4. Solitude and Ascetic Labors in the Distant Wilderness

Father Seraphim withdrew into the wilderness of his own free will, yet not without discernment and not without the blessing of the prior. We have already noted in him a leaning toward solitude, even when he still bore the name Prokhor. This inclination was strong; it would have been difficult to live with it in the world, and so it found its outlet and its satisfaction when Prokhor entered the Sarov Hermitage. Here he saw that many of the monks, not content with the common life, dwelt in the forest in solitary cells. From the very beginning of his life in the hermitage he had given himself wholly to the monastic rule, and his longing for solitude grew ever stronger; he received a blessing, in imitation of the elders, to withdraw into the forest for the monk’s hidden labor of virtue. While still a hierodeacon, he already had a cell in the wilderness and spent fully half of his everyday life there. His inclination toward solitude sought the mortification of sinful thoughts in the life of a desert-dweller. And so Father Seraphim, having become a hieromonk, formed the intention of settling altogether in the wilderness. The eremitic life was his vocation, his calling from above. From what we have already seen of Father Seraphim’s earlier life, we noted that in him was a powerful striving to withdraw from the world for immediate union with Christ. Life in the common brotherhood had taught him self-knowledge: there, as in a crucible, the young monk came to know his own infirmities, and, having grown strong in spirit for the putting off of those infirmities, he became capable of living, with the help of God, a life of solitude. Abba John, the dweller of a skete, instructs the hermit: “to have a mind stripped of all earthly things and, as far as human weakness permits, to be united with Christ” (John Cassian, Conferences, 19, ch. 8). Such a life was fully in keeping with Father Seraphim’s spirit in his present state.

From the causes of the eremitic life—one of which lay in Father Seraphim’s own soul, while the other constituted the goal of the desert-dweller—we must distinguish the outward occasion he put forward when asking a blessing to withdraw into the forest. A monk and Christian who understands the mystery of the hidden life always conceals his aims and intentions beneath some external circumstance which, for its own part, is genuine and itself a motive toward the goal. So it was in the present case as well. From unceasing vigils in his cell, from his constant attendance at the services in church—in short, from years of standing on his feet with only brief rest during the night—Father Seraphim had fallen into infirmity: his legs had swollen and developed open sores; for a time he lost the ability to serve at the altar. This illness was itself no small inducement toward his choice of the eremitic life. In the brotherhood registers as far back as 1796 there was a notation that he bore no monastic obedience in the monastery on account of illness. But given his illness, Father Seraphim ought, one might think, to have asked for rest from monastic labors and to settle in the infirmary cells, which had now already been built; yet instead he petitioned the prior Father Pakhomy for a blessing to withdraw into the wilderness—that is, he wished to pass from lesser labors to greater and heavier ones. The seventy-year-old elder Pakhomy gave him his blessing. This was the last blessing Father Seraphim received from that wise, virtuous, and venerable elder. Builder Pakhomy at this time was already unwell and, seeing no means of recovering his health, was preparing for death. Father Seraphim, keeping in grateful memory how the elder Pakhomy had watched over him in his own illness, now served him in return with self-denial. Once Father Seraphim noticed that, added to Father Pakhomy’s bodily suffering, there was some particular spiritual anxiety and grief.

“About what, holy father, are you so sorrowful?” Father Seraphim asked him.

Elder Pakhomy replied: “I grieve over the sisters of the Diveyevo community: who will look after them after me?”

Father Seraphim, wishing to set the elder at rest in his final moments, promised to look after them himself and to sustain everything as it had been during Pakhomy’s lifetime, after his death as well. Father Seraphim’s promise comforted and gladdened the departing Father Pakhomy; he kissed him joyfully with a last farewell embrace, and not long afterward fell asleep in the peaceful sleep of the righteous. In his place, in that same year of 1794, the worthy successor Elder Hieromonk Isaiya was appointed builder—the same Isaiya who had been Father Seraphim’s godfather at his monastic tonsure. Father Seraphim bitterly lamented the loss of Elder Pakhomy, who had loved him as his own beloved child in the Lord, under whose guidance he had passed through all the stages of monastic life and attained the maturity of a hermit. His prayer for his father, friend, and benefactor rose to God, borne aloft on tears and fervent faith. His consolation in the parting from Father Pakhomy through death was the appointment of Elder Isaiya, whom Father Seraphim also loved and revered deeply.

Thus, after the death of Elder Pakhomy, with the blessing of the new prior Isaiya—his spiritual father—on the twentieth of November 1794, the anniversary of his arrival at the Sarov Hermitage, Father Seraphim withdrew to his wilderness cell. For unimpeded residence there, he was issued a pass signed by Builder Isaiya, which is preserved in the Sarov Hermitage to this day. The text of the pass reads as follows: “The bearer of this document, Hieromonk Seraphim of the Sarov Hermitage, is released for residence in the wilderness on the monastery’s own land:”

on account of his incapacity in community, owing to illness and by his own fervent desire, after many years of probation (that is, the period of testing) in that hermitage and in the wilderness, he is released solely for the peace of his spirit for God’s sake, and with the rule given to him, in accordance with the dispositions of the holy Fathers; and henceforth no one is to hinder him from residing in that place, and this I confirm—Builder Hieromonk Isaiya. November 20, 1797. For the sake of authenticity I affix my seal hereto.“”

The cell in which the elder pursued his salvation stood in a dense thicket of pine forest, on the bank of the river Sarovka, on a high hill, about five versts from the monastery, in the direction of the winter sunrise. It was built of wood and consisted of a single room with a stove; to enter the room one passed through a small vestibule to which a porch had been added. Around the cell a small kitchen garden had been laid out with beds. All this space was enclosed by a fence. In addition, he had a beehive established there in time, which produced the most excellent honey. The hill on which the solitary cell stood lay in the vicinity of other heights. Near Father Seraphim, at a distance of two versts closer to the monastery, other Sarov hermits lived in solitary huts: Abbot Nazary, Hieromonk Dorofey, and Schema-monk Mark. All of this setting somewhat recalled the holy Mount Athos, composed as it is of various heights, covered with forest, monasteries, and the cells of hermit-dwellers. Elder Seraphim therefore named his wilderness hill the Athonite Mountain. Moreover, this hill, like the Holy Mountain, descended steeply on one side. The other most secluded spots in the forest were called by him, in a spiritual sense, by the names of various holy places. There were: the holy city of Jerusalem; Nazareth, where the Holy Virgin Mary received the annunciation from the Archangel; Bethlehem, where Christ was born; the river Jordan, where He received baptism from John; Tabor, on which was the wondrous Transfiguration; the brook Kedron, which the Savior crossed; Golgotha, on which He was crucified; the Garden, in which He was buried and rose again; and the Mount of Olives, from which He ascended into heaven and sat at the right hand of God the Father. These names were given to various places in the Sarov forest in order to vivify the representation of the events of the Savior’s earthly life—He whom Elder Seraphim had resolved to imitate, and of whom he wished to preach to all who came to him for visitation and edification.

