‘In a province which has no monasteries, you desire that a manner of
life should be organised after that of the East, and above all of Egypt.’

—   Cassian, Inst. Prol. 3.

Before we begin this small investigation into the works of John Cassian, perhaps a few disclaimers need be made.  This paper will not address the early life and history of Cassian in much detail—apart from the formative influence of his experience in Egypt whilst a relatively young man.  To this end the recent study by Stewart and the earlier work by Chadwick comprise as complete a picture as can be ascertained by the scant historical evidence we possess today.  Nor will this paper deal overtly with the issue of grace and free will, which has been so influential and controversial a topic in Cassian study, since the author’s own lifetime; or with the question of Evagrian and Origenist influences on Cassian’s own theology.

Instead, this paper will focus on Cassian’s activities in southern Gaul, where in the early fifth century, having only recently arrived from Constantinople, Egypt, and Rome, he established his two monasteries in the diocese of Apt and earned himself the popular title of ‘bridge between the East and West.’  To be sure, there were already monasteries in the region of Marseilles [1] —though not in Apt [2] —yet Cassian’s writings betray a sense of newness to his project; his were not simply two more monasteries, they were two new monasteries, different from those already present in Gaul in that they were based in and founded upon the monastic culture Cassian himself had witnessed, and grown to love, in the desert of Egypt.  His intentions were thus unique in his time, and it is upon this idea—upon Cassian’s proposition for a non-Egyptian monasticism—that this paper will focus.

John Cassian appears as one who saw the Christian East as something more than mere geography; it represented a practical, ascetical, mystical spirituality that could extend far beyond geographical limitations—as his own story would show.  Born in a region of which we can only make an educated guess, his youth brought him to Bethlehem, and his zeal carried him to Egypt for a life-changing experience of desert monasticism at its peak.  From this point forward, though he would only spend a small handful of years in Egypt, and even fewer in Constantinople before heading west, Cassian’s heart was in the East.  All his writings would build off of his experience there: most notably his Institutes and Conferences, which deal explicitly with Egyptian monasticism; but even his De Incarnatione, a highly polemical work, would betray an intense grounding in the spirituality of Eastern Christianity.

Yet while his heart may have been in the East, Cassian’s life was certainly spent in the West—and this is where it takes on its great interest to modern study, and where it has found its great influence throughout the history of Western monasticism in general.  Cassian’s purpose, in the establishment of his two monasteries and his composition of his two monastic works, was to bring about an Eastern monasticism outside of the East.  Or perhaps more accurately, an Egyptian monasticism outside of Egypt. [3]   This is clearly stated in his prologue to the Institutes:

Whether or not the imitation of East is what Bishop Castor of Apt really desired is questionable, but it is certainly what Cassian wanted.  He appears to have felt a certain displeasure with the Gaulish monasticism of his day: it was founded too much upon the desires and whims of its present teachers, and focused too greatly upon miraculous men and events—events which Cassian did not deny, but did not believe were at the heart of a true monastic life.

Cassian’s proposition for a non-Egyptian monasticism needs be no more clearly stated than it is here, in his own words.  In the relatively short period of time he spent in Egypt, he witnessed an ascetic life and practise that included the foundational, practical elements of spiritual change which Cassian thought essential: the gradual, forceful correction of faults, and the slow though faithful progression toward Christian perfection (vita perfecta).  Perhaps his own monastic foundation in Bethlehem, which seems not to have impressed him much, made him aware of the gem he had found in Egypt; and, having found what he considered to be a nearly ideal monastic situation, he desired to imitate it to the best of his ability in other regions of the world.

Here an important point must be made: I have previously referred to Cassian as one who desired to bring about an Eastern monasticism outside the East, but this is not wholly correct.  It is not that Egyptian monasticism was ‘Eastern’ that attracted him to it; Cassian was not overtly reverent of specific localities simply for their historic value (see his soft dislike for Bethlehem’s institutions).  It was the immanent value of the Egyptian religious experience that attracted Cassian; the fact that in this place, through all its traditions and customs, men truly did grow closer to God, lives were changed, and Christ was glorified.  In this sense, Cassian saw Egypt as a place in which the Gospel message was acted upon and lived to a measure he had not witnessed elsewhere.  Its lifestyle encouraged and fostered a spirituality most closely approximating that commended to and by the Apostles.  Chadwick writes that for Cassian, ‘the life of the monk was the Apostolic life,’ [6] and in this light we might re-evaluate our above claim: I believe Cassian’s goal was to establish in Gaul a monastic institution that would promote a truly Apostolic way of life in the Church, based on the icon of Egyptian monasticism, not because it was Egyptian, but because Cassian believed Egyptian tradition to be the living representation of Apostolic tradition itself. [7]

A degree of practicality is found in Cassian’s monastic writings which, though not as readily apparent and fundamental as the advice given in the Apothegmata, nevertheless represents an integral part of his spirituality.  This is nowhere more evident than in his treatment of the East from his home in the West.  His use of Egypt as a ‘living icon’ for the Apostolic life of the Church has been addressed above, but what is especially telling about Cassian’s view of monastic spirituality in general, is the use he makes of this metaphorical icon in the establishment of his own institutions in Gaul.  For Cassian, the monastic life of Egypt was a tool; and however great a tool may be, it is not the tool itself which is ultimately to be set on high, but the end for which it designed to be an aid.  To this end, Cassian presents what is perhaps a surprisingly flexible attitude toward his imitation of the East.

We see this in his discussion on monastic dress, found in Book I of the Institutes, where Cassian discusses the attire of the monks in Egypt and in so doing, sets it forth as a model—a kind of ‘rule’—for those in Marseilles.  For our present purpose, the tenth chapter is the most important.  After spending the previous chapter describing the Egyptians’ sandals and their symbolic meaning, Cassian makes a statement of which the full importance lies hidden under its immediate details: the winters in Gaul are too severe for sandals to be worn—or even the single tunic of the desert—and thus adaptation must be made in order to fit their particular situation. [8]   Beneath these words we discover a conception of tradition that underlies Cassian’s whole mode of thought: it is a thing of spiritual utility, holy in that it brings about the personal growth in Christ which is the centre of the Apostolic Faith, but flexible—and in this sense practical—in that it can and should be changed to fulfill that aim in differing circumstances.

Beyond the above example of monastic dress, we find this same principle at play in Cassian’s use of the Eastern heritage as a whole: though his preference was certainly for Egypt, he also made use of the models of Palestine and Mesopotamia as he saw best fit, altering even these where necessary.  And his departures and alterations were not always of the small sort: one notices perhaps the most striking departure from the Egyptian pattern in Cassian’s promotion of the coenobitic, rather than the eremitic, life in Gaul.  When the spiritual goal of the Apostolic life was best aided by a change—even a great change—in particular monastic traditions, Cassian found it both defensible and necessary to make the change.  His goal, as Chadwick states, was the ‘choosing and sifting and interpreting [of] the East to create a body of institutes suitable to Gaul.’ [9]

We might end our brief discussion on Cassian’s proposal for a non-Egyptian monasticism with an examination of a pithy Latin phrase often connected with surveys of his thought: ex oriente lux, ‘a light from the East.’  This was indeed the motivation and driving force behind his ventures in Gaul, and throughout his writings we find it as the principle by which he approached both monasticism and Christian spirituality in general.  Yet it is not the Oriente of this phrase from which he would have derived its meaning, but the lux.  If Cassian served as a ‘bridge’ between East and West, it is only because he knew that the Light of Christ transcends the physical location of both, and the traditions used to approach it in Egypt could have the same effect anywhere in creation.

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