fourth and early fifth centuries, it is not hard to imagine that the later periods I consider more briefly could yield further examples of this dialogic relation. Among late fourth- to early fifth-century Christians, a dynamic relationship between ideologies of the violent ascetic and actual performances of violent activities culminated in a traumatic desecration of the desert. What I have dubbed the death of the desert was the death of an ideal as much as anything. It was not the result of an ecological disaster. Nor was it brought about by so-called barbarian raids. It did not even represent a total abandonment of the desert by monks. Rather, the phrase is meant to describe the loss felt by late ancient Christians, lay and monk alike, across the fifth century after the possibility and power that had been projected onto the Egyptian desert and its ascetic inhabitants was shattered by Archbishop Theophilus’s raid on the monks.

Origenist Controversy

Palladius’s story above is extracted from a much longer text, his Dialogue on the Life of John Chrysostom, written less than a decade after Theophilus’s raid, a year or two after Chrysostom had died in exile in 407, and in the immediate aftermath of the Origenist controversy. The controversy over Origen’s works, written more than a century and a half before, arose because their increasing popularity over the latter half of the fourth century, in a post-Nicene world, had implications both for late ancient Christian theology and for ascetic praxis. Epiphanius, bishop of Cyprus, had already linked Origen and another heretic, Arius, in the 370s. In his linking of heretical movements, Epiphanius asserted that Origen’s ill-formed ideas about the Godhead had begotten Arius’s heretical view of the Son. Because such a genealogical chain of tainted theological ideas could be traced back to Origen’s texts, Epiphanius asserted that anyone who engaged Origen’s works or built upon them were Origenist heretics. Thus, a large swath of Christian bishops and ascetics faced accusations of heresy.

While Theophilus initially sought to arbitrate between Epiphanius and John of Jerusalem, whom Epiphanius targeted as an Origenist, Theophilus soon himself began deploying the language of Origenism as heresy in his accusations against John Chrysostom, the Tall Brothers, and their fellow refugee ascetics. Theophilus could successfully smear the Egyptian monks as Origenists because of the crucial role that Origen’s teachings had come to play in ascetic views of human embodiment and materiality.⁶ The argument circled around how humanity was to understand its creation in the image of God. Interpretations of the transformability of bodies and the role and form of matter in the individual’s return to the divine were crucial to the monastic practices that unfolded in the desert and to the meaning of the desert itself. Most individuals involved inflected their views concerning matter and embodiment through their opinions on how or whether to import Origen’s teachings on the descent and eventual return of the soul. The writings of Evagrius of Pontus, whom I mentioned above and who spent the latter part of his life in the northwestern desert as an ascetic, represent the elaborations of Origen’s views most often under scrutiny. As will be discussed in Chapters 1 and 2, Evagrius’s expansion of Origen’s system affected how monks understood demonic comportment and activity as well as what it meant to be a monk striving to pray and psalm like the angels. That is, Origen’s thought permeated every aspect of asceticism for those who accepted Origen. Moreover, the developing ecclesial hierarchy often perceived the powerful movement of asceticism as a potential competitor to be defeated or at least tamed.⁷ A nexus of these many issues was acutely present both in Alexandria and in the ascetic communities of the northwestern Egyptian desert. In this way, the struggle around Origen was not only a theological battle but also one that pitted ecclesial authority against monastic empowerment—precisely the battle lines drawn by Theophilus’s raid.

Palladius’s rendition of events is one of four roughly contemporary sources for telling the history of the Origenist controversy. Palladius sought to rehabilitate the damned memory of Chrysostom as well as to salvage the reputations of Chrysostom’s compatriots—including Palladius himself—from the noxious title of Origenist. To do so, Palladius narrated not just the raid of the Egyptian desert but also the larger ecclesial struggle between Theophilus and John Chrysostom. It is in this deeply oppositional context that we should place Palladius’s particular recounting of Theophilus’s entrance into the desert. His version is not merely or even primarily a factual retelling of the events that unfolded between the Tall Brothers and Theophilus. Instead, his story is meant to persuade a larger audience of Theophilus’s unjust behavior and of the so-called Origenists’ orthodoxy and unjustified mistreatment.⁸