Many indeed began to visit Father Seraphim in his wilderness cell. Women also came… One beginning the strict eremitic life considered visits from women unsuitable in the sense that to certain of the brethren, and still more to laypeople, such visits might serve as a stumbling-block and occasion for scandal. Yet to refuse women the spiritual nourishment for which they came to the hermit might also be a thing displeasing to God. And so Father Seraphim, on the visible and entirely incidental grounds that women are forbidden to enter the holy Mount Athos, resolved to extend this prohibition to his own hill, which he had named the Athonite Mountain. He prayed to the Lord God and to the Most Holy Theotokos that his desire might be fulfilled, and that the Lord, if it were not contrary to His will, would give a sign of His assent by bending the branches of the trees at His pleasure. How much he besought the Lord of this, how deep was his prayer, how strong and sincere was the desire itself—that is known to God alone and the Most Pure Virgin Mary, and to Elder Seraphim himself. In the traditions set down at the proper time, however, there is a narrative that the Lord God did indeed give him a sign of His assent. This narrative we shall set down as it has come to us in written form.

“The feast of the Nativity of Christ arrived, on the twenty-fifth of December. Elder Seraphim, having come to the monastery for the feast, stood at the late Liturgy in the church of the Life-giving Spring and received the Holy Gifts of Christ. After the midday meal, having taken food in his monastery cell, he set out safely for the night to the wilderness. On the twenty-sixth, the feast day of the Assembly of the Most Holy Theotokos, in the night he went to the hermitage for the Liturgy, and upon reaching the place where the ground descends steeply downward—from which the hill takes the name Athonite—he saw that enormous boughs from centuries-old pine trees had fallen from both sides of the path and blocked the way, though there had been nothing of the sort the evening before. But all things are possible to God! His first thought was one of gratitude: Elder Seraphim fell to his knees and gave thanks to God for the sign given in answer to his prayer, understanding from this that it was pleasing to the Lord God that women should have no entrance to his hill. Somehow he clambered over the boughs that had blocked the path, came to the hermitage, arrived just in time for the Liturgy, and went into the church of the Life-giving Spring.”

So the chronicler of Seraphim’s time recounts this event. On that day the Liturgy in the church of the Life-giving Spring was celebrated in full assembly by Builder Elder Father Isaiya. The hermit Seraphim stood in the altar. After the Holy Gifts had been transferred to the altar table, when the second half of the Cherubic Hymn had been sung, Father Seraphim approached the altar table with reverence and said to Father Builder Isaiya:

“Father dear, father builder! Give your blessing that women should have no entrance to my hill, on which I now live.”

The builder, who was about to read the prayer of the Prothesis after the transfer of the Holy Gifts to the altar table, answered with a somewhat reproving tone:

“At what a moment, and with what a question have you approached, Father Seraphim!”

“Now is precisely the time to give your blessing, father dear,” Father Seraphim entreated.

“But how can I,” said the builder, “watch from five versts away that women do not enter?”

“You need only give your blessing, father dear,” said Father Seraphim, “and not one of them will ascend my hill.”

Then an icon of the Most Holy Theotokos, “Blessed is the Womb,” was brought forward. Elder Isaiya, blessing Father Seraphim with the holy icon, said:

“I bless you that women should have no entrance to your hill; but guard it yourself.”

Having venerated the holy icon, Father Seraphim withdrew calmly to his place, and at the appointed time for the clergy received Holy Communion. After the midday meal, having given thanks to Elder Isaiya for the blessing he had received, he returned for the night once more to his wilderness cell.

The account of this has been preserved with minor variations in the Sarov Hermitage itself to the present day. Those who knew Father Seraphim personally say that the conversation with Elder Isaiya took place not on the second day of the Nativity of Christ, but on the fifth week of Great Lent, on Saturday, the day of the Akathist to the Most Holy Theotokos; that already one week after the blessing, Father Seraphim, descending from his hill through a ravine, found, as if someone had purposely knocked boughs from the trees and heaped them across the path; and that this circumstance he received as a sign of God’s assent to his prayer. The divergences between these two accounts are so minor that they do not destroy the substance of the event itself. Setting aside the discrepancies, we must leave as beyond doubt: that Father Seraphim prayed to God and to the Most Holy Theotokos for the forbidding of women to ascend his hill; that some sign was given in answer to his prayer; and that the prior, for his part, blessed his desire with an icon of the Most Holy Theotokos. Thereafter Father Seraphim himself blocked the path to his dwelling with logs, and the entrance was entirely closed—not only to women, but to outsiders in general.

During this period of his ascetic striving, Father Seraphim wore constantly a single garment, of the plainest and most humble kind: on his head a worn kamilavka, on his shoulders a smock of white linen, his hands in leather mittens, his feet shod in leather stockings—something like leggings—over which bast shoes were worn. On the smock hung a cross, the very cross with which his devout mother had blessed him when sending him from home; and behind his shoulders he carried a sack in which the ascetic always kept the Holy Gospel close by him, inseparably. Was there not, in Father Seraphim’s mind, a visible sign and lesson in this—that he, as a good soldier of Christ, must always bear his cross, having renounced the world, and that the yoke of Christ depicted in the Gospel is easy and His burden is light? In describing the ascetic life of Father Seraphim, we have no doubt that the bearing of the cross and the Gospel had no other meaning.

What ascetic labors Father Seraphim bore in his wilderness cell; how varied and how heavy they were; to what degree they were lofty and saving—that is known in full to the Lord God alone; it remained the deep secret of the hidden heart of the ascetic. We shall describe here only those deeds and labors which were observed by his contemporaries, as it were through the fence of his wilderness. Yet even in these ascetic labors a connectedness and progression may be discerned: Father Seraphim passed from lesser spiritual works and lighter ones to greater and more difficult, until at last he entered upon a new direction of life, consisting in complete reclusion.

The visible ascetic labors of Father Seraphim at this time consisted of bodily toil, the reading of books, and the recitation of prayers.

Bodily toil varied according to the season, warm or cold. In cold weather it was necessary to heat the cell; the elder prepared firewood with his own hands, carried it into the hut, and warmed it. Besides the bodily labor involved, in this he voluntarily endured cold and frost; for his clothing in winter remained the same as we have already described. In summer he cultivated the beds of his wilderness garden. To fertilize the soil, he would go on hot days to marshy places, gather moss there, and carry it to the beds. Since he would enter these low-lying places without clothing, girding only his loins, the insects stung his body cruelly, causing it to swell, to turn blue in places, and to crust with blood. The elder voluntarily endured these wounds for the Lord’s sake, having before him the examples of the holy ascetics of ancient times in the Orthodox Church. Each summer, fertilizing the soil with moss, Father Seraphim cultivated his beds without outside assistance, planted seeds in them, watered the soil, cleared it of unprofitable weeds, and raised certain vegetables which he used to sustain his strength. In the life of a strict ascetic these occupations, while exercising the body, had moreover a moral significance: they served the elder as a remedy for the pain in his legs, which had been put forward as the stated reason for his withdrawal to the wilderness. With bodily exercise the elder entered into a state of cheerfulness which overflowed into the singing of sacred songs. Ever attentive, possessed of a retentive memory, he knew by heart a multitude of church songs, with which he refreshed his spirit amid the monotony of bodily occupations. On various church feasts and Sundays, calling to mind the sacred events, he would sing various sacred songs. But those close to Father Seraphim noticed that certain hymns, having the greatest relevance to his locality and to his solitary work of virtue, were heard more often than others and were his favorite songs. Such were, for example: a) “Universal Glory”—a hymn which Father Seraphim sang in honor of the Most Holy Theotokos, regarding Her as the patroness of his wilderness; b) “For those in the wilderness, a ceaseless divine longing is born, apart from all that is vain in the world”—a wondrous antiphon, which in a beautiful picture depicts the wilderness life and lifts the soul of the desert-dweller to heavenly things; c) “He who brought all things from non-being into being, creating by the Word, perfecting by the Spirit”—a hymn that raises the soul to the great work of God’s love, the creation of the world and of man; d) “He who founded the earth upon nothing by His command,” and others. Thus the simplest occupations elevated the spirit of the ascetic to a moral disposition and a church-biblical vision of the world. In every object, in every deed, he perceived their hidden relationship to the spiritual life and found instruction therein. Hence certain manifestations of the following kind were observable. Father Seraphim, occupied with some task in the garden or at the beehive or in the forest, would without noticing it, for a certain interval, break off his work; the tools would fall from his hands; his hands would drop to his sides; his eyes would give his face a wondrous quality of inward absorption; the elder would plunge with his whole soul into himself, his mind would ascend into heaven and soar in the contemplation of God. No one dared in these inspired moments to disturb his sweet stillness; with reverence each one would gaze upon the elder and quietly withdraw from his sight.

