Barlaam and Josaphat: A Christian Tale of the Buddha

by Gui de Cambrai

  Then the cries were renewed along with a great clamor of grief, and the noise from the weeping grew louder. Throughout the city, they cried out in laments for the brave and wise Josaphat who wanted to leave his inheritance and renounce his crown. He did not want to hold them all his life. “Sire,” they said, “for God’s sake, have mercy! If you leave us like this, we will be delivered into shame. Evil kings and wicked counts will destroy your kingdom. For God’s sake, good sire, listen to us. You have sixteen cities and one hundred castles. Not a single pagan remains—they have all become Christians. You brought them salvation and they have been baptized. Now you will leave them? You are their lord, their brother, and their ancestral king. You are an unfaithful friend if you would leave them like this! Listen to our supplications, stay with us out of mercy and because we beg you not to leave!”

  “My lords,” he said, “this cannot be. I must seek my master, for I promised to do so a long time ago. Now I will go to find him. I wish to spend whatever remains of my life in the hermitage. My lords, I am a faithful friend to you if I go to heal my soul, for I should not value a kingdom more than my soul. In fact, I am surprised that I have stayed for so long. You should not regret my departure—you should desire it since I go to save my soul. I am king and I give the kingdom back to you. God will not abandon you! I am sorry to leave you and it pains me to depart, but I must leave you to go and pay for my sins. For God’s sake, my lords, do not weep, but listen to me and make peace with my decision, for you can choose a lord who will be a good king and worthy of the reign.”

  He called Barachie forward. This Barachie was a wise nobleman of good reputation. He had been a Christian for a long time, and he was one of the learned men who attended Nachor’s disputation. I described him before, and I remind you that he was the third Christian present when Nachor won the field in the joust with the astronomers.1 Josaphat called him forward and asked him to take the crown. He chose Barachie and freely gave him the land, for he loved him and trusted that the kingdom would be safe with him.

  Barachie resisted. “It is not fair to burden me with what you yourself wish to abandon,” he said. “It is not a privilege to receive what you do not want. The land and the inheritance are yours. Be wise and keep them. My lord, listen to reason: your people need your guidance. It would be wrong to leave them, and disloyal, and disloyalty is not wisdom. It is not right that you should leave your kingdom.”

  “My lord, for God’s sake, cease this complaint,” said Josaphat. “There is no point to it, for I will make you king, Barachie. I swore to my master a long time ago that I would be with him. There is nothing more to say. I am going, and I am leaving you the crown.”

  Barachie said, “You know that it would not be right to leave this place without your people’s consent. Can pity not move you? If the kingdom falls, it will be your fault. You must teach your people. If you wish to honor your bond with them, you must govern, correct, keep, and protect them. How do you know what I will do when I am king of the land? If I do harm, as many other kings do, it will be your fault. Ah, Josaphat, do you not see that it would be wrong to betray us? The land is yours and you can very well save your soul here while you are king. If you stay, the laws that you introduced will grow stronger, but if you abandon us, they will no longer be feared and respected.”

  Josaphat said, “Good, dear friend, although the laws first came from me, those who have become Christians will keep them well. All India is Christian now. There is no castle or town where God is not served. The entire kingdom has been converted and all the people have turned to God. If I leave my office, it is because I am not worthy to hold it, and I wish to leave it with dignity. You will rule the people well.

  “You are worthy of the crown, and worthy is the king who gives you the kingdom you merit,” Josaphat continued. “If you receive it with humility, then your worth will be doubled. Consider your lineage—your family is noble enough for you to become king. Put aside your hesitation since the kingdom falls to you and the crown claims you. Be on guard against the evil in the world. Life goes quickly, and everyone is the same when the time to die arrives. You must take the kingdom, and I must go to other things.”

  “No, I will not do it,” Barachie said. “I will not take it. You must seek another king, because I am not worthy.”

