Part 2
"Yes," said Julius. "All that would be excellent if life were possible under such conditions, but one cannot live so. You deceive yourselves. You condemn our laws, our institutions, and our armies. You do not recognize the protec tion we afford. If it were not for the Roman legions could you live at peace?
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You profit by the protection of the State without acknowledging it. Some of your people, as you told me yourself, have even defended themselves. You do not recognize the right of private property, but you make use of it. Our people have it and give to you. You yourself do not give away your grapes, but sell them and buy other things. It is all a deception! If you did what you say that would be all right, but as it is you deceive yourselves and others !"
He spoke heatedly and said all that he had in his mind. Pamphilius waited in silence, and when Julius had finished, he said:
"You are wrong in thinking that we avail ourselves of your protection without acknowledging it. Our welfare consists in not requiring defense, and this no one can take from us. Even if material things which in your eyes con stitute property pass through our hands, we do not regard them as our own, and we give them to anyone who needs them for their sustenance. We sell the grapes to those who wish to buy them, not for the sake of personal gain, but solely to acquire necessities for those who need them. If someone wished to take those grapes from us we should give them up without resistance. For the same reason we are not afraid of an incursion of the barbarians. If they began to take from us the product of our toil we should let them have it, and if they demanded that we should work for them, we should also do that gladly; and they would not merely have no reason to kill or ill-treat us, but it would conflict with their own interests to do so. They would soon understand and learn to love us, and we should have less to suffer from them than from the civilized people who now surround us and persecute us.
"You say that the things necessary for existence can only be produced under a system of private property. But consider who really produces the necessaries of life. To whose labor do we owe all these riches of which you are so proud? Were they produced by those who issued orders to their slaves and workmen without themselves moving a finger, and who now possess all the property; or were they produced by the poor slaves who carried out their masters' or ders for their daily bread, and who now possess no property and have barely enough to supply their daily needs? And do you suppose that these slaves, who expend all their strength in executing orders often quite incomprehensible to them, would not work for themselves and for those they love and care for if they were allowed to do so –that is to say, if they might work for aims they clearly understood and approved of?
"You accuse us of not completely achieving what we strive for, and for taking advantage of violence and property even while we do not recognize them. If we are cheats, it is no use talking to us and we are worthy neither of
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anger nor of exposure, but only of contempt. And we willingly accept your contempt, for one of our precepts is the recognition of our insignificance. But if we sincerely strive towards what we profess, then your accusation of fraud is unjust. If we strive, as I and my brethren do, to fulfill our Master's law and to live without violence and without private property –which is the result of violence–we do so not for external ends, riches or honors –we account these as nothing –but for something else. We seek happiness just as you do, only we have a different conception of what it is. You believe that happiness is to be found in wealth and honors, but we believe it is found in something else. Our belief shows us that happiness lies not in violence, but in submissiveness; not in wealth, but in giving everything up. And we, like plants striving towards the light, cannot help but press forward in the direction of our happiness. We do not accomplish all that we desire for our own welfare. That is true. But can it be otherwise? You strive to have the most beautiful wife and the largest fortune. But have you, or has anyone else, ever attained them? If an archer does not hit the mark will he cease to aim at it because he often fails? So it is with us. Our happiness, according to Christ's teaching, lies in love. We seek our happiness, but attain it far from fully and each in his own way."
"Yes, but why do you disbelieve all human wisdom? Why have you turned away from it? Why do you believe only in your crucified Master? Your slavish submission to him – that is what repels me."
"There again you are mistaken, and so is anyone who thinks that we hold our faith because we were bidden to do so by the man in whom we believe. On the contrary, those who with their whole soul seek a knowledge of the truth and communion with the Father –all those who seek for the good –in voluntarily come to the path which Christ followed, and so cannot but see him before them, and follow him! All who love God will meet on that path, and you will, too! Our master is the son of God and a mediator between God and men, not because someone has said so and we blindly believe it, but because all who seek God find His son before them on the path, and involun tarily come to understand, to see, and to know God, only through him."
Julius did not reply, and they sat in silence for a long time. "Are you happy?" he asked. "I wish for nothing better. More than that, I generally experience a feeling of perplexity and am conscious of a kind of injustice that I am so tremen dously happy," said Pamphilius with a smile.
"Yes," said Julius, "perhaps I should be happier if I had not met that stranger and had come to you."
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"If you think so, what keeps you back?" "How about my wife?" "You say that she is inclined towards Christianity –so she might come with you."
"Yes, but we have already begun a different kind of life. How can we break it up? As it has been begun we must live it out," said Julius, picturing to him self the dissatisfaction of his father, his mother, his friends, and above all the effort that would have to be made to effect the change.
Just then the maiden, Pamphilius's companion, came to the door accom panied by a young man. Pamphilius went out to them, and in Julius's pres ence the young man explained that he had been sent by Cyril to buy some hides. The grapes were already sold and some wheat purchased. Pamphilius proposed that the young man should go with Magdalene and take the wheat home, while he would himself buy and bring home the hides. "It will be bet ter for you," he said.
"No, Magdalene had better go with you," said the young man, and went away.
Julius took Pamphilius into the shop of a tradesman he knew, and Pam philius poured the wheat into bags, and having given Magdalene a small share to carry, took up his own heavy load, bid farewell to Julius, and left the town with the maiden. At the turning of the street he looked round and nodded to Julius with a smile. Then, with a still more joyous smile, he said something to Magdalene and they disappeared from view.
"Yes, I should have done better had I then gone to them," thought Julius. And in his imagination two pictures alternated: the kindly bright faces of the lusty Pamphilius and the tall strong maiden as they carried the baskets on their heads; and then the domestic hearth from which he had come that morning and to which he must soon return, where his beautiful, but pam pered and wearisome wife, who had become repulsive to him, would be lying on rugs and cushions, wearing bracelets and rich attire.
But Julius had no time to think of this. Some merchant companions of his came up to him, and they began their usual occupations, finishing up with dinner and drinking, and spending the night with women.
Ten years passed. Julius had not met Pamphilius again, and the meeting with him had slowly passed from his memory, and the impression of him and of the Christian life wore off.