By the time of Palladius’s Dialogue, Theophilus had already publicly proclaimed his version of events. From the moment he entered the desert in 401, Theophilus attempted to control the narrative of his actions through letter writing. Among the most important letters for understanding his position are those addressed to the bishops of Palestine and Cyprus, to Pope Anastasius I seeking Roman support, to Jerome as his translator for a wider Latin-speaking audience, and to the monks living in the desert, including one especially addressed to the community of Scetis near Nitria, and even one to the Origenist brothers themselves. In his letters to his Palestinian and Cypriote ecclesial counterparts, Theophilus asserted that it was the Tall Brothers and their community who had been hostile and violent toward him and his numerous supporters.⁹ Repeatedly throughout the letter, Theophilus links their aggressive behavior to their wayward, Origenist beliefs. Thus, he articulates a version of events that portrays violent ascetic behavior and heretical ascetic views as part of a seamless whole. Such a vision of monks as violent was possible because violence was already baked into the ascetic project. As I argue in Chapters 1–3 of this book, the desert was imaged as the battlefield of ascetics and the ascetics themselves as angelic-like conduits of divine violence. Thus, Theophilus could easily warp the broader late ancient image of monastic violence from one of righteous zeal to one of heretical danger. Similar vitriolic critiques of the Tall Brothers and their fellow brethren filled the letters to Anastasius I and Jerome.¹⁰ Theophilus’s actions, however, were not well-received by the monks, as is hinted at in his letter to the Scetian brethren in which he implies that he had little choice but to correct their heretical ways.¹¹ By contrast, Theophilus’s letter to the Origenist brothers is far less conciliatory.¹² In it, he exhorts them to repent, especially as Anastasius I and his fellow western bishops have likewise condemned the brothers. Across his letters, Theophilus paints the monks as wayward, Origen-mad brethren whom he has reluctantly had to chastise and then expel from the Church as its protector.

Beyond the prominent writings of Palladius and Theophilus, two other texts mention the fight between Theophilus and the Nitrian brethren: an anonymous eulogy for John Chrysostom and the Dialogues of Sulpicius Severus. The Funeral Oration, composed in the immediate wake of Chrysostom’s death in exile in 407, is the work of someone in his circle of followers. Traditionally, the piece had been attributed to a certain Martyrius, who cannot be the author as he had already died. For this reason, the author of the Oration is often referred to as Ps.-Martyrius. The most plausible candidates for authorship are either Philip of Side or Cosmas the deacon, but there remains no scholarly consensus.¹³ Thus, while the nomenclature of Ps.-Martyrius is inexact, I follow it in this book. Despite the lack of precise knowledge of the author’s identity, there can be no question that the text emerged from John’s community of supporters. The Funerary Oration clearly is meant to serve panegyric purposes in the absence of a proper funeral for Chrysostom. Given its purpose of praising Chrysostom and exonerating him from accusations of Origenism, it is perhaps surprising that Theophilus’s attack on the Nitrian monks receives mention at all. While precisely what occurred in the desert is not discussed, the charges that were brought against Theophilus are. In Ps.-Martyrius’s larger caricature of Theophilus as the Devil’s servant, Theophilus’s abuse of the holy men functions as proof of his unholy nature.

Perhaps the briefest and most circumspect of any of the witnesses is that of Sulpicius Severus. A Latin ascetic who lived in Gaul and, as a devotee, had also authored the Life of Martin, Sulpicius Severus wrote his Dialogues partially as an attempt at competitive one-upmanship with the Egyptian monastic community. Situated in his own local struggles in Gaul concerning appropriate ascetic severity, he tells the story of a certain Postumianus who had recently visited Egypt and returned to relay stories of their lives. Written between 403 and 406, Sulpicius Severus’s Dialogues witnesses, however briefly, to the optics of the ensuing Origenist controversy. Through Postumianus, he describes the strife that had broken out between bishops and monks in Egypt.¹⁴ Postumianus was purportedly invited to stay with Theophilus while in Egypt, an invitation he demurely declined. When explaining to his Gaulic counterparts why he refused Theophilus’s invitation, he expresses his discomfort at keeping company with one who had so mistreated fellow brethren. Thus, Sulpicius Severus allows a glimpse into how Theophilus’s actions vis-à-vis the Nitrian brethren were perceived by western monks.

