Miracle or coincidence what you call?

Go to the main page

This paralytic, who was barely thirty years old, had been ill for the

past six years, but before that he had been in perfect health and had

even done military service. He had fallen ill after his return home from

service, just before his wedding, and had lost all use of the left side of

his body. In spite of various treatments

by doctors and healers, nothing helped. He had even been specially

taken for treatment to Mineralne Vodi in the Caucasus, and now his

relatives were bringing him here, to Amena-Pretz, hoping against hope

that the saint would help him and alleviate his sufferings.

On the way to this holy place we made a special stop, as all pilgrims

usually do, at the village of Diskiant to pray at the miraculous icon of

Our Saviour, which was in the house of a certain Armenian family. As

the invalid also wished to pray, he was taken into the house, I myself

helping to carry the poor man in.

Soon afterwards we came to the foot of Mount Djadjur, on the slopes

of which the little church with the miraculous tomb of the saint is

situated. We halted at the place where the pilgrims usually leave their

carts, wagons and vans, at the end of the carriage road. From there the

further ascent of a quarter of a mile must be made on foot, and many

walk barefoot, according to the custom there, while others even do this

distance on their knees or in some other special way.

When the paralytic was lifted from the cart to be carried to the top,

he suddenly resisted, wishing to try to crawl up by himself as best he

could. He was put on the ground "and he started dragging himself along

on his healthy side. He did this with such difficulty that it was pitiable

to watch him; but he still refused all help. Resting often on the way, he

finally, after three hours, reached the top, crawled to the tomb of the

saint, which was in the centre of the church, and having kissed the

tombstone, immediately lost consciousness.

His relatives, with the help of the priests and myself, tried to revive

him. We poured water into his mouth and bathed his head. And it was

just as he came to himself that a miracle occurred. His paralysis was

gone.

At first the man was stupefied; but when he realized that he could move

all his limbs, he sprang up and almost began to dance;

then, all of a sudden recollecting himself, with a loud cry he flung

himself prone and began to pray.

All the people there, with the priest at their head, immediately

fell on their knees and began to pray also. Then the priest stood up, and

amidst the kneeling worshippers, held a service of thanksgiving to the

saint.

Another incident, which puzzled me no less, took place in Kars. That

year there was terrible heat and drought in the whole province of Kars;

almost all the crops had been scorched; a famine threatened, and the

people were becoming agitated.

That same summer there arrived in Russia from the patriarchate of

Antioch an archimandrite with a miraculous icon—I do not remember

whether of St. Nicholas the Miracle-worker or of the Virgin—to collect

money for the relief of the Greeks who suffered in the Cretan War. He

travelled with this icon chiefly to places in Russia with a Greek

population, and he also came to Kars.

I do not know whether politics or religion was at the bottom of it all,

but the Russian authorities in Kars, as elsewhere, took part in

organizing an impressive welcome and in according him all kinds of

honours.

When the archimandrite arrived in any town, the icon was carried

from church to church, and the clergy, coming to meet it with banners,

welcomed it with great solemnity.

The day after the archimandrite arrived in Kars, the rumour spread

that a special service for rain would be held before this icon, by all the

clergy, at a place outside the town. And indeed, just after twelve o'clock

on that same day, processions set out from all the churches, with

banners and icons, to join in the ceremony at the appointed place.

In this ceremony there took part the clergy of the old Greek church,

of the recently rebuilt Greek cathedral, the military cathedral, the church

of the Kuban regiment, and also of the Armenian church.

It was a day of particularly intense heat. In the presence of almost the

entire population, the clergy, with the archimandrite at their head, held a

solemn service, after which the whole procession marched back towards

the town. nd then something occurred to which the explanations of

contemporary people are absolutely inapplicable. Suddenly the sky

became covered with clouds, and before the people had time to reach

the town there was such a downpour that everyone was drenched to the

skin.

In explanation of this phenomenon, as of others similar to it, one

might of course use the stereotyped word 'coincidence', which is such a

favourite word among our so-called thinking people; but it cannot be

denied that this coincidence was almost too remarkable.

The third incident occurred in Alexandropol, when my family had

returned there for a short period and we were living again in our old

house. Next door to us was my aunt's house. One of the lodgings in her

house had been let to a Tartar who worked for the local district

government either as a clerk or a secretary. He lived with his old mother

and his little sister and had recently married a handsome girl, a Tartar

from the neighbouring village of Karadagh.