  Josaphat left him. The day ended and night arrived. All the people went back to their houses. Josaphat thought about how he could best acquit his obligations toward God. He spent the whole night writing a letter. He recorded his reasons for leaving his home and his kingdom. He named Barachie king and sent word of his choice to his nobles. He did not know a better man in all the kingdom or one more worthy of the honor. He humbly asked that they recognize Barachie as their king. Then he left the palace, intending never to reenter it. He left his letter on the dais and departed.

  But the people came out into the streets, sobbing and crying out loudly, “Josaphat has betrayed us and he is leaving. Go after him and bring him back to the palace. If he is not willing to be king, he must be king against his will. We will keep him by force since he would force us to let him leave.” All the lords went after him. They crowned him in his palace, in front of all the people of the city, and cared little for what he wanted. The noise was loud and the cries great. Never was a king crowned so unwillingly. He swore to his barons that they crowned him for nothing and for nothing would he hold court. From that day forward they would never see him on the throne, if it were up to him.

  The lords proposed a compromise: they would do his will and would not force him to remain, but they asked Josaphat to crown a king who knew how to keep his law: “Good sire, choose a lord who knows how to rule us!” they pleaded.

  “My lords,” he said, “I will do so.” He stood and took hold of Barachie and put the royal ring on his finger. Josaphat crowned Barachie against his will in front of all his people. Josaphat did not want to be king anymore. He gave the office to Barachie, for whom it was a burden, but he was forced to take it by the great cries, the loud noise, and the complaints of the assembled lords.

  Josaphat counseled him gently, “King Barachie, now you rule this land. Now you must take pains to exalt God and his law, as is fitting for a loyal king. If you wish to rule your people well, you must remain loyal to your lords. Reason and rectitude will give your heart intelligence and restraint. Carry rectitude as your standard so that unreason does not harm it. Worship the Lord God and the holy church as I have always done. Counsel the poor, and do not accept gold or silver for doing wrong. Sire, be attentive, fearful, and watchful. Be humble, eschew pride, and stop at the threshold before entering a room. Keep good counsel. Keep your land in peace. You will have a palace, houses, towers, and castles, but do not disdain the poor people of your empire because of all the honors you enjoy.”

  With these words, Josaphat kissed the king and the barons around him. He took his leave humbly and they all cried with pity. They were sorrowful and regretted their loss. As Josaphat departed, the weeping people surrounded him. They were most sad and sorrowful, and they were dismayed to see their lord leave. There were so many people assembled that Josaphat could hardly leave the city. All day they accompanied him and were reluctant to let him go. They did not want to leave him before nightfall, but then the darkness separated them.

  How extraordinary that such a wise and noble man would leave his inheritance, his lands, and his honors for the sake of his Creator! Josaphat fled to the hermitage, leaving his land and his reign. He went joyfully and happily since he exiled himself for God. He left all the delights of the world, and he constrained his body to bring his soul to salvation.

  When Josaphat’s lords turned back, he fled, and never did a happier man escape. Those left behind were sad and went home confused and sorrowful, but Josaphat went joyfully to seek God, leaving behind his honors and his lands. He had on rich silken clothing, but beneath his royal vestments he wore the hair shirt that Barlaam had left
him. He came to the home of a poor man, who offered him lodging and received a rich reward for his hospitality, since Josaphat gave him his clothes. Then he traveled on with joy and great haste. He carried neither water nor bread. His heart was satisfied because it was filled and illuminated with virtue. All his thoughts were with God; he did not think of anything else. He reprimanded himself and chastised his body. He lived in the hermits’ wilderness and thought only of serving God. He sought never to be separated from him.

  My lords, do not doubt me, I would not lie to you. Josaphat entered the place where the hermits dwelled and was enlightened by God. But the place was large and the way was hard. This was the hermitage of Sanar, a deserted wilderness and a thick wood with no paths through it. A severe drought was in the land and had lasted more than three hundred days. There were no houses, castles, or fortresses, and only caves offered the covering of a roof. No one lived there except hermits who had left the world behind. There was little joy and much suffering, exile, desolation, and a great many snakes.