As my description of each source indicates, every witness to the attack on the Nitrian brethren narrates the events within a larger political agenda. Lacking a version from the Tall Brothers or any Nitrian monk of Theophilus’s entrance into the desert, only these depictions remain. In order to best image what happened between Theophilus and the monks, I weigh these competing narrations against one another in Chapter 5. Taken together, we glimpse the fraught relations among many of the Egyptian bishops and monks as well as the ramifications the image of monks as violent had for late ancient Christians throughout the Roman Empire, especially as regarded the power and meaning of the image of the Egyptian desert. Later fifth-century memorializations of this moment, and of earlier Egyptian ascetics more generally, would amplify several aspects of an earlier period: Images of holy monastic violence and the desert as the locus of such violence became more vivid and intense in later reimaginings of the lost fourth-century past, especially as found in the famous apothegmatic collection Sayings of the Desert Fathers.

Sayings of the Desert Fathers

To refer to the Sayings is not to point to a singular text but rather to a rich and complex tradition. The Sayings are collections of short stories, sometimes even just single sentences. The narratives themselves attribute content primarily (though not exclusively) to ascetics of fourth-century Egypt. This pretext helps explain how the Sayings have held a place of prominence in historiography of the origins of fourth-century monasticism in Egypt. At their origins, most apothegms plausibly circulated as oral knowledge rather than as written records, though at least one small grouping of sayings was already written down in the late fourth century.¹⁵ Pithy wisdom of the desert mothers and fathers was eventually collected and textualized in multiple formats (e.g., alphabetical, anonymous, and systematic) and in a wide variety of languages (Greek, Coptic, Latin, Syriac, Ethiopic, and Arabic, to name just a few). This textual evidence indicates the popularity this tradition quickly gained and still has in many Christian circles.

The fact that most scholarship now situates the earliest Sayings collations in the late fifth or early sixth century at a Palestinian monastic center, well after the conclusion of the first Origenist controversy,¹⁶ has been used to bolster the scholarly consensus that the Sayings are anti-Origenist in nature. Although I concur with the Palestinian contextualization of the Sayings, describing the Sayings as simply anti-Origenist is problematic. Instead, this book argues that the Sayings offer a muted critique of both sides in the Origenist controversy. The juxtaposition of the nuanced voices attributed to Evagrius of Pontus and the Tall Brother Dioscorus within the Sayings, however, alongside those of Theophilus and Epiphanius of Cyprus, is indeed notable in apothegmatic collections. A particular saying attributed to Abba Lot is often pointed to as explicitly asserting an anti-Origenist position. Even James Goehring, who has been a prominent voice in asserting monastic ability to live in the midst of theological diversity, reads the saying as anti-Origenist.¹⁷ While such an interpretation is possible, it is by no means the only one.

The saying is a brief story of an ill, elder monk who came to live with Lot.¹⁸ When this old abba begins quoting Origen to visitors, Lot becomes anxious. Unsure of how to handle this disturbing situation, Lot visits Abba Arsenius to seek advice. Arsenius suggests not kicking out the old man but rather asking him either to be silent regarding Origen or to leave. Understandably, the saying has been slotted into the stark divides that emerged between advocates of Origen and their opponents. But nowhere does the saying actually critique Origen’s teachings. The tale does not explicitly depict the old abba as errant for quoting Origen. His behavior nonetheless causes distress. Such upset around discussing Origen’s writings only makes sense after the first Origenist controversy. And although the story might record a situation that occurred right after Theophilus’s attack on Nitria, the saying does not appear in the older Greek or Syriac traditions or in the extant Sahidic Coptic tradition. More plausible is that the story was invented later, a context that might indicate anti-Origenism. Or it might express in a coded way continued anxiety around the appearance or politics of monks engaging Origen’s works at all rather than a harsh condemnation of the content of so-called Origenist interpretation.

Whom Lot seeks advice from—Abba Arsenius—is also important for interpreting the passage. The later tradition depicts Arsenius as coming from a powerful background and having deep connections to the imperial family, having been a teacher of the emperors Arcadius and Honorius during their youth.¹⁹ And while the Sayings includes a few stories attributed specifically to Theophilus (more on those in a moment), Theophilus is also prominent as a figure appearing in Sayings stories concerning Arsenius. The archbishop visits, desires to visit, or desires to send a visitor to Arsenius on these occasions.²⁰ Every instance narrates Arsenius’s disinterest or even outright hostility to such visits. In one saying in particular, Theophilus decides not to visit Arsenius because of the answer he receives.²¹ That is, Theophilus submits to Arsenius’s wishes rather than assert his ecclesial authority. Likewise, in a saying attributed to Theophilus on his deathbed, he proclaims Arsenius as wiser for having always held God’s final judgment in his mind.²² If we accept as reliable Arsenius’s previous prominent role in the early lives of