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The Fourth Wise Man 
December 25, 2007 |
| Vedic
Astrology Diary Archives |
By Vaughn
Paul Manley, M.A.
Adapted from the story, The Other Wise Man, by Henry
Van Dyke, written in 1896. Excerpts from the original text are
in italics.
The 4th wise man was late. Oops. Three days late. How do you
like that? No sight of the Holy Child in the manger. No entry
into scripture, or the history books. His three astrologer friends,
the three wise men, have Christmas carols sung to them every
year. Was he just a bad astrologer who didn't see the sign quite
right? Or did something happen along the way, like his camel
breaking down in the desert? This story is his story - of how
he actually was a great astrologer from the East, who was presented
with a dilemma, a moral dilemma. To some people he chose rightly,
to others he was a fool.
His name was Artaban, and being a Magi, it was time to have
a party. He invited his close friends, all Magi's as well. They
lit a fire in the corner of his humble house and assembled around
it saying their usual prayers. His robe was of pure white
wool, thrown over a tunic of silk. It was the dress of the ancient
priesthood of the Magi, called the fire-worshippers. The
floor was laid with tiles of dark blue veined with white; the
vaulted ceiling was a pavement of blue stones, like the body
of heaven in its clearness, sown with silver stars. In effect
the room was like a quiet, starry night, all azure and silver.
After the prayers, Artaban spoke. "You have come tonight
at my call, as the faithful scholars of Zoroaster, to renew
your worship and rekindle your faith in the God of Purity, even
as this fire has been rekindled on the altar. We worship not
the fire, but Him of whom it is the chosen symbol, because it
is the purest of all created things. Hear me, then, while I
tell you of the new light and truth that have come to me through
the most ancient of all signs. The highest of all learning is
the knowledge of the stars. To trace their course is to untangle
the threads of the mystery of life from the beginning to the
end. If we could follow them perfectly, nothing would be hidden
from us. The stars are the thoughts of the eternal."
Artaban explained to them how he and three other Magi astrologers
had read a sign indicating the coming of the Messiah. "It
has been shown to me and to my three companions among the Magi--Caspar,
Melchior, and Balthazar. We have searched the ancient tablets
of Chaldea and computed the time. It falls in this year. We
have studied the sky, and in the spring of the year we saw two
of the greatest planets (Jupiter and Saturn) draw near
together in the sign of the Fish (Pisces). We also
saw a new star there, which shone for one night and then vanished.
Now again the two great planets are meeting. This night is their
conjunction. My three brothers are watching by the ancient Temple
in Babylonia, and I am watching here. If the star shines again,
they will wait ten days for me at the temple, and then we will
set out together for Jerusalem, to see and worship the promised
one who shall be born King of Israel. I believe the sign will
come. I have made ready for the journey. I have sold my possessions,
and bought these three jewels--a sapphire, a ruby, and a pearl--to
carry them as tribute to the King. And I ask you to go with
me on the pilgrimage, that we may have joy together in finding
the Prince who is worthy to be served."
None of the other Magi assembled were willing to go with
him however. Either they thought it was a crazy idea to follow
such a sign, or they had other obligations. One said, "Artaban,
this is a vain dream. It comes from too much looking upon the
stars and the cherishing of lofty thoughts. It would be wiser
to spend the time in gathering money for the new fire-temple
at Chala. No king will ever rise from the broken race of Israel."
It was clear that he had to travel alone to meet the other three
wise men and journey together across the desert from Babylonia
to Jerusalem.
He set out that evening and chose not a camel, but a horse -
a fast horse, because he could not be late. Together they flew
and stopped little. It was 10 days of hard going and both he
and his horse were exhausted. On the 10th day he calculated
that he was only three hours away from the temple where the
three wise men would be waiting for him. But he must reach there
before midnight, which was when they would have to leave for
Jerusalem - without him. He had no time to lose.
Suddenly Artaban saw something mysterious in the rode in front
of him and sensed danger. Artaban dismounted. The dim starlight
revealed the form of a man lying across the road. His pallid
skin, dry and yellow as parchment, bore the mark of the deadly
fever which ravaged the marsh-lands in autumn. The chill of
death was in his lean hand, and, as Artaban released it, the
arm fell back inertly upon the motionless breast.