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Julius's life ran its usual course. During these ten years his father had died and he had taken over the management of his whole business, which was a complicated one. There were the regular customers, salesmen in Af rica, clerks, and debts to be collected and paid. Julius found himself in voluntarily absorbed in it all and gave his whole time to it. Besides this, new cares presented themselves. He was elected to a public office, and this new occupation, which flattered his vanity, attracted him. In addition to his business affairs he now attended to public matters also, and being ca pable and a good speaker he began to distinguish himself among his fel lows, and appeared likely to reach high public office. In his family life a considerable and unpleasant change had occurred during these ten years. Three children had been born to him, and this had separated him from his wife. In the first place she had lost much of her beauty and freshness, and in the second place she paid less attention to her husband. All her tenderness and endearments were devoted to her children. Though ac cording to the pagan custom the children were handed over to wet-nurses and attendants, Julius often found them with their mother, or found her with them instead of in her own apartments. For the most part Julius found the children a burden, affording him more annoyance than pleasure.
Occupied with business and public affairs he had abandoned his former dissipated life, but considered that he needed some refined recreation after his labors. This, however, he did not find with his wife, the more so as during this time she had cultivated an acquaintance with her Christian slave girl, had be come more and more attracted by the new teaching, and had discarded from her life all the external, pagan things that had attracted Julius. Not finding what he wanted in his wife, Julius formed an intimacy with a woman of light conduct, and passed with her the leisure that remained after his business.
Had he been asked whether he was happy or unhappy during those years he would have been unable to answer.
He was so busy! From one affair or pleasure he passed to another affair or pleasure, but not one of them was such as fully to satisfy him or make him wish it to continue. Everything he did was of such a nature that the quicker he could free himself from it the better he was pleased, and his pleasures were all poisoned in some way, or the tedium of satiety mingled with them.
In this way he was living when something happened that came near to altering his whole manner of life. He took part in the races at the Olympic Games, and was driving his chariot successfully to the end of the course when he suddenly collided with another which was overtaking him. His wheel
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broke, and he was thrown out and broke his arm and two ribs. His injuries were serious, though they did not endanger his life, and he was taken home and had to keep to his bed for three months.
During these three months of severe physical suffering his mind worked, and he had leisure to think about his life as if it were someone else's. And his life presented itself to him in a gloomy light, the more so as during that time three unpleasant events occurred which much distressed him.
The first was that a slave, who had been his father's trusted servant, de camped with some precious jewels he had received in Africa, thus causing a heavy loss and a disorganization of Julius's affairs.
The second was that his mistress deserted him and found herself another protector.
The third and most unpleasant event for him, was that during his illness there was an election, and his opponent secured the position he had hoped to obtain.
All this, it seemed to Julius, came about because his chariot wheel had swerved a finger-breadth to the left.
Lying alone on his couch he began involuntarily to reflect on the fact that his happiness depended on such insignificant happenings, and these thoughts led him on to others, and to the recollection of his former misfortunes, of his attempt to go to the Christians, and of Pamphilius, whom he had now not seen for ten years. These recollections were strengthened by conversations with his wife, who was often with him during his illness and told him ev erything she had learned about Christianity from her slave girl.
This slave girl had at one time been in the same community with Pamphili us, and knew him. Julius wished to see her, and when she came to his couch questioned her about everything in detail, and especially about Pamphilius.
Pamphilius, the slave girl said, was one of the best of the brethren, and was loved and esteemed by them all. He had married that same Magdalene whom Julius had seen ten years ago, and they already had several children.
"Yes, any man who does not believe that God has created men for happi ness should go to see their life," concluded the slave girl.
Julius let the slave girl go, and remained alone, thinking of what he had heard. It made him envious to compare Pamphilius's life with his own, and he did not wish to think about it.
To distract himself he took up a Greek manuscript which his wife had left by his couch, and began to read as follows:
There are two ways: one of life and the other of death. The way of life is
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this: First, thou shalt love God who has created thee, secondly, thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself; and thou shalt do to no one what thou wouldst not have him do to thee.
Now this is the meaning of these words: Bless them that curse you, pray for your enemies and for those that persecute you. For what merit have you if you love only those who love you? Do not the heathen so? Love them that hate you, and you shall have no enemies. Put away from you all carnal and worldly desires. If a man smites you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also, and you shall be perfect. If a man compelleth thee to walk a mile with him, go with him two. If he taketh what belongeth to thee, demand it not again, for this thou shalt not do; if he taketh thy outer garment, give him thy shirt also. Give to everyone that asketh of thee, and demand noth ing back, for the Father wishes that His abundant gifts should be received by all. Blessed is he who giveth according to the commandment!
The second commandment of the teaching is this: Do not kill, do not commit adultery, do not be wanton, do not steal, do not employ sorcery, do not poison, do not covet thy neighbor's goods. Take no oath, do not bear false witness, speak no evil, do not remember injuries. Shun duplicity in thy thoughts and be not double-tongued. Let not thy words be false nor empty, but in accord with thy deeds. Be not covetous, nor rapacious, nor hypocritical, nor ill-tempered, nor proud. Have no evil intention against thy neighbor. Cherish no hatred of any man, but rebuke some, pray for others, and love some more than thine own soul.
My child! Shun evil and all appearance of evil. Be not angry, for anger leadeth to murder. Be not jealous, nor quarrelsome, nor passionate, for of all these things cometh murder.
My child! Be not lustful, for lust leadeth to wantonness, and be not foul mouthed, for of this cometh adultery.
My child! Be not untruthful, for lying leadeth to theft; neither be fond of money, nor vain, for of all these cometh theft also.
