On Patience and Magnanimity

-St. Basil the Great

Let no one, because of the evils he has suffered, dare to think or say that there is no Providence at all governing our affairs, nor let him blame the care and judgment of the Master; rather, let him look upon the sufferer Job and take him as his most excellent counselor. Let him recount in order all the trials Job bore with such courage; though pierced by the devil with countless arrows, he received not one mortal wound.

The evil one stripped him of his household prosperity and resolved to wound him yet more deeply by a rapid succession of tidings of calamity. While the first messenger was still speaking of the disaster, another came announcing a yet greater woe; the calamities were woven together and came like wave upon wave. Before the tears for the first had ceased, another cause for weeping arose. Yet the righteous man stood like a rock at the edge of the sea, receiving the assault of the tempest and turning the onrush of the waves into foam; he sent up to the Master that voice of thanksgiving, and counted none of the things that had befallen him worthy of tears.

When at last the messenger came announcing that a violent wind had shaken the house of feasting and crushed his sons and daughters beneath it, then—only then—did Job tear his garment, showing the natural compassion of a father, and by this act testifying that he was a loving parent; yet even then he adorned the calamity with godly words, saying:
“The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; as it pleased the Lord, so it has come to pass” (Job 1:21).

As though he were saying: “I was called ‘father’ for only so long as He who made me such willed it; He has now chosen to take from me the crown of children—I will not oppose what is His own. Let the Master’s will prevail. He is the Creator of the race; I am but the instrument. Why should I, a servant, vainly resist and accuse a judgment I cannot overturn?”

With such words the righteous man pierced the devil through. When the enemy saw himself vanquished and unable to prevail by any of these means, he turned at last to the very flesh itself and inflicted upon it the cunning of temptation: he smote Job’s body with unspeakable sores, caused streams of worms to issue forth, dragged the man from his royal throne and set him upon a dunghill. Yet even under such torments Job remained unshaken; though his body was torn, he kept the treasure of piety incorrupt in the secret places of his heart.

Then the enemy, not knowing what more to do, recalled his ancient stratagem and brought the counsel of the wife to bear upon his unholy and blasphemous design, hoping through her to shake the champion. She stood long before the righteous man, bowed down, beating her breast because of the calamities, reproaching him as though his piety had borne such fruit; she recounted their former abundance, set before him their present evils, showed to what a wretched life he had come, and what reward he had received from God for all his many sacrifices. Ceaselessly she uttered words proper to womanly weakness—words able to disturb any man and shake even the firmest mind:

“Wandering about and serving passers-by, I who was once a queen am forced to look into the hands of my own servants; I who once fed many now gladly receive food from strangers. It would be better for you to utter some blasphemous word and rid yourself of this earth, sharpening the sword of the Maker’s wrath rather than prolonging this suffering for yourself and your wife.”

These words wounded Job more than all the former calamities. His face filled with wrath; turning to his wife as to an enemy, he said:
“Why have you spoken like one of the foolish women?” (Job 2:10)

That is: “Put away, woman, your counsel! How long will you revile our common life with your words? You have lied against the desire of my heart and slandered my very life. Now I too have become a transgressor together with you, for marriage has joined us into one flesh—yet you have fallen into blasphemy.
If we have received good things from the hand of the Lord, shall we not endure evil?” (Job 2:10)

“Remember the good things that are past; set the better against the worse. No man’s life can be wholly blessed; to be prosperous in all things belongs to God alone. When you grieve over the present, console yourself with the past. Now you weep, but formerly you laughed; now you are poor, but once you were rich. You drank from life’s pure stream—now that you drink the muddy, endure it. Even rivers do not always appear clear.

Life, as you know, is a river ever flowing, full of ceaseless tumults. One part of this life has already flowed past, another is still flowing; one part rises from the springs, another will soon flow forth, and we all hasten toward the common sea of death.
If we have received good things from the hand of the Lord, shall we not endure evil?

Shall we compel the Judge to give us always the same, or teach the Master how He ought to govern our life? He has authority over His own judgments. He orders our affairs as He wills: He is wise and gives what is profitable to His servants. Do not search out the judgments of the Master; only consent to what is arranged by His wisdom. Whatever He gives you, receive with joy. Show in your afflictions that you were worthy of your former gladness.”

With such words Job repelled even this assault of the devil and inflicted upon him the utter shame of defeat.

And what followed? The disease fled from Job as one who had come in vain and accomplished nothing. His flesh was renewed with another youth; his life once more blossomed with every good thing; double wealth flowed into his house from every side—so that one portion he possessed as though he had lost nothing, while the other was the righteous man’s reward for patience.

From this man, therefore, let every one of us learn patience of spirit—he who, when his state was changed from prosperity to calamity, from rich to poor, from father of many children to childless, all in a single moment, remained unshaken, his mind never brought low, and was not even provoked by the counsels of the friends who came to comfort him yet only added to his suffering with their reproaches.