Everything went well at first. Forty days after her marriage the young

wife, according to the Tartar custom, went to visit her parents. But

there, either she caught cold or something else happened to her, for

when she returned she did not feel well, had to go to bed, and gradually

became very ill.

They gave her the best of care, but in spite of being treated by several

doctors, among whom, I remember, were the town doctor, Resnik, and

the former army doctor Keeltchevsky, the condition of the sick woman

went from bad to worse. An acquaintance of mine, a doctor's assistant,

went every morning, by order of Dr. Resnik, to give her an injection.

This doctor's assistant, whose name I do not remember—I only

remember that he was unbelievably tall—often dropped in to see us

when I was at home.

One morning he came in while my mother and I were drinking tea.

We invited him to join us at the table and in the course of the

conversation I asked him, among other things, how our neighbour was

getting on.

'She is very sick,' he replied. 'It is a case of galloping consumption

and doubtless it will soon be "all over" with her.'

While he was still sitting there, an old woman, the mother-in-law of

the sick woman, came in and asked my mother's permission to gather

some rose-hips in our little garden. In tears she told us how Mariam

Ana—as the Tartars call the Virgin—had appeared that night to the sick

woman in a dream and bade her gather rosehips, boil them in milk, and

drink; and in order to calm her the old woman wished to do this.

Hearing this, the doctor's assistant could not help laughing.

My mother of course gave her permission and even went to help her.

When I had seen the assistant off I also went to help.

What was my astonishment when, the next morning on my way to

the market, I met the invalid with the old woman coming out of the

Armenian church of Sev-Jiam, where there is a miraculous icon of the

Virgin; and a week later I saw her washing the windows other house.

Dr. Resnik, by the way, explained that her recovery, which seemed a

miracle, was a matter of chance.

These indubitable facts, which I had seen with my own eyes, as well

as many others I had heard about during my searchings— all of them

pointing to the presence of something supernatural— could not in any

way be reconciled with what common sense told me or with what was

clearly proved by my already extensive knowledge of the exact

sciences, which excluded the very idea of supernatural phenomena.

This contradiction in my consciousness gave me no peace, and was

all the more irreconcilable because the facts and proofs on both sides

were equally convincing. I continued my searchings, however, in the

hope that sometime, somewhere, I would at last find the real answer to

the questions constantly tormenting me. 



(From Metting with remarkable man Gurdjeiff)

Who is better Asians or Europeans?

Go to the main page
(extract from meeting with a remarkable man)

'For any impartial man this viewpoint of mine can be conclusively

confirmed by observing the difference between the degree of

development of feeling in people who are born and spend their whole

lives on the continent of Asia, and in people born and educated in the

conditions of contemporary civilization on the continent of Europe.

'It is a fact, noted by a great many people, that among all the presentday

inhabitants of the continent of Asia who, owing to geographical and

other conditions, are isolated from the effects of modern civilization,

feeling has reached a much higher level of development than among

any of the inhabitants of Europe. And since feeling is the foundation of

common sense, these Asiatic people, in spite of having less general

knowledge, have a more correct notion of any object they observe than

those belonging to the very tzimuss of contemporary civilization.

'A European's understanding of an object observed by him is formed

exclusively by means of an all-round, so to say, "mathematical

informedness" about it, whereas most of the people of Asia grasp the

essence of the object observed by them sometimes with their feelings

alone and sometimes even solely by instinct.'

At this point in his speech about contemporary literature, this

intelligent, elderly Persian, among other things, touched on a question

which at the present time is interesting many European, as they are

called, 'propagators of culture'.

He then said:

The people of Asia were at one time greatly interested in European

literature but, soon feeling all the emptiness of its content, they gradually

lost interest in it, and now it is scarcely read there at all.

'In the weakening of their interest in European literature, the chief

part, in my opinion, was played by that branch of modern writing known

by the name of novels.

'These famous novels of theirs consist mainly, as I have already said,

of long descriptions, in various forms, of the course of a malady which

has arisen among contemporary people and which, owing to their

weakness and will-lessness, lasts rather a long time.

