Chapter 2

Such a moonless darkness, then, having fallen upon the land of the Indians, and the faithful being driven on every side while the shield-bearers of impiety grew strong — the very air itself being defiled by the blood and the reek of the sacrifices — one of the king's men, by rank a chief satrap, surpassed all the others in steadfastness of soul, in stature and beauty, and in everything else by which the bloom of the body and the noble courage of the soul are wont to be marked. When this man heard that impious decree, he bade farewell to that vain glory and luxury that drag a man downward, and mingled himself among the chosen ones of the monks, going beyond the borders into desert places. By fasting and by vigils and by the diligent study of the divine oracles he purified his senses most excellently, and his soul, freed from every passionate attachment, he made bright with the light of dispassion.

But the king, who loved this man greatly and held him in honour, when he heard these things, grieved in his soul at the loss of his friend, yet was kindled the more with anger against the monks. And so, sending everywhere in search of him, and leaving no stone unturned, as the saying goes, to find him out, after a considerable time those who had been sent in quest of him learned that he had his dwelling in the deserts, and, having searched him out and seized him, set him before the king's tribunal. When the king saw him in so poor and rough a garment — him who had once been clothed in splendid robes — and saw that one who had lived in great luxury was now withered by the hard regimen of the ascetic life, and plainly clad about with the marks of the desert life, he was filled at once with grief and with anger; and, mingling his speech from the two, he said to him: "O senseless and crazed man, for what reason have you exchanged honour for shame, and your splendid glory for this unseemly appearance? You, the chief of my kingdom and the commander-in-chief of my dominion, have made yourself a plaything of boys, not only consigning to far oblivion our friendship and freedom of speech, but rising up against nature itself, taking no pity even on your own children, and reckoning as nothing your wealth and all the renown of life,

preferring such great disgrace to your enviable glory. To what end is this for you? And what will you gain by it, that you have honoured the one called Jesus above all gods and men, and this hard, ill-clad way of life above the pleasant and enjoyable things of the sweetest life?" When that man of God heard these things, he answered gracefully and evenly: "If you wish to join speech with me, O king, put your enemies out of the court, and then I will answer you concerning whatever you may seek to learn; for while they are present with you, I have no word for you. But apart from speech, punish me, kill me, do what you will; for to me the world has been crucified, and I to the world, as my divine teacher says." And when the king said, "And who are these enemies whom you order me to put away?" the godly man said: "Anger and desire. For these were at first brought forth by the Creator as helpers of nature, and so they remain still for those who order their life not according to the flesh but according to the spirit; but in you, who are wholly flesh, having nothing of the spirit, they have become adversaries, and do the work of foes and enemies. For desire in you, when it is at work,

rouses pleasure, and when it is thwarted, anger. Let these, then, be far from you today; and let prudence and justice sit in their place, to hear and to judge what is said. For if you put anger and desire out of the way and bring in instead prudence and justice, I will tell you everything in the love of truth." To this the king said: "See, yielding to your request, I will cast desire and anger out of the council, and will make prudence and justice hold the middle place. Tell me now, without fear, whence came upon you so great an error, and this preferring of things resting on empty hopes to the things seen at hand." And the hermit answered and said: "If you seek the beginning, O king, of how it came to me to despise temporal things and to give my whole self to eternal hopes, listen. In days of old, while I was still quite young, I heard a certain good and saving word, and its power seized me utterly; and, like some divine seed, the memory of it was planted in my heart and kept inseparable forever, so that it took root and sprouted and bore in me the fruit you see. The power of that word was of this kind. 'It seemed good,' it says, 'to the senseless to despise the things that are as though they were not, and to cling to and hold fast the things that are not as though they were. He, then, who has not tasted the sweetness of the things that are will not be able to learn the nature of the things that are not; and not having learned it, how shall he despise them?' Now by 'the things that are' the saying meant the eternal and unshaken things, and by 'the things that are not' this present life and luxury and lying prosperity — to which, O king, alas, your heart is, for ill, nailed fast.

I too once clung to these things; but the power of that word, piercing my soul without ceasing, roused my ruling mind to the choice of the better. Yet the law of sin, warring against the law of my mind and binding me as with iron fetters, held me captive in attachment to present things. But when the kindness and goodness of God our Saviour was pleased to take me out of that grievous captivity, he strengthened my mind to overcome the law of sin, and opened my eyes to discern the worse from the better. Then indeed, then, I understood and saw, and behold, all present things are vanity and a striving after wind, as Solomon the most wise also says somewhere in his writings. Then was the veil of sin taken away from my heart, and the dimness laid upon my soul from the body's coarseness was scattered, and I knew for what I was made and that I must ascend to the Creator through the working of his commandments.

Therefore, leaving all things, I followed him; and I give thanks to God through Jesus Christ our Lord, that he rescued me from the clay and the brick-making, and from the harsh and ruinous ruler of the darkness of this age, and showed me a short and easy road, by which I shall be able, in this earthen body, to embrace the angelic way of life. Seeking to attain it, I chose to walk the narrow and afflicted road, utterly condemning the vanity of present things and their unstable course and whirl, and refusing to call anything else good before the good that truly is — from which you, O king, have pitiably been torn and have stood apart. Hence we too have stood apart from you and have been separated, because you are falling into clear and confessed ruin and are forcing us to be brought down into equal danger.