My child! Do not repine, for that leadeth to blasphemy; neither be ar rogant, nor a thinker of evil, for of all these things cometh blasphemy also. Be humble, for the meek shall inherit the earth. Be long-suffering, merci ful, forgiving, humble, and kind, and take heed of the words that ye hear. Do not exalt thyself, and yield not thy soul to arrogance nor let thy soul cleave to the proud, but have converse with the humble and just. Accept as a blessing all that befalleth thee, knowing that nothing happens without God's will…
My child! Do not sow dissensions, but reconcile those that are at strife. Stretch not out thy hand to receive, nor hold it back from giving. Be not slow in giving, nor repine when giving, for thou shalt know the good Giver
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of rewards. Turn not away from the needy, but in everything have commu nion with thy brother, and call not anything thy own, for if ye are partakers in that which is incorruptible, how much more so in that which is corrupt ible. Teach thy children the fear of God from their youth. Deal not with thy slave in anger, lest he cease to fear God who is above you both, for He is no respecter of persons but calleth those whom the Spirit hath prepared.
But this is the way of death: First of all it is wrathful and full of curses; here are murder, adultery, lust, wantonness, theft, idolatry, sorcery, poi soning, plundering, false witness, hypocrisy, deceitfulness, insidiousness, pride, malice, arrogance, avarice, obscenity, envy, insolence, presumption, and vanity. Here are the persecutors of the righteous, haters of the truth, lovers of falsehood, who do not acknowledge the reward for righteousness nor cleave to what is good or to righteous judgments, who are vigilant not for what is good but for evil, from whom meekness and patience are far re moved. Here are those that love vanity, who follow after rewards, who have no pity for their neighbors and do not labor for the oppressed or know their Creator. Here are the murderers of children, destroyers of God's image, who turn away from the needy. Here are the oppressors of the oppressed, de fenders of the rich, unjust judges of the poor, sinners in all things. Beware, children, of all these!
Long before he had read the manuscript to the end, Julius had entered with his whole soul into communion with those who had inspired it – as often happens to men who read a book (that is, another person's thoughts) with a sincere desire to discern the truth. He read on, guessing in advance what was coming, and not only agreed with the thoughts expressed in the book but seemed to be expressing them himself.
He experienced that ordinary, but mysterious and significant phenomenon, unnoticed by many people: of a man, supposed to be alive, becoming really alive on entering into communion with those accounted dead, and uniting and living one life with them.
Julius's soul united with him who had written and inspired those thoughts, and in the light of this communion he contemplated himself and his life. And it appeared to him to be all a terrible mistake. He had not lived, but had only destroyed in himself the possibility of living by all the cares and temptations of life.
"I do not wish to ruin my life. I want to live and to follow the path of life !" he said to himself.
He remembered all that Pamphilius had said to him in their former con versations, and it all now seemed so clear and unquestionable that he was
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surprised that he could have listened to the stranger and not have held to his intention of going to the Christians. He remembered also that the stranger had said to him: "Go when you have had experience of life!"
"I have now had experience of life, and have found nothing in it!" thought Julius.
He also recalled the words of Pamphilius: that whenever he might go to the Christians, they would be glad to receive him.
"No, I have erred and suffered enough!" he said to himself. "I will give up everything and go to them and live as it says here!"
He told his wife of his plan, and she was delighted with it. She was ready for everything. The only difficulty was to decide how to put the plan into ex ecution. What was to be done with the children? Were they to be taken with them or left with their grandmother? How could they be taken? How, after the delicacy of their upbringing, could they be subjected to all the difficulties of a rough life? The slave girl proposed to go with them, but the mother was afraid for the children, and said that it would be better to leave them with their grandmother and to go alone. And to this they agreed.
All was decided. Only Julius's illness delayed the execution of their plans.
VII
In that state of mind Julius fell asleep. In the morning he was told that a skill ful physician was visiting the town and wished to see him, promising him speedy relief. Julius willingly consented to see him, and the physician proved to be none other than the stranger whom he had met when he started to join the Christians. Having examined his injuries the physician prescribed certain potions of herbs to strengthen him.
"Shall I be able to work with my hands?" inquired Julius. "Oh yes! You will be able to write and to drive a chariot." "But hard work –digging?" "I was not thinking of that," said the physician, "because it cannot be nec essary for a man in your position."
"On the contrary, it is just what is wanted," said Julius, and he told the physician that since he had last seen him he had followed his advice and had experienced life; and that life had not given him what it promised, but on the contrary had disillusioned him, and that he now wished to carry out the intention he had then spoken of.
"They have evidently employed all their deceptions and have enchanted you so that in spite of your position and the responsibilities that rest upon
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you –especially in regard to your children –you still do not see their error."
"Read that!" was all Julius said in reply, handing him the manuscript he had been reading.
The physician took the manuscript and looked at it. "I know this," he said. "I know this deception, and am surprised that such a man as you should be caught by such a snare."
"I don't understand you. Where is the snare?" "It is all tested by life! These sophists and rebels against men and gods pro pose a way of life in which all men will be happy, and there will be no wars or executions, no poverty or depravity, no strife or anger. And they insist that this condition will come about when all men fulfill the law of Christ – not to quarrel, nor yield to lust, nor take oaths, nor do violence, nor take arms against another nation. But they deceive themselves and others by taking the end for the means.
"Their aim is not to quarrel, not to bind themselves by oaths, not to be wanton, and so forth, and this aim can only be attained by means of public life. But what they say is as if a teacher of archery should say: 'You will hit the target when your arrow flies to it in a straight line.' The problem is how to make it fly straight. And that result is attained in archery by having a taut bow string, a flexible bow, and a straight arrow. It is the same in life. The best life, in which men have no need to quarrel, to be wanton, or to commit murder, is attained by having a taut bowstring (the rulers), a flexible bow (the power of government), and a straight arrow (the justice of the law). But they, under pretext of living a better life, destroy all that has improved or does improve it. They recognize neither government, nor the authorities, nor the laws."
"But they say that if men fulfill the law of Christ, life will be better without rulers, authorities, and laws."
"Yes, but what guarantee is there that men will fulfill it? None! They say: 'You have experienced life under rulers and laws, and life has not been per fected. Try it now without rulers and laws and it will become perfect. You cannot deny this, for you have not tried it.' But this is the obvious sophistry of these impious people. In saying that, is it not in effect as though a man should say to a farmer: 'You sow your seed in the ground and cover it up, and yet the harvest is not what you would wish. I advise you to sow in the sea. It will be better like that –and you cannot deny my proposition, for you have not tried it'?"