'The Asiatic people, who are not as yet so far removed from Mother

Nature, recognize with their consciousness that this psychic state which

arises in both men and women is unworthy of human beings in general,

and is particularly degrading for a man —and instinctively, they assume

an attitude of contempt toward such people.

'And as regards the other branches of European literature, such as the

scientific, the descriptive, and other forms of instructive exposition, the

Asiatic, having lost to a lesser degree the ability to feel, that is to say,

standing closer to nature, half-consciously feels and instinctively senses

the writer's complete lack of any knowledge of reality and of any

genuine understanding of the subject he is writing about.

'And so because of all this the Asiatic people, after first manifesting a

great interest in European literature, gradually stopped paying any

attention to it, and at the present time disregard it completely; whereas

among the European peoples, the shelves of their public and private

libraries and bookshops are groaning from the daily increasing number

of new books.

'The question must doubtless arise in many of you as to how what I

have just said can be reconciled with the fact that an overwhelming

majority of the people of Asia are illiterate in the strict sense of the word.

To this I will answer that nevertheless the real cause of the lack of

interest in contemporary literature lies in its own shortcomings. I myself

have seen how hundreds of illiterate people will gather

round one literate man to hear a reading of the sacred writings or of the

tales known as the "Thousand and One Nights". You will of course

reply that the events described, particularly in these tales, are taken

from their own life, and are therefore understandable and interesting to

them. But that is not the point. These texts—and I speak particularly of

the "Thousand and One Nights"—are works of literature in the full

sense of the word. Anyone reading or hearing this book feels clearly

that everything in it is fantasy, but fantasy corresponding to truth, even

though composed of episodes which are quite improbable for the

ordinary life of people. The interest of the reader or listener is awakened

and, enchanted by the author's fine understanding of the psyche of

people of all walks of life round him, he follows with curiosity how,

little by little, a whole story is formed out of these small incidents of

actual life.

What is Morality? What Gurdjeff says?

  When he was in Kars, still only a candidate for the priesthood, Bogachevsky had very original views on morality. He then said and

taught me that on earth there are two moralities: one objective,

established by life in the course of thousands of years, and the other

subjective, pertaining to individuals as well as to whole nations,

kingdoms, families, groups of people and so forth.

'Objective morality,' he said, 'is established by life and by the

commandments given us by the Lord God Himself through His

prophets, and it gradually becomes the basis for the formation in man of

what is called conscience. And it is by this conscience that objective

morality, in its turn, is maintained. Objective morality never changes, it

can only broaden in the course of time. As for subjective morality, it is

invented by man and is therefore a relative conception, differing for

different people and different places and depending upon the particular

understanding of good and evil prevailing in the given period.

'For example, here in Transcaucasia,' said Bogachevsky, 'if a woman

does not cover her face and if she speaks with a guest, everyone will

regard her as immoral, spoiled and badly brought

up. But in Russia, on the contrary, if a woman does cover her face and if

she does not welcome a guest and entertain him with conversation,

everyone will consider her badly brought up, rude, disagreeable and so

forth.

'Another example: if a man here in Kars does not go once a week, or

at least once in two weeks, to the Turkish bath, everyone round him will

dislike him and be disgusted by him, and even find that he has a bad

odour, which he may not have at all. But in St. Petersburg it is just the

opposite: if a man even mentions going to the baths, he is considered

uneducated, unintelligent, boorish and so on; and if by chance he should

actually go, he will hide the fact from others so that such a low taste

should not be attributed to him.

'As a very good illustration of the relative understanding of so-called

morality or honour,' continued Bogachevsky, 'let us take the two

incidents which occurred here in Kars last week among the officers and

which made a great stir.

'The first was the trial of Lieutenant K and the second the suicide of

Lieutenant Makarov.

'Lieutenant K was tried by the military court for having struck a

shoemaker, Ivanov, in the face so brutally that he lost an eye. The court

acquitted him, after having found out on investigation that the

shoemaker had caused Lieutenant K much annoyance and had spread

insulting rumours about him.

'Having become very interested in this case, I decided, disregarding

the evidence of the court, to question the family and acquaintances of

the unfortunate shoemaker, so as to ascertain for myself the real reasons

for the conduct of Lieutenant K.