Such calamities sometimes befall men for the testing of their souls, that virtue may be proved both in the rich and in the poor. Here both are tested by patience: the rich man is revealed when he shows generosity and brotherly love; the poor man when he utters thanksgiving and not blasphemy. For with the change of circumstances men’s very characters quickly change.

As fair weather reveals the pilot, the arena the athlete, battle the general, and misfortune the magnanimous man—so temptation reveals the Christian. Just as labors in the contest win crowns for athletes, so steadfastness in temptations brings perfection to Christians, when we receive with fitting patience and thanksgiving all that is sent down from the Lord.

Do not be faint-hearted, but hope in God. Does He not see our need? He certainly has food in His hands, but delays giving it in order to reveal your constancy, to make plain whether your thoughts are like those of the foolish and ungrateful—who praise, flatter, and marvel while food is still in their mouths, but the moment they rise from table hurl abuse like stones at those whom they formerly honored for the sake of a meal.

Elijah dwelt on the lofty and barren Mount Carmel; he was a desert-dweller in the wilderness. Yet this righteous man found everything in his own soul, and hope in God was his provision for life. Living thus, he did not perish of hunger: birds—the most rapacious and insatiable of all creatures—brought him food. Those who usually steal the food of others were, by the Lord’s command, transformed into faithful guardians of bread and meat for the righteous man.

There was also the young Israelite in the Babylonian lions’ den, captive by misfortune yet free in spirit and mind. And what happened there? The lions began, against their nature, to fast; while Habakkuk, the provider of the youth, was carried through the air by an angel with food. That the righteous man might not suffer hunger, the prophet was borne over land and sea across the whole distance from Judea to Babylon.

Again, how did the people led by Moses live in the wilderness? How was food distributed to them for forty years? No one sowed there; there was neither ox nor plow, neither threshing-floor nor mill nor granary—yet they had bread unsown and unplowed; from rocks they received water that had never flowed before but sprang forth for their need.

Therefore, O man, endure this misfortune like the magnanimous Job; do not be shaken by these afflictions; do not cast away a single one of the virtues you possess. Guard thanksgiving in your soul as a precious treasure, from which you yourself will receive double joy.

It is not the man who lacks necessities that is patient, but he who, abounding in good things, patiently bears misfortune.

Are you in pain? Remember: “Whom the Lord loves He chastens” (Heb 12:6).
Are you poor? Rejoice in this: the good things of Lazarus will receive you.
Do you suffer reproach for the name of Christ? Blessed are you, for this your shame shall be changed into angelic glory.
Are you a slave? Give thanks even then: there is one more despised than you. Give thanks that you have at least this superiority—that you are not condemned to punishment, that you do not receive stripes.

Every man has occasion for thanksgiving.
Are you unjustly beaten with the rod? Rejoice in the hope of future rewards.
Do you justly receive punishment? Give thanks for this also.

Since the good deeds of the men of old are preserved either in our memory or in the writings of poets and historians, profit must come to us from them. For example:

A common man reviled Pericles all day long; Pericles paid no heed. The whole day passed thus—the one pouring out abuse without mercy, the other despising it all. When evening and darkness came, Pericles, though the man could scarcely walk, escorted him home with a torch, lest his philosophical training prove useless.

Someone struck Socrates the son of Sophroniscus full in the face, attacking without restraint. Socrates did not defend himself but allowed the drunken man to satisfy his rage until his whole face was swollen with wounds. When the man ceased beating him, Socrates did nothing (so it is said) except write on his forehead, as on a statue: “So-and-so made this,” and thus took his revenge.

Another, enraged at Euclid of Megara, threatened him with death and swore an oath. Euclid in turn swore to make him kindly disposed and to calm his anger against him.

The deed of Cleinias (a disciple of Pythagoras) is hard to believe—yet it happened in perfect accord with our teaching, though he did not intend to imitate it. What did he do? He could have escaped paying three talents by an oath, yet he preferred to pay rather than swear—even though he would have sworn truly—for he had, I suppose, been taught the commandment that forbids us to swear. Cleinias’ deed is therefore in full harmony with that commandment; Euclid’s with the one that bids us bless persecutors and not curse them. Thus, if anyone had first learned these things, he would not doubt that even our seemingly impossible commands can be fulfilled.

Therefore, O mortal, let the commandment of God dwell inseparably with you, ever giving you light and illumination to discern all things. Let it sink deep into your heart and inscribe there true judgments about everything, so that no calamity may cause you to change; rather, having sharpened your whole mind beforehand, it will make you like a rock lying by the sea, safely repelling the fierce onset of winds and waves—through Christ Jesus our Lord, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.