He turned away with a thought of pity, leaving the body to that
strange burial. But, as he turned, a long, faint, ghostly sigh
came from the man's lips. The bony fingers gripped the hem of
the Magian's robe and held him fast. Artaban's heart leaped
to his throat, not with fear, but with a dumb resentment at
the importunity of this blind delay. How could he stay here
in the darkness to minister to a dying stranger? What claim
had this unknown fragment of human life upon his compassion
or his service? If he lingered but for an hour he could hardly
reach the appointed time. His companions would think he had
given up the journey. They would go without him. He would lose
his quest. But if he went on now, the man would surely die.
If Artaban stayed, life might be restored. His spirit throbbed
and fluttered with the urgency of the crisis. Should he risk
the great reward of his faith for the sake of a single deed
of charity?
Hence, was his moral dilemma. "God of truth and
purity," he prayed, "direct me in the holy path, the
way of wisdom which Thou only knowest." Then he turned
back to the sick man. He brought water from one of the small
canals near by, and moistened the sufferer's brow and mouth.
He mingled a draught of one of those simple but potent remedies
which he carried always in his girdle--for the Magians were
physicians as well as astrologers--and poured it slowly between
the colorless lips. Hour after hour he labored as only a skilful
healer of disease can do. At last the man's strength returned.
It was already long past midnight, and surely his friends
would have left without him. But he rode on without further
delay anyway, hoping that there was a chance they would still
be waiting for him. After three hours the sun rose and he arrived
at the temple. But, alas, his friends were no where to be seen.
At the edge of the terrace he saw a little cairn of broken
bricks, and under them a piece of papyrus. He caught it up and
read: "We have waited past the midnight, and can delay
no longer. We go to find the King. Follow us across the desert."
How can I cross the desert with no food and with a spent horse?
I must return to Babylon, sell my sapphire, and buy a train
of camels, and provision for the journey. I may never overtake
my friends. Only God the merciful knows whether I shall not
lose the sight of the King because I tarried to show mercy."
So Artaban sold his sapphire and made the journey across
the desert to Jerusalem. After many days of a dry, hot, miserable
journey he finally arrived at Bethlehem. The fourth wise man
inquired as to whether his friends had indeed arrived in time
according to the sign in the sky to see the Messiah's birth.
He clutched his ruby and pearl that he would offer to the Holy
Child. From the open door of a cottage he heard the sound
of a woman's voice singing softly. He entered and found a young
mother hushing her baby to rest. She told him of the strangers
from the far East who had appeared in the village three days
ago, and how they said that a star had guided them to the place
where Joseph of Nazareth was lodging with his wife and her new-born
child, and how they had paid reverence to the child and given
him many rich gifts. He then knew that they had been successful,
and he had not.
"But the travelers disappeared again," she continued,
"as suddenly as they had come. The man of Nazareth took
the child and his mother, and fled away that same night secretly.
Ever since, there has been a spell upon the village; something
evil hangs over it. They say that the Roman soldiers are coming
from Jerusalem to force a new tax from us, and the men have
driven the flocks and herds far back among the hills, and hidden
themselves to escape it." Suddenly there came the noise
of a wild confusion in the streets of the village, a shrieking
and wailing of women's voices, a clamor of brazen trumpets and
a clashing of swords, and a desperate cry: "The soldiers!
the soldiers of Herod! They are killing our children."
The young mother's face grew white with terror. She clasped
her child to her bosom, and crouched motionless in the darkest
corner of the room, covering him with the folds of her robe,
lest he should wake and cry.
A Roman soldier came directly to the house, and immediately
Artaban stood firmly in the doorway. He said, "I am
all alone in this place, and I am waiting to give this jewel
to the prudent captain who will leave me in peace." He
showed the ruby, glistening in the hollow of his hand like a
great drop of blood. The captain was amazed at the splendor
of the gem. The pupils of his eyes expanded with desire, and
the hard lines of greed wrinkled around his lips. He stretched
out his hand and took the ruby. "March on!" he cried
to his men, "there is no child here. The house is empty."
Artaban had saved the life of the child, but his heart
was heavy. He prayed, "God of truth, forgive my sin!
I have said the thing that is not, to save the life of a child.
And two of my gifts are gone. I have spent for man that which
was meant for God. Shall I ever be worthy to see the face of
the King?" He left Bethlehem with only one of his
three gems, a pearl, but with overflowing gratitude from the
mother. She offered him a prayer with tears in her eyes as he
was leaving. "Because thou hast saved the life of my
little one, may the Lord bless thee and keep thee; the Lord
make His face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee;
the Lord lift up His countenance upon thee and give thee peace."