What, then, was the religious and unified vision of nature that Elder Seraphim had formed within his soul in his monastic life? And was he not, with all accuracy, a representative in our own time of the very essence of ancient Orthodox monasticism—which set a significant part of its spiritual work in spiritual contemplation, so greatly conducive to the purification of mind and heart?

In order to maintain himself constantly at the level of eremitic contemplation, in order to stretch ever higher and higher in spiritual perfection, Father Seraphim, beyond his bodily labors, gave himself to the most exalted occupations of mind and heart and read many books. The foremost book for him now was Holy Scripture, and within it the Holy Gospel, which he always carried with him. His constant ascetic life, the reading of many patristic writings, the study of the contents of liturgical books, and prayerful communion with God had illumined his mind with such a light that he understood clearly the meaning of the word of God. His constant rule in the wilderness was to read daily, with his own explanation and reflection, several lections from the Gospel and the Apostle. He also loved, for the more vivid representation of events, to read the Holy Gospel at those places in the wilderness which, as we have seen, bore the names of holy sites. Thus, in his Bethlehem garden, contemplating with his mind the Christ-Child lying swaddled in the manger for our sake, he would sing in imitation of the heavenly powers: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill among men.” Stopping on the bank of the Sarovka, as if at the waters of Jordan in Bethabara, Father Seraphim would read of John the Baptist, would hearken to his preaching of repentance and the approach of Christ’s kingdom, and would call to mind the Savior’s baptism in the Jordan. The Savior’s Sermon on the Mount concerning the nine most sweet promises of blessedness he would hear on one

hill lying by the Sarov river, while there, on another height called the Mount of Transfiguration, he would contemplate in spirit, in the company of the holy Apostles, the glory of the transfigured Lord. Plunging into the depths of the dense Sarov forest, he would recall according to the Gospel the Lord’s prayer in the agony of the Garden, and, moved to the depths of his soul by His inner suffering, he would pour forth tearful prayers for his own salvation. In one place, at a considerable spreading of the Sarovka, as if on the shore of the Sea of Tiberias, he would read the Gospel account of the Lord’s appearance after the Resurrection to His disciples, His conversation with them, and the wondrous catch of fish (John 21:1–14). On the hill called the Mount of Olives he would contemplate the glory of Christ’s Ascension into heaven and His sitting at the right hand of the Father. Thus both the natural revelation of God—that is, nature—and together with it the divinely revealed word of the Holy Trinity served the devout ascetic, each in its own measure, as a path to spiritual ascent and perfection. No one who knows that nature with all its phenomena received its being from God and that among its appointed ends lies God’s own thought—to assist the ascent of men to the Lord—will be in the least astonished at this account. Besides Holy Scripture, Father Seraphim sought wisdom for himself in the writings of the holy Fathers of the Orthodox Church, and at this time his soul confined itself to writings specifically of ascetic content, such as the works of John Climacus, the venerable Varsanufiy, Ephraim and Isaac the Syrians, the Margarit, and others. The reading of the word of God and of spiritual writings Father Seraphim regarded as a matter of the greatest importance for the Christian’s spiritual perfection, for his ascent to heaven and union with God. This he called the provisioning of the soul, and his thoughts on the subject he set forth in a special treatise entitled: “By what the soul ought to be provisioned.”

Thus in the solitude of the wilderness Father Seraphim read through all of Holy Scripture with understanding. Now he sought in it not truth alone, but also warmth of spirit: tears of tender compunction would often moisten his cheeks. Peace of soul and the gift of deep knowledge of the word of God were God’s reward for this labor. “It is very profitable,” he would say, “to occupy oneself with reading the word of God in solitude and to read through all the Bible with understanding. For such an exercise alone, apart from other good deeds, the Lord will not abandon a person by His mercy, but will fill him with the gift of understanding.”

The third occupation of Father Seraphim in the wilderness was the recitation of prayers. He had with him a Psalter with additional services. The ascetic performed by it daily the monastic rule according to the practice of the first, strict desert-dwellers. Thus, around midnight, rising from sleep, he would perform the rule of Pachomius the Great, read the morning prayers, sing the Midnight Office and Matins, and read the First Hour. At the coming of the ninth hour, he would read the Third, Sixth, and Ninth Hours and go through the order of the Typika. In the evening he would read Vespers and Small Compline. At the coming of the night he would perform the monastic rule with the prayers before sleep. Often also, instead of the evening rule, he would make a thousand prostrations at one time. His sleep during the night was brief. Moreover, he engaged in psalmody, first according to the rule of Saint Pachomius the Great and then, adapting it to that rule, he composed his own order of service, which is known as the cell rule, and which is also shown in the appendix. These prayer services Elder Seraphim would go to perform as well at those places which in a spiritual sense bore the names of holy sites. Thus the Third, Sixth, and Ninth Hours with the order of the Typika—in which is concentrated the commemoration of the sufferings and death of Christ—he loved to perform in solitude on his Golgotha. Here with the eyes of faith he beheld how our Lord Jesus Christ was nailed to the Cross, how He, having suffered, died on the Cross and was buried. The elder knew by his own spiritual experience all the obstacles a person encounters on the path of prayerful ascent, and afterward, in conversation with others, would indicate sure means for their removal; he knew all the forms and degrees of prayer and himself ascended not only to the labor of what is called the prayer of the mind, but to the very highest earthly height of prayerful contemplation, in which a person, like Stephen the Archdeacon, Gregory Palamas, and others, is accounted worthy of heavenly visions and revelation. “When the mind and heart,” he would say, “are united in prayer and the thoughts of the soul are not scattered, then the heart is warmed with a spiritual warmth in which the light of Christ shines, filling the whole inner man with peace and joy.” Living his life in solitude, in labor, in reading, and in prayer, Father Seraphim combined with this fasting and the strictest abstinence. At the beginning of his settlement in the wilderness he ate bread—mostly stale and dry; he would usually take bread with him on Sundays for the entire week. There is an account that of this week’s portion of bread he would give part to the wild animals and birds, which had been gentled by the elder, loved him greatly, and visited the place of his prayers. He also ate the vegetables produced by the labor of his own hands in the wilderness garden. The very purpose of this garden was that he might place no burden whatsoever on the hermitage and, following the example of the great ascetic the Apostle Paul, sustain himself by working with his own hands (4:12). In the course of time he trained his body to such abstinence that he ceased to eat even his daily bread, and, with the blessing of Prior Isaiya, nourished himself solely on the vegetables of his own garden. These were potatoes, beets, onions, and the herb called snyt. During the first week of Great Lent he abstained entirely from food until Holy Communion on Saturday. After a further interval, Father Seraphim’s abstinence and fasting reached an almost unbelievable degree. Having stopped altogether taking bread from the hermitage, he lived without any support from it for more than two and a half years. The brethren, marveling, could not understand on what the elder could have sustained himself all that time—not only in summer but in winter. He meanwhile carefully concealed his ascetic labors from the eyes of men. But before his death, in conversation on the twentieth of May 1832 with a trusted person who at that time wrote down their exchange, Father Seraphim disclosed this, beginning as follows:

“Do you know snyt? I would gather it and put it in a little pot; sometimes I would pour in a little water and put it in the stove—a fine dish would come out.”

