In 1776, a French nobleman, traveler and diplomat known as Count Choiseul-Gouffier (1752-1817) had the following encounter with a Greek Orthodox monk on the Greek island of Patmos, which he recorded (below) and depicted (above) in his travelogue titled Voyage pittoresque de la Grèce, published in Venice in 1782. He encountered this monk on his way to the Monastery of Saint John the Theologian:
The same year this encounter took place, there was another monk on the island of Patmos who was very different from the monk encountered by the French traveler. Makarios Notaras had been the Metropolitan of Corinth since 1768, but ended up on Mount Athos as a monk and was among the primary founders of what is known as the Kollyvades Movement. Finding the upheaval created by the opponents of the Kollyvades monks at Athos disappointing, Metropolitan Makarios left for Chios and then Patmos, where he lived in a cave as an ascetic in 1775. In 1782 he founded a hermitage on the island, and began to compile works of the Fathers from the manuscripts of the Monastery of Saint John the Theologian, which he would eventually give to Saint Nikodemos the Hagiorite and publish it in what is called The Philokalia.
Two very different stories of two very different monks on the island of Patmos. It is unknown if they ever encountered each other, though it is hardly impossible to imagine that they didn't. But the level of ignorance of the former was indeed superseded by the intelligence of the latter.
From this we see a faint picture of what state Orthodox monasticism was in as the Kollyvades Movement began, and one reason why the Kollyvades Movement was so important to bring about a renewal and reeducation of what was lost in Orthodox monasticism and Orthodox Christianity in general, being continuously occupied by foreigners for centuries and not having the means towards a sound education free from the influences of the West, which itself had little to no knowledge of Orthodox Christianity.
As soon as my ship had anchored, I hastened to dismount to go to the Convent. I was far from foreseeing the encounter, which would excite, the moment after, my interest and my curiosity. I was not going towards the mountain, when I saw a Caloyer who was coming down from it, and who, advancing towards me with haste, asked me in Italian, what country I was from, where I came from, what had happened in Europe for seven years since no ship had landed on these rocks. In barely French he said to me: "Tell me," he cried, "is Voltaire still alive?"
Imagine my astonishment! I questioned him in my turn: "Who are you," I cried, "you, Monk, inhabitant of these rocks, pronouncing a name one scarcely expects to hear here?"
"I am the most miserable being you have ever encountered: but respond; calm my fears, and do Voltaire and Rousseau, those two benefactors of society, still live?"
I reassured him by telling him that those he feared losing were still alive. "They live; humanity still has defenders of its rights, the innocent have protectors, and fanaticism and intolerance have enemies always ready to attack them: may they live long enough to destroy them, they will spare others from the pains I endured! I won't follow him in his rants; they were violent and exaggerated; they were from a hot-headed person, with a vivid and exalted imagination, but above all, soured by misfortune."
This man had initially astonished me; he soon captivated my interest; I urged him to tell me by what misfortunes a reasonable being who spoke the language I had just heard could be reduced to wearing the habit of a Caloyer on the rocks of Patmos.
"I was born in the Archipelago," he told me, "but I felt, from my tenderest youth, the desire to escape from the degradation in which we find ourselves. I fled to Italy, where I completed all my studies, and I became very learned; I can say it, there is no question of vanity upon these rocks, from which I will never depart. I had nothing; I sought a place that could provide for my needs and satisfy my passion for study. A position came up that I would not have dared to wish for; a Cardinal offered me the job of his librarian."
"Well then! What stopped you from taking advantage of that happiness?"
"Himself, because he put a price on it that I couldn’t accept; in enriching me, he wanted to humiliate me: he demanded a long-lasting dishonorable action; he wanted me to abandon the Greek religion in which I was born; but don’t think I was blindly attached to it. I believe in God, and I reach out to Him even in this moment; no, I do not insult Him by assuming a particular preference for certain useless ceremonies; all forms of worship are equal before Him who has no equal; it matters little to me whether I begin the Sign of the Cross with the right hand or the left, or whether I fast on Wednesday instead of Saturday; one may observe these rules and regard them as they merit; however, the value that was attached to this change did not allow me to hesitate, and I sacrificed everything for what would have been to me merely an indifferent action, without the motive that was presented to me. Reduced to the utmost misery, I returned to Greece, and found myself forced to seek refuge in the monastery that you are about to visit. Out of the eighty monks living here, there are only three of us who know how to read; and what does it matter? We have very few books, and what good would they do us? People don’t care much about the stories of the past when the current ones are irrelevant to us; manual labor, which keeps me from thinking too much, suits my situation better: it’s my only resource."
I could not help but feel a profound sorrow, and he noticed it: "Do not pity me so ardently," he replied, "my situation becomes less troublesome every day. During the first years of my captivity, I was the most unfortunate of beings; I faced death twenty times in the grip of my miseries; it is no longer the case today; I have almost forgotten everything I knew; I have managed to lose the intelligence that I might have received from Nature; I am already drawing much closer to those with whom I am condemned to live, and soon resembling them entirely, I shall no longer be unhappy."
Everything this extraordinary man told me could only increase my interest: it became even more vivid when he refused the money I offered him. Consulting only this first impression that a misfortunate person inspires, I was about to propose to rescue him from his rocky state and offer him a less distressing asylum; I was already enjoying the pleasure of alleviating his misfortunes, when the rest of his conversation, by dispelling that illusion, made me strongly suspect either that he had never possessed a very sound mind, or that his misfortunes had severely altered it: I felt more pity for him still; but I was much less inclined to make him my traveling companion. His remarks became more exaggerated with each moment, his gaze was terrifying, and it was with violence, with fervor, that he satisfied this need to open his heart, to pour out before a stranger who had become his confidant, in an exile where everything that surrounded him for a long time was far more foreign to him.
We went together to the Convent, where I was received by the Superior, who appeared to be in a state of utter stupor. I wished to extract some clarifications from him regarding the manuscripts that might be located in this ancient Monastery; he boldly replied that he did not know how to read, and it was absolutely impossible for me to obtain any other answer.
The same year this encounter took place, there was another monk on the island of Patmos who was very different from the monk encountered by the French traveler. Makarios Notaras had been the Metropolitan of Corinth since 1768, but ended up on Mount Athos as a monk and was among the primary founders of what is known as the Kollyvades Movement. Finding the upheaval created by the opponents of the Kollyvades monks at Athos disappointing, Metropolitan Makarios left for Chios and then Patmos, where he lived in a cave as an ascetic in 1775. In 1782 he founded a hermitage on the island, and began to compile works of the Fathers from the manuscripts of the Monastery of Saint John the Theologian, which he would eventually give to Saint Nikodemos the Hagiorite and publish it in what is called The Philokalia.
Two very different stories of two very different monks on the island of Patmos. It is unknown if they ever encountered each other, though it is hardly impossible to imagine that they didn't. But the level of ignorance of the former was indeed superseded by the intelligence of the latter.
From this we see a faint picture of what state Orthodox monasticism was in as the Kollyvades Movement began, and one reason why the Kollyvades Movement was so important to bring about a renewal and reeducation of what was lost in Orthodox monasticism and Orthodox Christianity in general, being continuously occupied by foreigners for centuries and not having the means towards a sound education free from the influences of the West, which itself had little to no knowledge of Orthodox Christianity.