"Yes, that is true," said Julius, who was beginning to waver. "But that is not all," continued the physician. "Let us assume the absurd
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and impossible. Let us assume that the principles of the Christian teaching can be poured into men like medicine, and that suddenly all men will begin to fulfill Christ's teaching, to love God and their fellows, and to fulfill his commandments. Even assuming all that, the path of life inculcated by them would still not stand examination. Life would come to an end and the race would die out. Their Teacher was a young vagabond, and such will his fol lowers be, and according to our supposition such would the whole world be come if it followed his teaching. Those living would last their time, but their children would not survive, or hardly one in ten would do so. According to their teaching all children should be alike to every mother and to every father, whether they are their own children or not. How will these children be looked after, when we see that all the devotion and all the love implanted in mothers hardly preserves their own children from perishing? What will happen when this devotion is replaced by a compassion shared by all children alike? Which child is to be taken and preserved? Who will sit up at night with a sick (and malodorous) child except its own mother? Nature has provided a protection for the child in its mother's love, but the Christians want to deprive it of that protection, and offer nothing in exchange! Who will train a son, who will penetrate into his soul like his father? Who will defend him from dangers? All this they reject! All life –that is, the continuation of the human race –is made away with."
"That also is true," said Julius, carried away by the physician's eloquence. "Yes, my friend, have nothing to do with these ravings. Live rationally, es pecially now that you have such great and serious and pressing responsibilities. It is a matter of honor for you to fulfill them. You have reached the second period of your doubts, but go on and your doubts will vanish. Your first and evident duty is the education of your children, which you have neglected. You must train them to be worthy servants of their country. The existing political structure has given you everything you have, and you must serve it yourself and give it worthy servants in the persons of your children, on whom you will thereby also confer a benefit. Another obligation you have is the service of the community. You are mortified and discouraged by your accidental and temporary failure. But nothing is achieved without effort and struggle, and the joy of triumph is great only when the victory has been hardly won. Leave it to your wife to amuse herself with the babble of the Christian writers. You should be a man, and bring up your children to be men. Begin to live with the consciousness of duty, and all your doubts will fall away of themselves. They were caused by your illness. Fulfill your duty to the State by serving it
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and by preparing your children for its service. Set them on their feet, so that they may be able to take your place, and then peacefully abandon yourself to the life which attracts you. Till then you have no right to do so, and were you to do so you would encounter nothing but suffering."
VIII
Whether it was the effect of the medicinal herbs or the advice given him by the wise physician, Julius speedily recovered, and his plans of adopting a Christian life now appeared to him like raving.
After staying a few days the physician left the city. Soon afterwards Ju lius left his sick bed and began a new life in accord with the advice he had received. He engaged teachers for his children and supervised their studies himself. He spent his own time on public affairs and soon acquired great influence in the city.
So a year passed, and during that time Julius did not even think about the Christians. But at the end of the year a legate from the Roman Emperor ar rived in Cilicia to suppress the Christian movement, and a trial was arranged to take place in Tarsus. Julius heard of the measures that were being undertak en against the Christians, but he paid no attention to them, not thinking that they related to the commune in which Pamphilius was living. But one day as he was walking in the forum to attend to his duties, a poorly dressed elderly man approached him whom he did not at first recognize. It was Pamphilius. He came up to Julius leading a child by the hand, and said:
"Greetings, friend! I have a great favor to ask of you, but now that the Christians are being persecuted I do not know whether you will wish to ac knowledge me as your friend, or whether you will not be afraid of losing your post if you have anything to do with me."
"I am not afraid of anyone," replied Julius, "and as a proof of it I ask you to come with me to my house. I will even neglect my business in the forum to have a talk with you and help you. Come with me. Whose child is that?"
"He is my son." "I need not have asked. I recognize your features in him, and I also recog nize those light blue eyes, and need not ask who your wife is. She is the lovely girl I saw you with several years ago."
"You have guessed right," replied Pamphilius. "She became my wife soon after you saw us."
On reaching the house, Julius called his wife and handed the boy over to her, and then led Pamphilius to his luxurious private room.
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"You can speak freely here," he said. "No one will hear us." "I am not afraid of being heard," replied Pamphilius. "My request is not that the Christians who have been arrested should not be judged and execut ed, but only that they should be allowed to announce their faith in public."
And Pamphilius told how the Christians who had been seized by the au thorities had succeeded in sending word from their prison to the community telling of their condition. Cyril the Elder, knowing of Pamphilius's relations with Julius, had sent him to intercede for the Christians. They did not ask for mercy. They looked upon it as their vocation to testify to the truth of Christ's teaching, and they could do this equally well by suffering martyrdom as by a life of eighty years. They would accept either fate with equal indifference, and physical death, which must inevitably overtake them, was as welcome and void of terror now as it would be fifty years hence. But they wished by their death to serve their fellowmen, and therefore Pamphilius had been sent to ask that their trial and execution should be public.
Julius was surprised at Pamphilius's request, but promised to do all in his power to aid him.
"I have promised to help you," he said, "out of friendship, and because of the particular feeling of tenderness you have always aroused in me, but I must say that I consider your teaching most senseless and harmful. I can judge of this because some time ago, when I was ill, disappointed, and low spirited, I myself once again shared your views and came very near to abandoning every thing and joining your community. I know now on what your error is based, for I have myself experienced it. It is based on love of self, weakness of spirit, and sickly enervation. It is a creed for women, not for men."
"But why?" "Because, while you recognize the fact that discord lies in man's nature and that strife results therefrom, you do not wish to take part in that strife or to teach others to do so; and without taking your share of the burden you avail yourselves of the organization of the world, which is based on violence. Is that fair? Our world owes its existence to the fact that there have always been rulers. Those rulers took on themselves the trouble and all the responsibility of defending us from foreign and domestic foes, and in return for that we sub jects submitted to them and rendered them honor, or helped them by serving the State. But you, out of pride, instead of taking your part in the affairs of the State and rising higher and higher in men's regard by your labors and to the extent of your deserts – you in your pride at once declare all men to be equal, in order that you may consider no one higher than yourself, but may reckon
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yourself equal to Caesar. That is what you yourself think and teach others to think. And for weak and idle people that is a great temptation! Every slave, instead of laboring, at once considers himself Caesar's equal. But you do more than this: you deny taxes, and slavery, and the courts, and executions, and war–everything that holds people together. If people listened to you, society would fall to pieces and we should return to primitive savagery.