“I asked him about snyt, what it meant—whether to take it as a figure of speech, or as something actual. He replied: ‘What a one you are! Do you not know the herb snyt? I am telling you about myself. I myself prepared this dish from snyt.’”

I asked him how he ate it in winter and where he got it.

He replied: “What a one you are! In winter I dried the snyt, and on this alone I sustained myself—and the brethren wondered what I lived on! But I ate snyt… And this I did not reveal to the brethren, but to you I have told it.”

I asked: and for how long a time had he eaten it?

He gave me a precise answer to this as well. But I forgot exactly how many days short of one thousand days he ate nothing but snyt. I only remember that for more than two and a half years, not quite three years, he sustained himself on this herb alone.“”

On weekdays, pursuing his salvation in the wilderness, Father Seraphim would appear at the hermitage on the eves of feasts and Sundays, hear Vespers and the All-night Vigil, and at the early Liturgy in the infirmary church of Saints Zosima and Savvaty would receive Holy Communion of the Holy Gifts of Christ. Then until Vespers he would receive in his monastery cell those who came to him with spiritual needs from among the monastic brethren. During Vespers, when the brethren left him, he would take bread for the week, withdraw to his wilderness. The entire first week of Great Lent he would spend in the hermitage. During those days he would keep a strict fast, make his confession, and receive Holy Communion. His confessor from long since had been the builder Elder Isaiya.

Such were the days the elder spent in the wilderness! The other hermit-dwellers, whose names we have already mentioned, each had one disciple who served them. Father Seraphim lived in complete solitude. Certain of the Sarov brethren attempted to live together with Father Seraphim in the wilderness and were received by him; but not one of them could endure the hardships of the eremitic life; in no one was there found enough moral fortitude to appear, as a disciple, in imitation of Father Seraphim’s labors. Their devout attempts, though of benefit to the soul, were not crowned with complete success; and those who had settled with Father Seraphim returned again to the hermitage.

Many of the Sarov brethren also came to him temporarily in the wilderness. Some wished simply to visit him, while others came out of need for counsel and instruction. The elder distinguished between people well. From some he would withdraw, wishing to preserve silence; but those who had need of him he did not refuse spiritual nourishment, guiding them with love toward truth, virtue, and the ordering of their lives. Among the constant visitors of Father Seraphim were known Schema-monk Mark and Hierodeacon Alexander, who was also pursuing salvation in the wilderness. The former came to him twice a month, the latter once. Father Seraphim conversed with them readily on various subjects conducive to the salvation of the soul. Upon their hearts there was impressed with particular depth his conversation on unceasing inner, or mental, prayer—its power and significance—a teaching that became known to Father Seraphim not from books but from his own experience of life. A brief example of this conversation we find in the following instruction of Father Seraphim on prayer.

“Those who have truly resolved to serve the Lord God must exercise themselves in the remembrance of God and in unceasing prayer to Jesus Christ, saying with the mind: Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner; and in the hours after midday one may say this prayer thus: Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, through the prayers of the Theotokos have mercy on me, a sinner; or else have recourse specifically to the Most Holy Theotokos, praying: Most Holy Theotokos, save us; or say the Angelic salutation: Rejoice, O Theotokos, Virgin! By such exercise, guarding oneself from distraction and maintaining purity of conscience, one may draw near to God and be united with Him. For, in the words of Saint Isaac the Syrian, apart from unceasing prayer we cannot draw near to God (Discourse 69, fol. 142).”

“The forms of prayer have been explained very well by Saint Symeon the New Theologian (Symeon the New Theologian, Russian transl., Discourse 68).”

“The dignity of prayer has been clearly defined by Saint John Chrysostom: prayer, he says, is a mighty weapon, a treasure that does not fail, a wealth never exhausted, a harbor free from storm, the cause of tranquility and the root of countless blessings; it is a fountain and a mother” (Margarit, Discourse 5, On the Incomprehensible).“”

“In church it is profitable to stand at prayer with eyes closed, in inward attentiveness; but to open the eyes when you are overcome by despondency, or when sleep begins to weigh upon you and incline you to drowsiness; then you must turn your eyes toward the icon and to the candle burning before it.”

“If during prayer the mind happens to be captivated and carried away into a scattering of thoughts, one must humble oneself before the Lord God and ask forgiveness, saying: I have sinned, O Lord, in word, in deed, in thought, and in all my senses.”

“For this reason one must always strive not to give oneself over to distraction of thoughts; for through this the soul turns away from the remembrance of God and from love of Him, by the action of the devil, as Saint Macarius says: all the striving of our adversary is to turn our thought away from the remembrance of God, and from fear of Him, and from love of Him (Discourse 2, ch. 15).”

“But when the mind and heart are united in prayer and the thoughts of the soul are not scattered, then the heart is warmed with a spiritual warmth, in which the light of Christ shines, filling the whole inner man with peace and joy.”

“In all things we must give thanks to the Lord and commit ourselves to His will; we must also present to Him all our thoughts, words, and deeds, and strive that all may serve only to His good pleasure.”

Despite the infrequency of visits, the hermit-dwellers Mark and Alexander would at times find Father Seraphim wholly plunged into contemplation of God. In such a case, not daring to disturb his spiritual occupations, they would wait, unbeknown to the elder, for their conclusion. It would also happen that after waiting about an hour they would not obtain a meeting with him, and would return to their own places; and having before them such a living lesson of asceticism, they would themselves with greater zeal give themselves to spiritual labors.

