The Monk and the Abbots, a Medieval Christian Folktale

The Monk and the Abbots is an old Christian parable first recorded by a 13th-century cleric named Odo of Cheriton. He wrote over a hundred fables and parables, usually Aesopic, and often with Christian sermons tacked onto the ends of them. This is one of my favourites.

In keeping with tradition, this is a retelling in my own words.

The Fable

The fable begins at a monastery long ago, with a generous abbot who gave his monks ample three-course dinners. The monks, though, had appetites that were not so easily quenched, and they grumbled about having too little to eat, saying, “Let us pray that he will die soon.”

Some time later, the abbot died, and a new abbot took over. He was a conservative man, so he gave his monks two-course meals. The monks complained yet again, saying, “Let us pray that he will die soon.”

Sometime in the future, the second abbot died, and a third took his place. This abbot was more austere with his rations, giving his monks paltry one-course meals. The monks were livid, and they prayed to God for the abbot’s quick demise. But one of the monks said, “Meanwhile, I shall pray that the abbot stays strong and safe.”

The others were aghast. “Why would you say such a thing?”

The monk explained, “Our first abbot gave us three meals, the second gave us two, and now we have one. If this trend continues, the next abbot will give us none, and we will starve.”

The Moral

The moral of The Monk and the Abbots is Seilde comed se betere, or, in more contemporary English, bad situations seldom get better.

Perhaps you’re hoping for the next politician to be better than the last, for a dastardly corporation to lose its monopoly, or for Google’s next core algorithm update to start sending more traffic to this website. But so far, the changes haven’t been good, and there’s no reason to think the next change will be any different.

I told this fable to a friend of mine, and he said that we ought to take matters into our own hands. If the abbot isn’t giving you enough food, perhaps it would be best to leave the monastery and strike out on your own, making your own good fortune. Perhaps that’s so. Or maybe I need to find some fables about the foibles of revolution.

Anyway, Odo wrote a medieval fable that’s quite good: Belling the Cat.

You might also like an old Russian fable: The Two Horses.

The Fable of Aesop and the Runaway Slave

Aesop and the Runaway Slave is one of the oldest Aesopic fables. It’s a controversial one, and you’ll soon see why: it’s a fable about slavery that seems to side with the master, not the slave. It has a valuable moral lesson, though, especially if you aren’t a slave.

The Fable

Aesop came upon a slave who was running away from his master. The slave recognized him and rushed over to recount his many misfortunes.

The slave told of how he had to serve his master elaborate feasts while his stomach gnawed at him. Of how he was forced to accompany his master on long journeys, sleeping in the cold ditch while his master found warm shelter inside. And of how whenever he tired, the master’s whip would renew his vigour.

“If I had done something to deserve this suffering,” the slave said, “I would bare it gladly. But I am innocent! So why must I live this life of hunger and agony? Why must I give the best years of my life to this cruel tyrant?”

Aesop knew well what it was to be a slave. He nodded along sympathetically.

The slave had many more hardships to agonize over, but he decided to cut to the heart of it: “I’ve decided to flee—to go wherever my feet will take me.”

Aesop shook his head. “If this is what you must endure for your innocence, imagine how miserable your life will be when you’re guilty of something!”

The Moral

The moral of Aesop and the Runaway Slave is that you shouldn’t add one problem to another. The same moral is repeated across a few of Aesop’s fables, often with even grimmer endings.

It might sound like a story a master would use to keep his slaves subservient, and it might be. But there’s some context to consider. Aesop was a slave who earned his freedom. Aesop may not have existed, but this fable was first recorded by Phaedrus, a former slave of Emperor Augustus during the first century CE. So, whether the fable belongs to Aesop or Phaedrus, it’s a story told from the perspective of a former slave.

If we set aside the issue of slavery, the moral is a wise one.

Many of us fall victim to a psychological fallacy known as the what-the-hell effect. It’s when something goes wrong, and you proclaim, “To hell with it, then!” and ruin everything.

For example, let’s say you’ve been faithfully following an oppressive diet, but one day, you break it by having an ice-cold glass of crisp Coca-Cola, shooting you over your calorie target. You tell yourself you’ve already blown your diet for the day, so you have a torta, then another, and then a third. When you wake up in the morning, you realize the diet is irreparably broken, so you continue eating junk food. And, of course, you get very fat.

This fable urges you to take another path. Let’s say you make that same initial mistake: you have the refreshing glass of Coca-Cola. But you refuse to add one problem to another. You don’t have the torta. You go back to following your miserably restrictive diet. And you continue losing weight.

For another example, my cuñado has a habit of hurling his video game controller whenever he loses a particularly tense game of Madden. Occasionally, the controller breaks. Once, it crashed into his television, shattering the screen. That didn’t make him feel any better about having lost his game of Madden.

When things go wrong, it’s wiser to make them better, not worse. Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face, jump out of the frying pan into the fire, or add insult to injury. Two wrongs don’t make a right, and neither do three or four.

Anyway, if you liked this fable, you might like some of Aesop’s other lesser-known fables, such as The Wolf and the Lamb, Two Wishes, or The Frogs and the Ox.

The Legend of the Pied Piper of Hamelin

The Pied Piper of Hamelin is the medieval legend of a town plagued by rats. It’s about the wandering bard who showed up during the height of the infestation. This bard wore vibrant clothes and promised to rid the town of rats in exchange for gold. The townspeople were desperate, and they agreed, but then the story takes a darker turn.

A legend is a historical but unverifiable story. In this case, there are records of a bard who called himself the Pied Piper showing up in the small German village of Hamelin in the year 1284. There are also records of 130 children being led astray and going missing. It’s reasonable to think that some parts of this legend might be true.

Pipers were wandering musicians who could be hired during festivities. They were of a lower class, often despised, and sometimes considered dangerous. They often wore pied (multicoloured) clothes.

The tale has been interpreted in different ways over the centuries. I’ll explain everything at the end.

Read More

The Legend of David & Goliath

The legend of David and Goliath comes from the Hebrew Bible. More specifically, from the Book of Samuel. I call it a legend. You might not.

Legends are historical but unverifiable stories. They’re the rivers that flow between myth and history. This particular legend is three thousand years old. I suspect it’s rooted in truth, but how much of that root remains? Even the Hebrew Bible is conflicted, unsure of whether David or Elhanan faced Goliath.

It’s reasonable to think David existed. Most historians agree that he eventually became the king of all the tribes of Israel. It’s said he rose to prominence after his encounter with the giant, Goliath. This is the story of that encounter.

I’ll tell the story in my own words while keeping it true to its original meaning. I’ll explain that meaning after.

Read More

Belling the Cat (Medieval Fable)

Belling the Cat, also known as the Council of Mice, is a classic fable often attributed to Aesop. It’s unclear if Aesop really existed, and it’s even less likely he wrote this fable. It’s much more likely to be medieval.

The first record of the fable comes from Odo of Cheriton, a 12th-century English fabulist. The French fabulist Jean de la Fontaine made it even more popular when he included it in his 17th-century book of fables.

This is a retelling in my own words.

Read More