For so long as we were tried only in the warfare of the world, we fell short in none of our duties — you yourself will bear me witness that we were never charged with any slackness or negligence. But since you have striven to take away from us the very chief of good things, godliness, and to wrong us in God by this last and greatest loss, and on this account remind us of honours and ambition — how should I not justly say that you are ignorant of the good, since you set these things side by side at all, godliness toward God, I mean, against human friendship and a glory that flows away like water? And how shall we share with you in this, and not rather renounce friendship and honour and the love of children and whatever else is greater — seeing you, O king, ungrateful toward God, who himself grants you your very being and your breath, who is Christ Jesus, the Lord of all? He, being without beginning together with the Father and coeternal with him, and having set the heavens and the earth in place by his word, fashioned man with his own hands and honoured him with immortality and made him king of the things on earth, setting apart for him, as a kind of royal palace, the fairest of all things, paradise.

But man, beguiled by envy and lured — alas — by pleasure, wretchedly fell from all these things; and he who was before enviable was now seen to be pitiable and worthy of tears for his calamity. Therefore he who formed us and fashioned us, looking again with eyes of love upon the work of his own hands — without changing from being God, which he was from the beginning — became for our sake, without sin, what we are; and, willingly enduring the cross and death, he cast down the enemy who from the beginning had envied our race, and, rescuing us from that bitter captivity, in his love of good he restored our former freedom; and from where through disobedience we had fallen, there again through his love for mankind he led us back, counting us worthy of a greater honour than before. Him, then, who suffered such things for our sake and counted us worthy again of such things, you yourself set at nought and mock at his cross? And, wholly nailed to the luxury of the body and to ruinous passions, you proclaim as gods the idols of dishonour and shame? Not only have you made yourself a stranger to communion with the heavenly goods, but you have already torn away from it all who obey your commands,

and have handed them over to peril of soul. Know, then, that I will not obey you, nor will I share with you in such ingratitude toward God, nor will I deny my benefactor and Saviour, even if you give me to wild beasts, even if you hand me over to sword and fire, which are within your power. For I neither fear death nor desire present things, having utterly condemned their weakness and vanity. For what among them is useful, or lasting, or sufficient? And not this alone, but in their very existence there is bound up much misery, much grief, much and unbroken anxiety. For with their gladness and enjoyment is yoked every dejection and pain; their wealth is poverty, and their height the utmost lowliness. And who shall number their evils? — which my own theologian showed me in a few words. For he says: 'The whole world lies in the power of the evil one'; and, 'Do not love the world, nor the things in the world, for all that is in the world is the desire of the flesh and the desire of the eyes and the boasting of life'; and, 'The world is passing away, and the desire of it; but he who does the will of God abides forever.' Seeking this good will of God, I left all things and joined myself to those who possess the same longing and seek the same

God; among whom there is no strife or envy, no griefs or anxieties, but all run the same course, that they may attain the eternal dwellings which the Father of lights has prepared for those who love him. These I have gained as my parents, these as brothers, these as friends and acquaintances; but from those who were once my friends and brothers, I went far away in flight, and I lodged in the desert, waiting for God, who saves me from faint-heartedness and from the storm." When these things had been so fittingly and pleasantly set forth by the man of God, the king was moved by anger and wished to torment the saint bitterly; yet again he hesitated and put it off, out of regard for the man's dignity and renown. But he answered and said to him: "From every side, wretched man, you have studied your own destruction, driven to it, it seems, by fortune; you have whetted your mind and your tongue together, and so you have run through some obscure and idle babbling. And had I not at the beginning of our talk promised you to put anger out of the council, I would now have given your flesh to the fire. But since you took your precaution beforehand and secured yourself with such words, I bear with your insolence, for the sake of my former friendship toward you. Rise, then; flee henceforth from my eyes, that I may see you no more and destroy you cruelly."

And the man of God went out and withdrew into the desert, grieved that he had not been martyred, yet bearing witness day by day in his conscience and wrestling against the principalities and powers, against the world-rulers of the darkness of this age, against the spiritual forces of wickedness, as the blessed Paul says. Now when he had departed, the king, more angered, plotted a fiercer persecution against the monastic order, and counted the worshippers and temple-keepers of the idols worthy of still greater honour. While the king was in such dreadful error and deceit, a child was born to him, very beautiful, and from the very loveliness that bloomed upon him foreshadowing what was to come. For it was said that nowhere in that land had so charming and surpassingly beautiful a child ever appeared. Filled with the greatest joy at the birth of the child, the king named him Josaphat; and he himself went off senselessly to the idol-temples to sacrifice to those gods more senseless than himself and to render hymns of thanksgiving, not knowing who is truly the cause of all good things, to whom he ought to have offered the spiritual sacrifice. He, then, attributing the cause of the child's birth to things lifeless and deaf, sent everywhere to gather the multitudes for the child's birthday celebrations; and one could see them all flocking together in fear of the king, bringing the things prepared for the sacrifice, as each man's hand could afford and as his goodwill toward the king inclined. But most of all the king himself stirred them to rivalry,

bringing as many great bulls as possible to be slaughtered; and so, having held a festival for the whole people, he showered gifts upon all — upon those who were of the council and those in office, upon those of the army, and upon those who were common and obscure.