"Living under a government you preach the destruction of government. But your very existence is dependent on that government. Without it you would not exist. You would all be slaves of the Scythians or the barbarians – the first people who happened to hear of your existence. You are like a tumor which destroys the body but can only nourish itself on the body. And a living body resists that tumor and overcomes it! We do the same with you, and cannot but do so. And in spite of my promise to help you obtain your wish, I look upon your teaching as most harmful and despicable: despicable because I consider it dishonorable and unjust to gnaw the breast that feeds you – to avail yourselves of the advantages of governmental order, and to destroy that order by which the State is maintained, without taking part in it!"
"If we really lived as you suppose there would be much justice in what you say," replied Pamphilius. "But you do not know our life, and have formed a false conception of it. The means of subsistence which we employ are obtain able without the aid of violence. It is difficult for you, with your luxurious habits, to realize on how little a man can live without privation. A healthy man is so constituted that he can produce with his hands far more than he needs for his subsistence. Living together in a community we are able by our common work to feed without difficulty our children, our old people, and the sick and weak. You say of the rulers that they protect people from external and internal enemies –but we love our enemies, and so we have none. You assert that we Christians stir up in the slave a desire to be Caesar, but on the contrary, both by word and deed we profess one thing: patient humility and labor, the humblest of labor, that of a working man. We neither know nor understand anything about political matters. We only know one thing, and we know that with certainty, that our welfare lies solely in the good of others, and we seek that welfare. The welfare of all men lies in their union with one another, and union is attained not by violence but by love. The violence of a brigand inflicted on a traveler is as atrocious to us as the violence of an army to its prisoners, or of a judge to those who are executed, and we cannot inten tionally participate in the one or the other. Nor can we profit by the labor of others enforced by violence. Violence is reflected on us, but our participation
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in violence consists not in inflicting it but in submissively enduring its inflic tion on ourselves."
"Yes," said Julius, "you preach about love, but when one looks at the results it turns out to be quite another thing. It leads to barbarism and a reversion to savagery, murder, robbery, and violence, which according to your doctrine must not be repressed in any way."
"No, that is not so," said Pamphilius, "and if you really examine the results of our teaching and of our lives carefully and impartially, you will see that not only do they not lead to murder, robbery, and violence, but on the contrary those crimes can only be opposed by the means we practice. Murder, robbery, and all evils, existed long before Christianity, and men have always contended with them, but unsuccessfully, because they employed means that we deplore, meeting violence by violence; and this never checks crime, but on the contrary provokes it by sowing hatred and exasperation.
"Look at the mighty Roman Empire. Nowhere else is such trouble taken about the laws as in Rome. Studying and perfecting the laws constitutes a special science. The laws are taught in the schools, discussed in the Senate, and reformed and administered by the most educated citizens. Legal justice is considered the highest virtue, and the office of Judge is held in peculiar respect. Yet in spite of this it is known that there is now no city in the world so steeped in crime and corruption as Rome. Remember Roman history: in olden times when the laws were very primitive the Roman people possessed many virtues, but in our days, despite the elaboration and administration of law, the morals of the citizens are becoming worse and worse. The number of crimes constantly increases, and they become more varied and more elaborate every day.
"Nor can it be otherwise. Crime and evil can be successfully opposed only by the Christian method of love, and not by the heathen methods of revenge, punishment, and violence. I am sure you would like men to abstain from evil voluntarily and not from fear of punishment. You would not wish men to be like prisoners who only refrain from crime because they are watched by their jailers. But no laws or restrictions or punishments make men averse to doing evil or desirous of doing good. That can only be attained by destroying evil at its root, which is in the heart of man. That is what we aim at, while you only try to repress the outward manifestations of evil. You do not look for its source and do not know where it is, and so you can never find it.
"The commonest crimes – murder, robbery, and fraud – are the result of men's desire to increase their possessions, or even to obtain the necessaries
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of life which they have been unable to procure in any other way. Some of these crimes are punished by the law, but the most important and far-reach ing in their consequences are perpetrated under the wing of the law, as, for instance, the huge commercial frauds and the innumerable ways in which the rich rob the poor. Those crimes which are punished by law may indeed to a certain extent be repressed – or rendered more difficult of execution – and the criminals for fear of punishment become more prudent and cunning and invent new forms of crime which the law does not punish. But by leading a Christian life a man preserves himself from all these crimes, which result on the one hand from the struggle for money and possessions, and on the other from the unequal concentration of riches in the hands of the few. Our one way of checking theft and murder is to keep for ourselves only as much as is indispensable for life, and to give to others all the superfluous products of our toil. We Christians do not lead men into temptation by the sight of ac cumulated wealth, for we rarely possess more than enough for our daily bread. A hungry man, driven to despair and ready to commit a crime for a piece of bread, if he comes to us will find all he wants without committing any crime, because that is what we live for –to share all we have with those who are cold and hungry. And the result is that one sort of evildoer avoids us, while others turn to us, give up their criminal life, and are saved, and gradually become workers laboring for the good of all.
"Other crimes are prompted by the passions of jealousy, revenge, carnal love, anger and hatred. Such crimes cannot be suppressed by law. A man who commits them is in a brutal state of unbridled passion; he is incapable of reflecting on the consequences of his actions, opposition only exasperates him, so the law is powerless to restrain these crimes. We however believe that man can find satisfaction and the meaning of life only in the spirit, and that as long as he serves his passions he can never find happiness. We curb our passions by a life of love and labor, and develop in ourselves the power of the spirit, and the more deeply and widely our faith spreads the rarer will crime inevitably become.