Thirty three years passed and he was still a pilgrim seeking
after the light, the Messiah. He was ready to die, and decided
to make one last journey to Jerusalem. There was a gloom over
the city and an agitation. People were in a hurry and Artaban
asked where they were going. "We are going," they
answered, "to the place called Golgotha, outside the city
walls, where there is to be an execution. Have you not heard
what has happened? Two famous robbers are to be crucified, and
with them another, called Jesus of Nazareth, a man who has done
many wonderful works among the people, so that they love him
greatly. But the priests and elders have said that he must die,
because he gave himself out to be the Son of God. And Pilate
has sent him to the cross because he said that he was the `King
of the Jews.'
Artaban listened and despaired. Surely this must be the
Messiah he's been seeking for so many years. He thought to himself:
"The ways of God are stranger than the thoughts of men,
and it may be that I shall find the King, at last, in the hands
of his enemies, and shall come in time to offer my pearl for
his ransom before he dies." As he joined the steps
of the multitude, he saw a woman held captive by soldiers and
dragging her in the streets. As the Magian paused to look
at her with compassion, she broke suddenly from the hands of
her tormentors, and threw herself at his feet, clasping him
around the knees. "Have pity on me," she cried, "and
save me, for the sake of the God of Purity! I also am a daughter
of the true religion which is taught by the Magi. My father
was a merchant of Parthia, but he is dead, and I am seized for
his debts to be sold as a slave. Save me from worse than death!"
Artaban trembled. It was the old conflict in his soul, which
had come to him in the palm-grove of Babylon and in the cottage
at Bethlehem--the conflict between the expectation of faith
and the impulse of love. Twice the gift which he had consecrated
to the worship of religion had been drawn to the service of
humanity. This was the third trial, the ultimate probation,
the final and irrevocable choice. Was it his great opportunity,
or his last temptation? He could not tell. One thing only was
clear in the darkness of his mind--it was inevitable. And does
not the inevitable come from God?
One thing only was sure to his divided heart--to rescue this
helpless girl would be a true deed of love. And is not love
the light of the soul?
He took the pearl from his bosom. Never had it seemed so luminous,
so radiant, so full of tender, living luster. He laid it in
the hand of the slave. "This is thy ransom, daughter! It
is the last of my treasures which I kept for the King."
While he spoke, the darkness of the sky deepened, and shuddering
tremors ran through the earth heaving convulsively like the
breast of one who struggles with mighty grief. The walls of
the houses rocked to and fro. Stones were loosened and crashed
into the street. Dust clouds filled the air. Artaban and the
girl whom he had ransomed crouched helpless.
What had he to fear? What had he to hope? He had given away
the last remnant of his tribute for the King. He had parted
with the last hope of finding him. The quest was over, and it
had failed. But, even in that thought, accepted and embraced,
there was peace.
The earth again quaked and a heavy tile from a nearby roof
came crashing down and hit Artaban in the head. The woman bent
over and held him as blood trickled down his forehead. As
she bent over him, fearing that he was dead, there came a voice
through the twilight, very small and still, like music sounding
from a distance, in which the notes are clear but the words
are lost. The girl turned to see if some one had spoken from
the window above them, but she saw no one. Then the old man's
lips began to move, as if in answer, and she heard him say in
the Parthian tongue:
"Not so, my Lord! For when saw I thee an hungered and fed
thee? Or thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw I thee a stranger,
and took thee in? Or naked, and clothed thee? When saw I thee
sick or in prison, and came unto thee? Three-and-- thirty years
have I looked for thee; but I have never seen thy face, nor
ministered to thee, my King."
He ceased, and the sweet voice came again. And again the maid
heard it, very faint and far away. But now it seemed as though
she understood the words:
"Verily I say unto thee, Inasmuch as thou hast done it
unto one of the least of these my brethren, thou hast done it
unto me."
A calm radiance of wonder and joy lighted the pale face of Artaban
like the first ray of dawn, on a snowy mountain-peak. A long
breath of relief exhaled gently from his lips.
His journey was ended. His treasures were accepted. The Other
Wise Man had found the King.
Copyright
2010. Vaughn Paul Manley. All Rights Reserved. |
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