  The wilderness was vast and its trials were many. Josaphat entered it gladly, praising our Lord that he had reached the harsh, wild hermitage. He lived on roots and herbs; these were sweet medicines that would bring his soul to glory when its victory was perfected. The devil assailed him and took many forms to try to deceive him, but God directed Josaphat’s way. He was with him and remained with him. When the devil tried to make him sin, Josaphat remembered the scriptures and made the sign of the cross against the devil, who found him so full of firm resolve that he could not discourage him or make him sin.

  The noble and gentle Josaphat moved alone through the hermits’ wilderness. He wandered without direction and chastised his body by fasting and going without sleep. He suffered as he walked, naked and in prayer. When he remembered the devil, he burned for God. His limbs became blackened and he was nothing but skin and bones. He had a hard and cruel bed at night, whereas before he had reposed with great comfort and pleasure in his royal chambers, but the harsh bed seemed delightful to him and he lay there in safety. The young man was happy and joyful because he turned his thoughts to God. Each day he prayed for Barlaam. He did not know what had become of him or where he dwelled, and he prayed that God would allow him to find his master. Josaphat sought Barlaam for two years, and he suffered many trials and much pain, but God led him and would save him. As Josaphat wandered through the hermitage, he trained his heart as he praised and served God. Never did a count or king love his Creator so much that he would abandon such great honors to travel through the wilderness, living on herbs in the woods.

  A debate between Josaphat’s body and soul

  Josaphat’s soul and his body were engaged in a fierce battle. The body’s attachment to the pleasures of the world threatened to destroy the soul. The body remembered the noble and beautiful crown it had lost, but the soul claimed that the earthly crown was worthless compared to the one that comes from on high. The body replied that the second could be gained while wearing the first. “The crown was your birthright and you abandoned it,” the body reproached the soul. “Now you know that you were wrong, for this life is too cruel.

  “It is a sin to mistreat me,” the body continued. “You deprive and deceive me. You have become my enemy and you try to kill me. What wrong have I done you that you would wish to murder me so violently? I am your host and I lodge you, but only the wood and pegs remain of my house. The rafters are bare, and you have abandoned me. I was once very beautiful, but you have destroyed me. You hate me and love yourself. You were once married to me, but you destroy our union. You harm me when you rob me of my nobility, my power, and my wealth. You have taken away my pleasures and my delights, my comforts, my privileges, my soft bed, my rich table and my good food, and the servants and valets who served me. All these belong to a king, but where are the food, the wine, and my cups of fine gold now? Where are the silver and the gold that used to fill my treasury? Where are the rich silken fabrics I used to wear? Where are the servants who served me day and night? Everything is lost and I am naked and sorrowful. Alas, I do not know where to turn. I have to stay awake all night and fast all day, and I cannot do anything about it. Alas! I have nothing to cover myself with and nothing to eat.”

  “Stop it, sad creature,” the soul responded. “What were you, what are you, and what will you be? You were nothing, you are nothing, and you will become nothing! What is a great household worth to you, what can wealth, power, or a kingdom bring you, when you have to die in the end? As for your house, the posts and the rafters have fallen because of a little suffering, and yet there is no weight on them! See how miserable your limbs are, but I know you do not think about them and you do not care what I become! Miserable thing, remember that the joy of this world lasts only a short time—think on the enduring happiness that the scriptures describe. I believe there is more sorrow than pleasure in the joy of this world. It begins in sorrow and ends in sorrow. But the joy of heaven is so precious and fine that no one can describe it, however well he speaks. What is the joy of this world worth? What good is silken cloth? Everything grows old and everything fades away. There is no delight in the world equal to the pleasure of serving God.”

  The body did not accept this reasoning. “You are wrong, dear companion. My father, Avenir, was a king and emperor, and he lived happily in the world, enjoying honors, rich clothing, and noble surroundings. He had everything he desired, and he did as he wished with his wealth and knowledge, and for a long time he did not believe. Then at the end of his life, he believed in God and did many good deeds, just as the Christians do. He was not lost, I believe, and he enjoyed many pleasures in the world!