"A third class of crime," Pamphilius continued, "arises from the desire to help men. Some men – revolutionary conspirators –are anxious to alleviate the people's lot, and kill tyrants, imagining that they are thereby doing good to the majority of the people. The origin of such crimes is the belief that one can do good by committing evil. Such crimes, prompted by an idea, are not crushed out by legal punishments: on the contrary they are inflamed and evoked by them. In spite of their errors the men who commit them do so
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from a noble motive –a desire to serve mankind. They are sincere, they read ily sacrifice themselves and do not shrink from danger. And so the fear of punishment does not stop them. On the contrary, danger stimulates them, and sufferings and executions exalt them to the dignity of heroes, gain sym pathy for them, and incite others to follow their example. We see this in the history of all nations. But we Christians believe that evil will only pass away when men understand the misery that results from it both for themselves and for others. We know that brotherhood can only be attained when we are all brothers –that brotherhood without brothers is impossible.
"And though we see the errors of the revolutionary conspirators, yet we appreciate their sincerity and unselfishness, and are attracted by the good that is in them.
"Which of us then is more successful in the struggle with crime and does more to suppress evil –we Christians, who prove by our life the happiness of a spiritual existence from which no evil results and whose means of influence are example and love; or you, whose rulers and judges pass sentences in accord with the dead letter of the law, ruin their victims, and drive them to the last extremity of exasperation?"
"When one listens to you," said Julius, "one almost begins to think that you may be right. But tell me, Pamphilius, why are people hostile to you? Why do they persecute you, hunt you down, and kill you? Why does your teaching of love lead to discord?"
"The reason of that lies not in us but outside us. Till now I have been speaking of crimes which are regarded as such both by the State and by us. These crimes constitute a form of violence which infringes the temporary laws of any State. But besides these there are other laws implanted in man –laws that are eternal, common to all men, and written in their hearts. We Chris tians obey these divine, universal laws, and find their fullest, clearest, and most perfect realization in the words and life of our Master, and we regard as a crime any violence that transgresses the commands of Christ, because they express God's law. We consider that to avoid discord we must also obey the State laws of the country we live in, but we regard the law of God, which governs our conscience and reason, as supreme, and we can only obey those human laws which do not conflict with the divine Law. 'Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and unto God the things that are God's.' Our struggle against crime is therefore both deeper and wider than the State's, for while we avoid transgressing the laws of the particular country we happen to live in, we seek above all not to infringe the will of God –the law common to
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all human nature. And because we regard the law of God as the highest law, men hate and fear us, for they consider some particular laws as supreme – the legislation of their own country, for instance, or even very often some custom of their own class. They are incapable of becoming, or unwilling to become, real human beings, in the sense of Christ's saying that 'The truth shall make you free.' They are content with their position as subjects of this or that State or as members of society, and so they naturally feel enmity towards those who see and proclaim the higher destiny of man. Incapable of understanding, or unwilling to understand, this higher destiny for themselves, they are unwilling to admit it for others. It was of such that Christ said: 'Woe unto you, Phari sees! for ye take away the key of knowledge: ye enter not in yourselves, and them that are entering in ye hinder.' They are the authors of those persecu tions which raise doubts in your mind.
"We have no enmity towards any man, not even towards those who per secute us, and our life brings harm and injury to no one. If men are irritated against us and even hate us, the reason can only be that our life is a thorn in their side, a constant condemnation of their own life which is founded on violence. We are unable to prevent this enmity against us, which does not proceed from us, for we cannot forget the truth we have understood, and cannot begin to live contrary to our conscience and our reason. Of this hos tility which our belief provokes against us in others our Teacher said: 'Think not that I come to bring peace upon earth. I come not to bring peace, but a sword!' Christ himself experienced this hostility, and he warned us, his pupils, of it more than once. He said: 'The world hateth me, because its deeds are evil. If ye were of the world, the world would love you, but because ye are not of the world and I have delivered you from the world, therefore the world hateth you. The time cometh that whosoever killeth you will think that he doeth God service.'
"But we, like Christ, fear not them that kill the body and then can do nothing more to us. Sufferings and the death of the flesh will not pass any man by, but we live in the light and therefore our life does not depend on the body. It is not we who suffer from the attacks upon us, but our persecutors and enemies, who suffer from the feeling of enmity and hatred they nurse like a serpent in their breasts. 'And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil.' There is no need to be disconcerted about this, for the truth will prevail. The sheep hear the voice of the shepherd and follow him, because they know his voice. And Christ's flock will not perish, but increase, drawing
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new sheep to itself from all the countries of the earth, for the Spirit bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof but canst not tell whence it cometh nor whither it goeth."
"Yes," Julius interrupted him, "but are there many among you who are sincere? You are often accused of only pretending to be martyrs and glad to die for the truth, but the truth is not on your side. You are proud madmen, destroying all the foundations of social life!"
Pamphilius made no reply, and looked sorrowfully at Julius.
Just then Pamphilius's little son ran into the room and pressed close to his father's side.
Despite the caresses Julius's wife had bestowed upon him, he had run away from her to find his father. Pamphilius sighed, caressed the child, and got up to go, but Julius detained him, asking him to stay to dinner and have a further talk.
"It surprises me," he said, "to see that you are married and have children. I cannot understand how you Christians can bring up a family while having no property. How can the mothers among you live at peace, knowing that their children are not provided for?"
"Why are our children less provided for than yours?" "Because you have neither slaves nor property. My wife is much inclined to Christianity. She even at one time wished to give up our way of life, and I intended to go away with her. But she feared the insecurity and poverty she foresaw for the children, and I could not but agree with her. That was at the time of my illness. My whole way of life was repulsive to me just then and I wished to abandon it. But my wife's fears, and the explanation given me by the physician who was treating me, convinced me that though a Christian life as you live it may be right and possible for people who have no family, it is impossible for family people, or for mothers with children: that with your outlook life itself – the human race – would cease to exist. And it seems to me that that is quite correct. So your appearance with a son greatly surprised me."
"Not only a son –there is also one at the breast and a three-year-old girl, who have remained at home."