Among the outside visitors of Father Seraphim at this time, one is especially well known: a deacon from Nizhny Novgorod province, later a hieromonk and ascetic, Timon. He came from a clerical family and had completed the full course of studies at the Nizhny Novgorod Seminary; he was an educated man. The influence of theological learning had developed in him, beyond intellectual gifts, a sense of piety of an ascetic character. Circumstances, however, compelled him to marry, though against his own desires. He was then ordained a deacon. But in a short time the Lord loosed him from the bonds of matrimony: his wife died not long after. Remaining free, this Father Deacon went frequently to the Sarov Hermitage. There he became close to the hermits Father Seraphim and Mark. The elders, seeing his sincere zeal for a godly life, gladly took him under their guidance and were his mentors and teachers. Their words fell on good soil. The Father Deacon entered monastic life and in the rank of hierodeacon served as steward of an episcopal household. The bishop of Nizhny Novgorod wished to ordain him to the rank of hieromonk. But “I,” Timon would say of himself, “by no means consented, for all my desire was to live alone in the wilderness, with God alone.” Many years later the bishop sent him as builder to a city monastery. Once, having come to the monastery to serve, the bishop said that it was not fitting for a hierodeacon to be builder, and ordained him a hieromonk, though he had not sought it. “But I,” said Father Timon, “desired to retire to the Kostroma diocese, to the Krivozersky Monastery, which I had known before.” The Holy Synod released him from the monastery, and the abbot of Krivozero gave him a blessing to settle in the inner wilderness, where he lived alone for nearly twenty years. Near the place of Father Timon’s inner wilderness stood a monastery farm and a small old church. Food was brought to the hermit from the farm. Then “for the sake of my great sins,” Father Timon would narrate, “the Lord commanded me to leave the wilderness and come to the farm, to live there and to found a monastery. But I by no means wished to be parted from the wilderness and I resisted my Lord. For this the Lord punished me: I was struck with paralysis and lay as one dead. The monastery laborers came for timber and, bringing me food, found me without consciousness and without speech, entirely stricken, and they took me and brought me to the farm. But my Lord God healed me miraculously in a short time, as if I had never been ill. And I gave thanks to my Lord God and ceased any further to resist God’s will, and remained in that place to live, and the Lord blessed that place. And I, with God’s help, in a short time built this community.” This community is now called the Nadeevskaya Pustyn and is in the Kostroma diocese.

If outside his wilderness cell the elder unexpectedly encountered anyone in the Sarov forest, he would ordinarily, without entering into conversation, bow to him with humility and withdraw: “No one has ever repented of silence,” he would say later in his instructions. Upon people who did not know Father Seraphim personally, such a sudden encounter with him in the wilderness, given his attire, produced a wondrous impression, never to be erased, and frequently taught them virtue no less than his conversation itself. The strictness of his life and of his relations with others corresponded to his first essays of teaching in the ascetic spirit, distinguished by faithfulness of thought, brevity, and force of expression:

“Perfect love for God,” he taught, “unites those who love with God and with one another mutually; the mind that has acquired spiritual love thinks nothing at variance with love.”

“Solitude, prayer, love, and abstinence are a four-part chariot that lifts the spirit to heaven.”

“Exhaust your body by fasting and vigil—and you will repel the tormenting thought of sensuality.”

“As it is God’s work to govern the world, so it is the soul’s work to govern the body.”

“Lust is destroyed by suffering and sorrow, whether voluntary or sent by Providence.”

“By whatever measure you apportion to your body, by that same measure will God render to you the just recompense of the goods awaited.”

“God is the unfailing promiser of future blessings; believing in Him, the ascetic desires the future as if it were already present.”

“If the mind, entirely forgetting the things of this world, increasingly strives to know the things to come, this is a sign that it lives in blessed expectation.”

“Dispassion is a good thing: God Himself gives and establishes this state in souls that love Him.”

“Do not be negligent in the active life—and your mind will be illumined; God Himself promises this: I will give you treasures of darkness, and hidden riches of secret places (Is 45).”

“Solitude and prayer are great means toward virtue: purifying the mind, they render it far-sighted.”

“Asceticism demands patience and magnanimity: for love of the world is eradicated only by long-practiced diligence.”

“He who endures with prayer the blows of involuntary temptations becomes humble, full of hope, and experienced.”

“Patience is the diligence of the soul, and diligence consists both in voluntary labors and in the endurance of involuntary temptations. The mind that has received some measure of dispassion is at times unshaken, but without deeds it remains inexperienced.”

“To whom faith is given, of him is required abstinence, which, taking root, gives birth to patience—a habit gained through much toil. The sign of patience is love of labors; resting upon them, the mind hopes to receive the promise of future blessings.”

“The promise of future blessings binds the mind to that which is awaited, so that we forget and relinquish the present.”

Seeing the so sincere, zealous, and in truth exalted asceticism of Elder Father Seraphim, the devil, the ancient enemy of all good, armed himself against him with various temptations. By his cunning, beginning with the lightest, he first sent upon the ascetic various terrors. Thus, according to the account of one elder hieromonk of the Sarov Hermitage advanced in years, once during prayer he suddenly heard from beyond the cell walls the howling of a beast; then, as if a crowd of people had gathered, they began battering down the door of the cell, knocked out its doorposts, and flung at the feet of the praying elder a log of enormous thickness—a stump—which eight men carried out of the cell with great effort. At other times, both by day and especially at night during prayer, he would suddenly see visibly before him as though his cell was falling apart in four directions, and as though from every side terrible beasts were rushing at him with savage and furious roaring and shrieking. Sometimes there would suddenly appear before him an open coffin, from which a dead man rose up.

Since the elder did not yield to these terrors, the devil raised against him most savage attacks. Thus he would, by God’s permission, lift him up into the air and then hurl him against the floor with such force that, were it not for his guardian angel, even his bones might have been shattered by such blows. But even by this he did not overcome the elder. Most probably, amid these temptations, the elder with his spiritual eye—which penetrated into the heavenly world—beheld the evil spirits themselves. Perhaps the spirits of malice even appeared to him visibly in bodily forms, as they did to other ascetics… At any rate it is evident that the elder actually saw the evil spirits. For one layman, in simplicity of heart, asked him:

“Father dear! Have you seen evil spirits?”

The elder replied with a smile:

“They are hideous… Just as it is impossible for a sinner to look upon the light of an angel, so it is terrible to behold the demons: for they are hideous.”

All the visions, temptations, and assaults of the enemy the elder overcame by the power of the sign of the Cross and by prayers. After them he would dwell for a long time in peace in his wilderness, giving thanks to the Lord for this peace and tranquility.

The ecclesiastical authorities knew Father Seraphim and understood how beneficial it would be for many to appoint such an elder as abba, as prior of some hermitage. The position of archimandrite in the city of Alatyr became vacant in 1796. Father Seraphim was designated to go there as prior, with elevation to the rank of archimandrite. In the preceding and current centuries the Sarov Hermitage had more than once given from among its brotherhood good priors to other communities. But Elder Seraphim earnestly besought the then prior of Sarov, Isaiya, to deflect this appointment from him. Does not this circumstance alone sufficiently prove that Father Seraphim sought in monasticism the salvation of his soul and truly wished to be an ascetic in the true and genuine sense of that word? Builder Isaiya and the Sarov brethren were sorry to let Elder Seraphim go from them—a fervent man of prayer and a wise instructor. The wishes of both parties came together: all began asking another hieromonk from Sarov itself, Elder Avraamy, to take upon himself the rank of archimandrite in the Alatyr Monastery; and the brother, solely out of obedience, accepted this rank upon himself.

Seeing the humility of Elder Seraphim, the devil raised against him a great persecution, stirred up in his soul a spiritual warfare of the mind, and sustained this struggle with such pressure and force as had once brought down the great Theophilus among the Fathers, the steward of the Church of Adana (see the Lives of Saints, July 23). In this grievous trial of soul Elder Seraphim turned to the Lord, the Establisher of our salvation, Jesus Christ, and to His Most Pure Mother; and resolved himself to intensify his monastic labors, so as to destroy, with help from above, the terrible snares of the devil that plunged him into despondency. Having received a blessing, he took upon himself a new and higher labor of prayer.