'This lieutenant, as I learned, had ordered first one pair and then two

more pairs of boots from the shoemaker Ivanov and had promised to

send him the money on the twentieth of the month, when he would

receive his pay. When the lieutenant did not send the money on the

twentieth, Ivanov went to his house to ask for what was due to him. The

officer promised to pay the next day, but the next day he again put him

off till the next, and in short, fed him for a long time, as is said, on

"tomorrows". Ivanov, however, went to him time after time to ask for

the money, as it represented for him a very large sum. It was almost all he

possessed—consisting of the entire savings of his wife, a laundress, who

for many years had put it away kopek by kopek, and had given it to her

husband to buy material for the lieutenant's boots. Besides, Ivanov kept

coming for his money because he had six small children to feed.

'At last Lieutenant K grew annoyed at Ivanov's insistence and told his

orderly to say he was not at home; then he simply had him driven off,

and threatened to have him sent to prison. Finally the lieutenant told his

orderly to give Ivanov a good thrashing if he came again.

‘ The orderly, a kindly man, did not beat Ivanov, as his master had

ordered, but, wanting to persuade him in a friendly way not to annoy the

lieutenant with his repeated visits, invited him into the kitchen to talk.

Ivanov sat down on a stool, and the orderly began to pluck a goose for

roasting. Seeing this, Ivanov remarked:

"So! Our lords and masters eat roast goose every day and do not pay

their debts, and meanwhile my children go hungry!"

'At this moment Lieutenant K happened to come into the kitchen and,

overhearing what Ivanov had said, grew so furious that he took a large

beetroot from the table and struck Ivanov in the face so hard that he

knocked his eye out.

'The second incident,' continued Bogachevsky, 'was, so to speak, the

reverse of the first one: a certain Lieutenant Makarov could not pay his

debt to a certain Captain Mashvelov, and so he shot himself.

'It must be said that this Mashvelov was an inveterate gambler and

also a great card-sharper. Not a day passed without his fleecing

someone; it was obvious to all that he played a crooked game.

'A short time ago Lieutenant Makarov was playing cards with some

officers, among them Mashvelov, and he lost not only all his own

money, but also a sum borrowed from this Mashvelov on the promise to

return it to him in three days. As the sum was a large one, Lieutenant

Makarov could not raise it in three days, and, being unable to keep his

word, decided to shoot himself rather than stain his honour as an officer.

'Both these events occurred on account of debts. In one case, the

creditor has his eye knocked out by the debtor, and in the other case, the

debtor shoots himself. Why? Simply because everyone round Makarov

would have severely condemned him for not paying his debt to the

sharper Mashvelov, whereas in the case of Ivanov, the shoemaker, even

if all his children were to starve to death—that would be quite in the

order of things, for the code of honour of an officer is not concerned

with the payment of his debts to a shoemaker.

'And in general, I repeat, acts of this kind occur simply because

people stuff their children, while the future man is still being formed in

them, with all sorts of conventions, and so prevent Nature herself from

developing in them that conscience which has taken form over

thousands of years of struggle by our ancestors against just such

conventions.'

Bogachevsky often urged me not to adopt any conventions, either

those of my immediate circle or those of any other people.

He said: 'From the conventions with which one is stuffed subjective

morality is formed, but for real life objective morality is needed, which

comes only from conscience.

'Conscience is everywhere the same. As it is here, so it is in St.

Petersburg, America, Kamchatka, and in the Solomon Islands. Today

you happen to be here, but tomorrow you may be in America; if you

have a real conscience and live according to it, it will always be well

with you wherever you may be.

'You are still quite young; you have not yet begun life. Everybody

here may now call you badly brought up; you may not know how to bow

correctly, or to say the right thing in the proper manner, but this does not

matter if only when you grow up and begin to live you have in yourself

a real conscience, that is, the foundation of objective morality.

'Subjective morality is a relative conception, and if you are filled with

relative conceptions, then when you are grown up you will always and

everywhere act and judge other people according to the conventional

views and notions you have acquired. You must learn not what people

round you consider good or bad, but to act in life as your conscience

bids you. An untrammelled conscience will always know more than all the books and teachers put together. But for the present, until your own conscience is formed, live according to the commandment of our Teacher Jesus Christ:


 "Do not do to others what you would not wish them to do to you." '

---