"But I don't understand it! Not so long ago I was ready to give up every thing and become one of you. But I had children, and it was clear to me that, however good your life might be for myself, I had no right to sacrifice my
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children. So for their sake I remained here, living as before, that they might be brought up in the conditions in which I myself grew up and have lived."
"It is strange how differently we look at things," said Pamphilius. "We say that if adults live in the worldly way it may be excused, for they are already spoiled, but for children it is terrible. To bring them up in worldly fashion and expose them to temptation! 'Woe unto the world because of occasions of stumbling; for it must needs be that the occasions come; but woe to that man through whom the occasion cometh!' So says our Teacher, and I repeat it to you not as a retort, but because it is really true. The chief necessity for us to live as we do comes from the fact that there are children among us; those children of whom it is said: 'Except ye become as little children ye shall not enter the kingdom of heaven.'"
"But how can a Christian family manage to live without definite means of livelihood?"
"According to our belief there is only one means –that of loving work for men. Your method is violence. But that method may fail and be destroyed, as riches are destroyed, and then only work and the love of men is left. We con sider that love is the basis of all, and should be firmly held to and increased. And when that is so, families live and prosper. No," continued Pamphilius, "if I doubted the truth of Christ's teaching, or hesitated to follow it, my doubts and hesitations would vanish when I thought of the fate of children brought up among the pagans in the conditions in which you and your children have been and are being brought up. Whatever arrangement of life some people may make, with palaces, slaves, and the imported produce of other lands, the life of the majority of men will remain as it should be. And the security for that life will always be the same – brotherly love and labor. We wish to exempt ourselves and our children from these conditions, and make men work for us by means of violence and not by love, and strange to say the more we appar ently secure ourselves thereby, the more do we actually deprive ourselves of the true, natural, and reliable security –that of love. The greater a ruler's power the less he is loved. It is the same with the other security –labor. The more a man frees himself from labor and accustoms himself to luxury, the less capable of work he becomes and the more he deprives himself of true and reliable secu rity. And yet when people have placed their children in these conditions they say they have 'provided for them!' Take your son and mine and send the two of them to find their way anywhere, to transmit instructions, or to do some necessary thing, and you will see which of the two will do it better. Or offer them for education, and you will see which of the two would be accepted the
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more readily. No! Do not make that terrible statement that a Christian life is only possible for the childless. On the contrary it might be said that a pagan life may be pardonable only for those who have no children. 'But woe unto him that shall cause one of these little ones to stumble.'"
Julius was silent for some time. "Yes," he said at last. "Perhaps you are right. But my children's education has been begun, they have the best teachers. Let them learn all we know –there can be no harm in that. There is time enough both for me and for them. They can come to you when they are grown up if they find it necessary. And I can do the same when I have set them on their feet and am left free."
"Know the truth, and the truth shall make you free," said Pamphilius. "Christ gives perfect freedom at once: the world's teaching will never give it. Farewell!" And Pamphilius called his son and went away.
The Christians were condemned and executed publicly, and Julius saw Pamphilius with other Christians clearing away the bodies of the martyrs.
He saw him, but from fear of the higher authorities did not approach him or invite him to his house.
Another twenty years passed. Julius's wife died. His life flowed on in public activity and in efforts to obtain power, which sometimes seemed within his reach and sometimes eluded him. His wealth was great and continued to increase.
His sons had grown up; and the second, especially, began to lead an extrav agant life. He made holes in the bottom of the bucket which held his father's wealth, and in proportion as that wealth increased so did the rapidity of the outflow through those holes. And here began for Julius a conflict with his sons such as he had had with his father–anger, hatred, and jealousy.
About this time a new Prefect was appointed and deprived Julius of favor. His former flatterers abandoned him, and he was in danger of banishment. He went to Rome to explain matters but was not received, and was ordered to return.
On reaching home he found his son carousing with dissolute companions. A report had spread in Cilicia that Julius was dead, and the son was celebrat ing his father's death! Julius lost control of himself and felled his son to the ground. He then retired to his wife's rooms. There he found a copy of the Gospels, and read:
"Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you
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rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart; and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."
"Yes," thought Julius, "he has long been calling me. I did not believe him but was refractory and wicked, and my yoke was heavy and my burden griev ous."
He sat there for a long time with the open Gospel on his knee, thinking over his whole past life and remembering all that Pamphilius had said to him at different times. At last he rose and went to his son. To his surprise he found him on his feet, and was inexpressibly glad to find that he had sustained no injury.
Without saying a word to his son Julius went out into the street and set off towards the Christian settlement. He walked all day, and in the evening stopped at a villager's for the night. In the room which he entered lay a man, who got up at the sound of footsteps. It was his acquaintance the physician.
"No, this time you shall not dissuade me!" cried Julius. "This is the third time I have started to go thither, and now I know that only there shall I find peace of mind."
"Where?" asked the physician. "Among the Christians." "Yes, perhaps you may find peace of mind, but you will not have fulfilled your duty. You lack manliness: misfortunes crush your spirit. Not so do true philosophers behave! Misfortunes are only the fire in which gold is tried. You have passed through a test. And now that you are wanted you run away! Now is the time to try people and yourself. You have acquired true wisdom and should employ it for the good of your country. What would happen to the people if all who have learned to know men, their passions, and the conditions of life, were to bury their knowledge and experience in their search for peace of mind, instead of sharing them for the benefit of society? Your experience of life was gained among men and you ought to use it for their benefit."
"But I have no wisdom at all! I am altogether sunk in error! My errors have not become wisdom because they are ancient, any more than water becomes wine because it is stale and foul."
And seizing his cloak Julius hastily left the house and set out to walk farther, without staying to rest. By the close of another day he reached the Christian settlement.
They received him gladly, though they did not know that he was a friend of Pamphilius, whom they all loved and respected. At the refectory Pamphilius,
Wal k i n t h e L igh t 48
seeing his friend, ran to him gladly and embraced him.
"At last I have come," said Julius. "Tell me what I am to do and I will obey you."