In the deep forest, halfway between the cell and the monastery, lay a granite stone of extraordinary size. Recalling the difficult labor of the holy Stylites, Father Seraphim resolved to take part in asceticism of this kind. For this purpose he would ascend—so as not to be seen by anyone—in the nighttime hours onto this stone to intensify his labor of prayer. He would pray ordinarily either standing on his feet or kneeling, with hands raised upward like Saint Pachomius, crying out in the voice of the publican: “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” In order to balance his nighttime labors with those of the day, Father Seraphim also had a stone in his cell, on which he prayed during the day from morning until evening, leaving the stone only for rest from exhaustion and to refresh himself with food. This manner of prayer labor he bore at intervals over the course of a thousand days.

In his instructions Father Seraphim would always say that “although all effort must be directed toward the soul, the body is to be sustained only insofar as it assists in the strengthening of the spirit; but if we exhaust our body through self-will to the point where the spirit too is exhausted, such affliction is senseless, even if it be done for the acquiring of virtue.” Thus brightly did Father Seraphim look upon the ascetic life! Thus too did he act! From standing on the stones, from the difficulty of this prayer labor, his body was notably altered, and the illness in his legs recurred—and from that time until the end of his days it never ceased to torment him. Father Seraphim understood that the continuation of such labors would have led to the exhaustion of both spirit and body, and he ceased his prayer on the stones. These labors he performed in such secrecy that not a single human soul knew of them or suspected them. After Isaiya, the abbot Nifont received a confidential inquiry concerning Father Seraphim from the bishop of Tambov. In the papers of the hermitage there is preserved a draft reply from Nifont, in which the prior answered: “of the labors and life of Father Seraphim we know; but of any secret deeds, and likewise of his standing for one thousand days and nights on the stone, no one had any knowledge.” Near the end of his days, so as not to remain an enigma to people—after the manner of other ascetics—among other manifestations of his life he told certain of the brethren, for their edification, of this labor as well.

One of the listeners of this account, moved by wonder at the labors of prayer on the stones, remarked that this was beyond human strength.

The ascetic, explaining the complete possibility of the matter, remarked with humility: “Saint Symeon the Stylite stood on his pillar for forty-seven years; and do my labors resemble his feat?”

His interlocutor added on his own part: “In this labor, surely, the help of strengthening grace was perceptible to you?”

“Yes,” replied the elder, “otherwise human strength would not have sufficed… Inwardly I was strengthened and consoled by this heavenly gift, descending from above from the Father of lights…”

Then, having been silent for a little while, he added: “When there is tender compunction in the heart, God is with us.”

In these last words, against the elder’s own will, the spirit of his prayer revealed itself. He prayed with tender compunction, and his prayers were so near to God that he sensed within himself the presence of God and was strengthened by the gracious gift of this feeling.

The stones on which Father Seraphim had labored are preserved to this day, as we shall see below; and for some time after his death they remained in their places where they lay. The brethren of the hermitage and pilgrims would go to see them, so that to Seraphim’s wilderness, in place of the former narrow path, a wide road was afterward opened, along which carriages could drive. Many would chip off and take home pieces of his stones. In certain devout homes these fragments are encountered, bearing on them an image of Father Seraphim kneeling in an attitude of prayer.

In all the temptations and attacks upon Father Seraphim, the devil’s aim had been to drive him from the wilderness. Yet all the enemy’s efforts remained fruitless: he was vanquished, withdrew in shame from his conqueror, but gave him no rest. Devising new means to remove the elder from the wilderness, the evil spirit began to wage war against him through wicked men. On the twelfth of September 1804, three men unknown to the elder approached him, dressed in peasant garb. Father Seraphim was at that time felling trees in the forest. The peasants, insolently advancing upon him, demanded money, saying that “worldly people come to you and bring you money.” The elder said: “I take nothing from anyone.” But they did not believe him. Then one of those who had come threw himself upon him from behind, intending to knock him to the ground, but instead fell down himself. From this mishap the villains were somewhat daunted, yet did not wish to abandon their purpose. Father Seraphim possessed great physical strength and, armed with an axe, might have defended himself with some hope of success. This thought flashed for an instant through his mind. But he then recalled the Savior’s words: all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword (Matt. 26:52), did not wish to resist, calmly laid the axe on the ground, and said gently, folding his arms crosswise on his chest: “Do what you must.” He resolved to endure all things without cause for the Lord’s sake. Then one of the peasants, picking up the axe from the ground, struck Father Seraphim on the head with the butt with such force that blood poured from his mouth and ears. The elder fell to the ground and lost consciousness. The villains dragged him toward the cell porch, continuing to beat him furiously, like quarry taken in hunting—some with the axe-head, some with a stick, some with their own hands and feet; they even talked of throwing the elder into the river… And when they saw that he was already truly as one dead, they bound his hands and feet with rope and, having laid him in the vestibule, themselves rushed into the cell, imagining they would find untold riches there. In the humble dwelling they quickly went through everything, looked over all, broke up the stove, tore up the floor, searched and searched, and found nothing for themselves: they saw only a holy icon, and a few potatoes came to hand. Then conscience spoke powerfully within the villains, repentance stirred in their hearts that they had beaten a devout man needlessly, with no profit even to themselves; some kind of fear came upon them, and in terror they fled out. Meanwhile Father Seraphim, from the savage death-dealing blows, could barely come to his senses, somehow untied himself, gave thanks to the Lord that he had been accounted worthy to bear wounds for His sake without cause, prayed that God would forgive the assailants, and, having spent the night in the cell in suffering, made his way the following day with great difficulty—yet on his own—to the hermitage, arriving just at the time of the Liturgy. His appearance was terrible! The hair of his beard and head was dampened with blood, matted and tangled, covered with dust and debris; his face and hands were beaten; several teeth were knocked out; his ears and mouth were crusted with blood; his garments, crumpled and blood-soaked, had dried and in places adhered to his wounds. The brethren, seeing him in such a state, were horrified and asked what had befallen him. Without answering a word, Father Seraphim asked to have the prior Father Isaiya and the monastery confessor called to him, to whom he told in detail everything that had occurred. Both the prior and the brethren were deeply grieved by the sufferings of the elder. By reason of this misfortune Father Seraphim was compelled to remain in the monastery to recover his health. The devil, who had raised up the villains, appeared now to be celebrating a victory over the elder, imagining that he had driven him from the wilderness for good. The first eight days were very hard for the sick man: taking neither food nor water, he had no sleep either from the unbearable pain. The hermitage had no expectation that he would survive his sufferings. The prior, Elder Isaiya, on the seventh day of the illness, seeing no turn for the better, sent to Arzamas for physicians. Examining the elder, the physicians found his condition as follows: his head was fractured, his ribs broken, his chest crushed by trampling, and his whole body covered in various places with mortal wounds. They marveled how the elder could have remained alive after such a beating. According to the traditional method of treatment, the physicians considered it necessary to bleed the patient. The prior, knowing that the patient had already lost much blood from his wounds, did not agree to this measure; but, at the earnest insistence of the medical council, resolved to propose it to Father Seraphim. The council assembled again in Father Seraphim’s cell; it consisted of three physicians, with three medical assistants. While awaiting the prior they again examined the patient, deliberated for a long time in Latin among themselves, and determined to bleed him, bathe him, apply plasters to his wounds, and use spirits in certain places. They also agreed that relief must be administered as soon as possible. Father Seraphim noted their attentiveness and solicitude for him with deep gratitude in his heart. While all of this was taking place, a voice suddenly announced: “The father prior is coming, the father prior is coming!” At that moment Father Seraphim fell asleep: his sleep was brief, light, and peaceful. In sleep he beheld a wondrous vision. The Most Holy Theotokos approached from the right side of the bed, clothed in royal purple, surrounded with glory. Behind Her followed the holy Apostles Peter and John the Theologian. Stopping by the bedside, the Most Pure Virgin pointed with the finger of Her right hand at the patient and, turning Her most pure countenance toward the side where the physicians stood, said: “Why do you toil?” Then again, turning Her face toward the elder, She said: “This one is of our race”—and the vision ended, unbeknownst to those present. When the prior entered, the patient came to consciousness once more. Father Isaiya, with a feeling of deep love and concern, proposed that he avail himself of the counsel and assistance of the physicians. But the patient, after so much solicitude for him, in his desperate state of health, replied to the astonishment of all that he did not now desire help from men, asking the father prior to leave his life to God and to the Most Holy Theotokos, the true and faithful physicians of souls and bodies. There was nothing to be done; the elder was left in peace, his patience respected and the strength and firmness of his faith marveled at. He himself was filled from the wondrous visitation with ineffable joy, and this heavenly joy lasted for about four hours. Then the elder quieted, returned to his normal state, felt relief from his illness, strength and vigor began to return to him; he rose from his bed, began to walk a little about the cell, and in the evening at the ninth hour refreshed himself with food, tasting a little bread and white fermented cabbage. From that same day he began again little by little to give himself to spiritual labors.