  “Do you believe that God would destroy us with his teaching?” the body continued. “Why did he make this world so beautiful if all those who live in it will be damned? Do you say that those who serve and worship God while well shod and well dressed will be lost? You are foolish to torment me. God made beautiful things to delight men, for no one can spend every minute in worship. You have betrayed me by taking me away from the world. I was in the world, and now I am parted from it. I had a part of the world, you parted me from it, and now my part is very poor. I am naked, barefoot, and impoverished. You allow me to suffer.”

  “By God,” said the soul, “you are wrong. You are earning life through death. Because of your poverty and nudity, and through your hunger, thirst, and discomfort, you will become a lord in heaven. You know well that here below we decline and perish without any certainty of when we will die. Do you know when your life will end? When I leave you, you will be a vile cadaver to be shunned and avoided.

  “What are you saying about King Avenir? It is true that he was a powerful ruler. He had honor and esteem as long as he lived, but in the end he repented and undertook a harsh penance to reconcile himself to God and make peace with him. In the end he proved himself worthy to be saved, but you do not want to carry the burden King Avenir took up. You want to sin with hope, and whoever sins without fear should be judged to die. This is why I keep you poor and naked and give you so little to eat—if your house were covered with a roof you would find comfort, but you would risk being lost. I admonish you with hunger, and I am distressed that you reproach me, for I do it in good faith.”

  “By faith,” said the body, “there is no good faith here, since you are killing me. You are a traitor when you kill your companion, and you will never come to God while you make me live in such shame. I was most unfortunate to be joined to you. You sin and betray yourself when you kill me, and you know it well. You do not care about me any more than you would a dog. Why do you want to kill me? You do not act nobly, and I do not see how you can profit from this, for sin cancels out charity. My companion attacks me. I am dying of thirst and hunger. I see fruit hanging on the tree and I want it, but I cannot taste it. You let me die of hunger. This is why I accuse you of disloyalty: you are wrong to wrong me, when you could treat me well. Do other Christians act this way?”<
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  “Yes, by faith, they do. They sacrifice the body to save the soul.”

  “By faith, there is no reason in this. I pay too dearly for your salvation when I am tortured like this.”

  “What logic you use!” replied the soul. “If I were to be saved without you and you did not share in my rejoicing, then it would be unjust that you should suffer for me. But I believe that you cannot be saved without me, nor I without you. You know this too. I suffer pain and sorrow for your salvation, but you would seek only shame for me if I made you my lord. I leave you in need so that you will not be sullied by the filth of sin.

  “I am your lady and you are my servant,” the soul continued.1 “You can be sure that I will never make you my lord, and I will tell you why. If I made you my lord, I would lose our Lord, and so I will not give you power over me. I know you and your pride well enough to know that you would turn my pure thoughts to great shame. It is not worth it to me. I speak to correct you, for you are excessively proud of your lineage. You think about your earthly legacy and that is why you hate this hermitage. You accuse me of treason, but you do wrong, for I am not a traitor and it is right that I chastise you.”

  “You admonish me too harshly,” the body complained. “Give me at least a little relief, for I cannot bear this. My suffering increases every day. You know I speak the truth, for you can see how weak I have become. If I do not find water and salt, I will no longer be able to speak. I will never be able to move from here if you do not have a little mercy on me.”

  “Mercy for what?”

  “I am starving!”

  “If you were full and satisfied, you would think of even more foolish things than you do now. Your hunger makes you think of nothing other than pleasing yourself. You remember your pleasures, but I do not care, for I know that they will not do you any good and you cannot have them. Make peace with it, for they will never return. You should be happy to lose them, for a fattened body cannot live in this world without sin, and I save you from fattening yourself. You will never have another rich meal, and you must bear it. You gain nothing from feeding your body if you do not feed your thoughts with the memory of sin. You cannot put your trust anywhere else, for I have taken you away from your old life out of pity and compassion.”