"Don't trouble about that," said Pamphilius. "Come with me." And he led Julius into the guest house, and showing him a bed, said:
"When you have had time to observe our life you will see for yourself how you can best be of use to men. But I will show you something to do tomorrow to occupy your time for the present. We are gathering grapes in our vineyards. Go there and help. You will see yourself what you can do."
Next morning Julius went into the vineyards. The first was of young vines which were loaded with clusters. Young people were plucking and gathering them. The places were all occupied and Julius, having walked about for some time, found no place for himself. He went on farther and came to an older vineyard where there was less fruit. But here also there was nothing for him to do; the gatherers were all working in pairs and there was no place for him. He went still farther and entered a very old, deserted vineyard. The vine-stocks were gnarled and crooked and Julius could see no grapes.
"There, that is like my life," he said to himself. "Had I come the first time, it would have been like the fruit in the first vineyard. Had I come when I started the second time, it would have been like the fruit in the second vine yard. But now here is my life –like these useless superannuated vines, only fit for fuel!" And Julius was terrified at what he had done, terrified at the punish ment awaiting him for having uselessly wasted his life. And he became sad and said aloud:
"I am no longer good for anything and can now do nothing!" And he sat down and wept because he had wasted what he could never recover. Sud denly he heard the voice of an old man calling him:
"Work, brother!" said the voice. Julius looked round and saw an old man, gray and bowed by age and scarcely able to move his feet. He was standing by the vines and gathering the few sweet bunches that still remained here and there. Julius went up to him.
"Work, dear brother! Work is joyous!" And the old man showed him where to look for bunches of the grapes that still remained. Julius began to look for them, and finding some, brought them and laid them in the old man's basket. And the old man said to him:
"Look, in what way are these bunches any worse than those they are gathering in the other vineyards? 'Walk while ye have the light!' said our Teacher. 'The will of Him that sent me is that every one who seeth the son,
Wal k i n t h e L igh t 49
and believeth on him, may have everlasting life: and I will raise him up at the last day. For God sent not His son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved. He that believeth on him is not condemned, but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the son, who is of one nature with God. And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved dark ness rather than light, because their deeds were evil. For every one that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved. But he that doeth truth cometh to the light, that his deeds may be made manifest, that they are wrought in God.' My son, be not unhappy! We are all sons of God and His servants! We are all one army! Do you think that He has no servants besides you, and that if you had devoted yourself to His service with your whole strength you could have done all that He needs–all that is needful for the establishment of His kingdom? You say you would do twice, ten times, a hundred times, more than you did. But if you did ten thousand times ten thousand more than all men have done, what would that have been in the work of God? A mere nothing! God's work, like Himself, is infinite. God's work is you. Come to Him, and be not a laborer but a son, and you will become a partner of the infinite God and of His world. In God's sight there is neither small nor great, there is only what is straight and what is crooked. Enter into the straight path of life and you will be with God and your work will be neither small nor great, it will be God's work. Remember that in heaven there is more joy over one sinner than over a hundred just persons. The world's work –all that you have neglected to do–has only shown you your sin, and you have repented. And when you repented you found the straight path. Go forward and follow it, and do not think of the past nor of what is great or small. All men are equal in God's sight! There is one God and one life!"
And Julius was comforted, and from that day he lived and worked for the brethren according to his strength. And so he lived joyfully for another twenty years, and did not notice how death took his body.
Twe nt y - th re e Ta le s
part 1
Ta l e s fo r Chi l dre n
God Sees the Truth, but Waits
In the town of Vladimir lived a young merchant named Ivan Dmitritch Aksyonof. He had two shops and a house of his own.
Aksyonof was a handsome, fair-haired, curly-headed fellow, full of fun, and very fond of singing. When quite a young man he had been given to drink, and was riotous when he had had too much, but after he married he gave up drinking, except now and then.
One summer Aksyonof was going to the Nizhny Fair, and as he bade good-bye to his family his wife said to him, "Ivan Dmitritch, do not start today; I have had a bad dream about you."
Aksyonof laughed, and said, "You are afraid that when I get to the fair I shall go on the spree."
His wife replied: "I do not know what I am afraid of; all I know is that I had a bad dream. I dreamt you returned from the town, and when you took off your cap I saw that your hair was quite gray."
Aksyonof laughed. "That's a lucky sign," said he. "See if I don't sell out all my goods, and bring you some presents from the fair."
So he said good-bye to his family, and drove away. When he had traveled halfway, he met a merchant whom he knew, and they put up at the same inn for the night. They had some tea together, and then went to bed in adjoining rooms.
It was not Aksyonof 's habit to sleep late, and, wishing to travel while it was still cool, he aroused his driver before dawn, and told him to put in the horses.
Then he made his way across to the landlord of the inn (who lived in a cottage at the back), paid his bill, and continued his journey.
When he had gone about twenty-five miles, he stopped for the horses to be fed. Aksyonof rested awhile in the passage of the inn, then he stepped out into the porch and, ordering a samovar to be heated got out his guitar and
53 God Se es t he Trut h , but Waits
began to play.
Suddenly a troyka drove up with tinkling bells, and an official alighted, followed by two soldiers. He came to Aksyonof and began to question him, asking him who he was and whence he came. Aksyonof answered him fully, and said, "Won't you have some tea with me?" But the official went on cross questioning him and asking him, "Where did you spend last night? Were you alone, or with a fellow merchant? Did you see the other merchant this morn ing? Why did you leave the inn before dawn?"
Aksyonof wondered why he was asked all these questions, but he described all that had happened, and then added, "Why do you cross question me as if I were a thief or a robber? I am travelling on business of my own, and there is no need to question me."
Then the official, calling the soldiers, said, "I am the police officer of this district, and I question you because the merchant with whom you spent last night has been found with his throat cut. We must search your things."
They entered the house. The soldiers and the police officer unstrapped Aksyonof's luggage and searched it. Suddenly the officer drew a knife out of a bag, crying, "Whose knife is this?"
Aksyonof looked, and seeing a bloodstained knife taken from his bag, he was frightened.
"How is it there is blood on this knife?" Aksyonof tried to answer, but could hardly utter a word, and only stam mered: "I –I don't know –not mine."