In an earlier time, Father Seraphim, while working in the forest, had at one point been struck and pressed down by a tree he was felling, and from this circumstance had lost his natural uprightness and bearing, becoming bent. After the attack of the brigands, from the blows, wounds, and illness, the curvature increased still more. From this time onward he began to walk supporting himself with a small axe, a mattock, or a staff. Thus this curvature, this wound in the heel, served throughout all his life as the crown of victory of the great ascetic over the devil.

From the day of his illness Elder Seraphim spent about five months in the monastery, not seeing his wilderness. When his health returned to him, when he felt himself once more strong enough to continue the eremitic life, he petitioned Prior Isaiya to release him again from the monastery to the wilderness. The prior, at the urging of the brethren, and himself sincerely feeling pity for the elder, sought to persuade him to remain in the monastery permanently, pointing to the possibility of the repetition of similarly dire misfortunes. Father Seraphim answered that he counted such attacks as nothing and was ready—following the example of the holy martyrs who suffered for the name of the Lord—to endure even unto death whatever offenses might befall him. He feared only the robbers of the soul, firmly remembering the word of the Savior: Fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell (Matt. 10:28). Yielding to the elder’s Christian fearlessness of spirit and love for the eremitic life, Father Isaiya gave his blessing to the elder’s desire, and Elder Seraphim returned once more to his wilderness cell. It is not known what the state of his spirit was in the first moments of this second settlement in the wilderness; but knowing his boundless love for solitude, we shall not err if we represent it in the following words of Saint Basil the Great.

“O solitary life! House of heavenly teaching and school of divine understanding, in which God is all that we study. The wilderness is a paradise of sweetness, where both the fragrant flowers of love—now blazing with fiery color, now gleaming with snow-white purity—and together with them peace and stillness abide. Dwelling in lowly places, they remain unmoved by the wind. There is the incense of the perfect mortification not only of the flesh, but—what is more glorious—of the will itself; and the censer of ceaseless prayer, burning sweetly, seethes without ceasing with the fire of divine love. There the various flowers of virtue, gleaming with various adornments, flourish with the grace of unfading beauty. O wilderness, delight of holy souls, paradise of inexhaustible sweetness! Thou art the furnace in which the holy youths, by prayer, cool the force of the burning flame, and by the ardor of faith quench the fire blazing around them, in which burn also the arrows and the fetters, but those bound do not burn. Only the bonds of sin are loosed and the soul is raised to the singing of divine praises, crying out: Thou hast opened wide my mouth! To Thee will I offer a sacrifice of praise.”

Thus in this struggle with the elder, too, the devil, with the elder’s second settlement in the wilderness, suffered a most complete defeat. But an even greater and more terrible blow was preparing for him than any he might have expected. The peasants who had beaten the elder were found. They were serfs of the landowner Tatishchev, from the village of Kremenki in Ardatov district. And what then? Father Seraphim himself forgave them and entreated the prior to make no prosecution of them. To the landowner as well he wrote, asking that they not be punished. “Otherwise,” said Father Seraphim, “I will leave the Sarov Hermitage and withdraw to other holy places unknown to anyone.” Likewise, when speaking with the prior, he agreed rather that he himself should be removed from the hermitage than that any punishment should be inflicted upon them. Such was Father Seraphim’s meekness! Such offenses could he forgive to his enemies! What better shame could have been inflicted upon the enemy who had waged war against the elder? Father Seraphim, by the Lord’s commandment, forgave his enemies, leaving vengeance to the Lord God. The wrath of God did indeed kindle over them; in no long time a fire consumed their dwellings. The chastisement of God in this misfortune was so evident, at least to the brigands themselves, that they came and with tears of repentance again asked Father Seraphim’s forgiveness and his holy prayers.

From the entire prolonged and varied struggle with the devil, Elder Seraphim acquired a sound and true understanding of the life and labors of the hermit-dweller, which was of great benefit to others for the salvation of the soul. Thus one monk, intending to settle in complete solitude, came to Father Seraphim in the wilderness and, agitated by various thoughts concerning the eremitic life, asked him:

“Father! some say that withdrawal from community life into the wilderness is pharisaism; that by such a change one shows contempt for the brethren, or even casts condemnation upon them. What do you think?”

The elder replied:

“It is not our business to judge others. But we withdraw from the society of the brethren not out of hatred for them, but chiefly because we have received and bear upon ourselves the angelic rank, which is incompatible with being in a place where the Lord God is angered in word and deed. And therefore, withdrawing from the brethren, we remove ourselves only from hearing and seeing what is contrary to the commandments of God, as inevitably occurs in the midst of a large number of brethren. We flee not men, who are of the same nature as ourselves and bear the same name of Christ, but the vices committed by them—as the great Arsenius was told: flee from men and you will be saved (Lives of Saints, May 8).”

To another monk who, after careful examination, had been given by the prior a blessing to begin the eremitic life, the prior had also written a letter to Father Seraphim, asking him to receive this monk and instruct him in the path of the wilderness life. Father Seraphim received him very warmly and gave him a blessing to build a wilderness cell not far from his own. When the monk beforehand began asking him for instruction concerning the eremitic life, the elder, out of the deepest humility, and still more out of great wisdom and experience in this matter, answered: “I myself know nothing.” Then, as if wishing to satisfy the monk’s desire for learning, he added: “The Savior said: Learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls (Matt. 11:29). According to the understanding of Saint John Climacus, not from an angel or a man, but from the Lord Himself must we learn.”

