Coptic Monasticism: Past and Present
Coptic Monasticism: Past and Present
Monasticism began as a life of solitude and prayer, entirely separated from the world, from service, and from priesthood—embraced by people who died to the world and never turned back to it.
The early fathers were not content merely to live within monasteries; they left them for the mountains and deserts, wandering in them. Some even reached the level of the anchorites (souwah), each living for tens of years without seeing another human face.
Today, however, the world has crept into the monasteries, and contact with towns and villages has become much easier.
Transportation from the city to the monastery is now simple. Means of communication have multiplied until telephones now connect monasteries with cities—and even across seas and oceans to other continents. Travel has become easy, not only by car but also by airplane. Conversations between monks and visitors have increased.
Where then is the life of solitude and isolation?
And where is death to the world—something now so rare it may be counted on one’s fingers? Where is the order of the anchorites among the monks? The nature of the solitary life has changed. Who still lives it today?
Monasticism was once a life of strict asceticism, completely detached from money and possessions. The monk vowed voluntary poverty—owning nothing, neither inheriting nor passing on inheritance. His cell was as poor as he was. His whole life was fasting, yet his health was better than ours today. He walked the mountains without tiring, spent days without exhaustion or complaint.
They were earthly angels or heavenly humans whose virtues amazed people, who sought their prayers. They trained themselves in continual prayer—prayers that were like breathing, unceasing day and night, praising God without interruption or weariness. They occupied themselves with nothing but prayer. Therefore, they preferred silence, giving themselves time to speak with God. Hence it was said:
“Monasticism is the detachment from all things for the sake of attachment to the One, who is God.”
Do we now live the life of prayer? Or are there many distractions pulling us away from God?
Do we find our sufficiency in Him—He who fills the heart and mind so that we need nothing else? Or does God still reproach us with His words to Martha: “You are worried and troubled about many things, but one thing is needed” (Luke 10:41–42)? Is all our concern focused on that one thing, the good portion?
Has the monastic goal remained as it was in the fourth century? Have the means remained the same—solitude, prayer, and asceticism? Or have we changed—or even lost—the goal?
Do the writings and lives of the fathers rebuke us? The works of Palladius, Cassian, Rufinus, Barsanuphius, and Isaiah the Solitary? Can the time ever return to what it was in the days of the fathers? Do we even desire and strive for that?
Could there be another Antony, another Paul, one of the three Macarii, or any of our saintly fathers?
And if we tried to establish a monastery like those of the fourth or fifth century, would we find monks willing to live in it?
It is a prayer we lift up to God—that He may restore to us our past, that we may love it and live in it, not be captivated by the present world or deceived by its ways, forgetting why the fathers left it—preferring the desert, of which it was said:
“Merely looking upon the wilderness kills the worldly passions of the heart.”
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Article by His Holiness Pope Shenouda III, El-Keraza Magazine, Year 28, Issues 25–26 (July 14, 2000)
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