In general, he was reluctant to advise others to settle in the wilderness, and in warning explained that one living in the wilderness must be as if crucified on the cross; that in the monastery monks struggle with the opposing forces as with doves, but in the wilderness it is truly as with lions and leopards. And therefore, if he did incline to the side of the eremitic life, he gave no blessing to anyone to go into solitude alone, but advised withdrawing for wilderness labors two or even three brethren of one accord. In support of this he would always cite the following words from Scripture: Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up: and a threefold cord is not quickly broken (Eccl. 4:9–12). A brother helped by a brother is as a strong and high city, and is established as a firm kingdom (Prov. 18:19).

The best testimony to the truth and soundness of Father Seraphim’s views on monastic and eremitic life are his ascetic writings, the text of which is given below—such as, for example, those on ascetic labors, on thoughts and bodily impulses, on the guarding of the heart, on peace of soul, on the preserving of peace of soul, and the like.

The Lord God, in reward for the ascetic labors and victory over the devil, adorned Father Seraphim with the gift of clairvoyance, the workings of which were manifested for the first time precisely here, in the distant wilderness. One God-loving visitor to the Sarov Hermitage, having been captivated by its sacred beauty, formed in his soul a firm intention to enter it for the salvation of his soul in the monastic rank; but upon returning home he was drawn away by worldly life, then entered into marriage and had two children. His conscience, however, would remind him of the vows of his heart, and he, coming again to Sarov as a penitent, bowed to the feet of the Sarov elders in the church after the divine service, asking them to weigh his guilt and give him counsel and a blessing for entering the hermitage. One of the elders advised him to turn to Father Seraphim, who at that time was pursuing his salvation here in the distant wilderness. Coming here and seeing Father Seraphim, who had come out of his cell with a spade in his hands, the God-loving visitor threw himself at his feet, imploring him to give good counsel in his spiritual disorder and to pray to the Lord that He might receive him onto the desired path of the monastic life. Having listened to him in silence, Father Seraphim asked: “Will you fulfil all the monastic rules according to your vow?” When the visitor, forgetting on that occasion his wife and children, swore to be a faithful fulfiller of the monastery’s rules even unto death, expressing moreover his readiness and zeal to bear some penance, Elder Seraphim, foreseeing the possibility of the fulfillment of his promises, said: “If you will truly according to your vow fulfil all the monastic rules, then go with peace upon your way!” With these words he blessed the visitor and dismissed him. This was one of the first experiences of the elder’s clairvoyance. Shortly after the conversation his wife died, and after her the children followed too—the man who had desired the monastic life. And he, bound by no worldly ties, came to the Sarov Hermitage, was there tonsured a monk, and died a true monk.

It is altogether understandable that Father Seraphim, by virtue of his ascetic labors and spiritual experience, was held in universal esteem in the Sarov Hermitage. The successor of Builder Pakhomy, Elder Isaiya—spiritual father and godfather of Father Seraphim—held him in great honor, loved him, and valued his conversation. In satisfaction of such feelings, when he was fresh, vigorous, and in good health, he would himself frequently go to the wilderness to visit Father Seraphim. In 1806, Isaiya, from old age and from the labors borne for his own salvation and that of the brethren, became especially weak in health and, at his own petition, was released from the duties and rank of prior. The lot of occupying his place in the hermitage, by the common wish of the brethren, fell to Father Seraphim. Once again the elder was being chosen for a position of authority; but this time too, by his own humility and out of his extreme love for the wilderness, he declined the offered honor. Then by the voice of all the brethren the elder Nifont was chosen as prior—he who until that time had performed the obedience of treasurer. Having entered the number of the brethren, the former prior Isaiya lived yet one more year on this earth, and all that time was in illness. Unable, by reason of his ailments, to walk six versts to Father Seraphim in the wilderness, unwilling also to distract him from his beloved eremitic life, Elder Isaiya was nonetheless by no means willing to deprive himself of the consolation of conversing with him. The brethren, out of their zeal, would take their former prior—the ailing elder—in a small cart to the wilderness, and Father Seraphim by his conversation would comfort his godfather and spiritual father and sweeten the last moments of his life. On the fourth of December 1807, at sixty-seven years of age, the valiant elder fell asleep in the sleep of the righteous, leaving behind him in all a good memory. The loss of such a companion, spiritual father, and superior pierced with deep sorrow the love-filled and tender heart of Father Seraphim. Thoughts of the transience of this present life, of the inevitability and unpredictability of the hour of death, and of the dread judgment of God presented themselves more vividly to Father Seraphim’s heart in the image of the departed elder and spiritual friend. Now there were no longer living any of the closest and best friends and guides of the elder. The bones of Joseph, who had taught him the fatherly way, had long been resting in the grave. The righteous soul of Elder Pakhomy—whom Father Seraphim regarded not only as a benefactor but as a spiritual friend—likewise sojourned in the world beyond the grave. Gone too was Elder Isaiya, who had loved Father Seraphim as his spiritual child and had honored in him a lofty ascetic and a wise companion in conversation. Throughout his whole life Father Seraphim prayed to God with sincere zeal for the repose of these three venerable fathers. Every time he passed by the cemetery, he considered it his duty to stop at their graves, bow his knees before their sacred dust, and offer a prayer for them to the Lord of the living and the dead. In conversation with the superior of the Ardatov community, Evdokiya, he gave the following instruction: “When you come to me, stop at the graves, make three prostrations, asking God to grant rest to the souls of His servants: Isaiya, Pakhomy, Joseph, Mark, and the others; and then bow down before the tomb, saying inwardly: forgive me, holy fathers, and pray for me.” Thus he would urge others also to pray for their spiritual guides and for the Sarov ascetics in general—calling them, by the height and ardor of their prayers, pillars of fire from earth to heaven; thus he himself prayed. In the death of Builder Isaiya, Father Seraphim was greatly consoled by the thought that his place had been taken by Elder Nifont, a man of rare qualities who valued and loved him. Nevertheless, with the death of Isaiya, the subsequent life of Father Seraphim took a new, in the ascetic sense, higher spiritual direction.

The writings of Father Seraphim’s teaching, which are mentioned in the text and whose contents have not been set out there, are placed below in a special appendix.

Concerning this Elder Timon, the hieromonk Parfeny, former builder of the Guslitsky Monastery, in his well-known account of his journeys (Moscow, 1855, in 4 parts) recounts the following:

“Once, having chosen a convenient moment, I obtained leave to go to Elder Timon and set out on my way. At that time I was so deaf that I could not hear the ringing of a three-hundred-pood bell, and conversed by signs or in writing. But as I was drawing near to the Nadeevskaya Pustyn, my ears were opened—though not completely—and I began to hear human speech and church singing. When, having arrived at the wilderness hermitage, I saw the blessed elder hieromonk Father Timon and his venerable gray hair, my soul rejoiced greatly and my heart trembled. He blessed me and led me into his cell, opened his honey-flowing lips, and began to water me from his abundant sources of living water; and with just a few words he melted my heart like wax, and made me such that it was as though I had never been a schismatic; and at that very same time I made the sign of the cross over my face with three fingers in the name of the Holy Trinity, and from that time I have never again made the sign of the cross with two fingers, even to this day. In truth, the Lord God has given to this elder such a gift of wisdom that no one could resist him; and in all my many years of wandering I have seen no one his equal in the gift of speech. Then I thanked him greatly and asked his holy prayers, that until the end of my life my faith in my Lord God Jesus Christ and in His Holy Church might not fail” (part I, pp. 193-195).“”