Selections from the Prose Writings of John Henry Cardinal Newman
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Title: Selections from the Prose Writings of John Henry Cardinal Newman
Author: John Henry Newman
Release date: November 7, 2012 [eBook #41310]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SELECTIONS FROM THE PROSE WRITINGS OF JOHN HENRY CARDINAL NEWMAN ***
[Illustration: CARDINAL NEWMAN.]
_MAYNARD'S ENGLISH CLASSIC SERIES.--SPECIAL NUMBER_
SELECTIONS
FROM THE PROSE WRITINGS
OF
JOHN HENRY CARDINAL NEWMAN
_FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS_
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
CHARLES E. MERRILL CO.
COPYRIGHT, 1906,
by
MAYNARD, MERRILL, & CO.
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 5
CHARACTER SKETCHES:
Saul 13
Early Years of David 28
Basil and Gregory 45
Augustine and the Vandals 56
Chrysostom 84
THE TURK:
The Tartar and the Turk 111
The Turk and the Saracen 122
The Past and Present of the Ottomans 143
UNIVERSITIES:
What is a University? 155
University Life: Athens 163
Supply and Demand: The Schoolmen 180
The Strength and Weakness of Universities:
Abelard 186
MISCELLANEOUS:
Poetry, with Reference to Aristotle's Poetics 200
The Infinitude of the Divine Attributes 218
Christ upon the Waters 222
The Second Spring 229
St. Paul's Characteristic Gift 251
NOTES 269
INTRODUCTION
It has come to be universally admitted that Cardinal Newman fulfills his
own definition of a great author: "One whose aim is to give forth what
he has within him; and from his very earnestness it happens that
whatever be the splendor of his diction, or the harmony of his periods,
he has with him the charm of an incommunicable simplicity.
"Whatever be his subject, high or low, he treats it suitably and for its
own sake.... He writes passionately because he feels keenly; forcibly,
because he conceives vividly; he sees too clearly to be vague; he is too
serious to be otiose; he can analyze his subject, and therefore he is
rich; he embraces it as a whole and in its parts, and therefore he is
consistent; he has a firm hold of it, and therefore he is luminous.
"When his imagination wells up, it overflows in ornament; when his heart
is touched, it thrills along his verse. He always has the right word for
the right idea, and never a word too much....
"He expresses what all feel but cannot say; and his sayings pass into
proverbs among his people, and his phrases become household words,
idioms of their daily speech, which is tessellated with the rich
fragments of his language, as we see in foreign lands the marbles of
Roman grandeur worked into the walls and pavements of modern palaces."
Newman may be said to have handled England's prose as Shakespeare
handled her verse. His language was wrought up little by little to a
finish and refinement, a strength and a subtlety, thrown into the form
of eloquence, beyond which no English writer of prose has gone. Nor is
his excellence that of mere art in form; he possesses not only skill,
which he calls an exercise of talent, but power--a second name for
genius--which itself implies personality and points to inspiration.
His mind was large, logical, profoundly thoughtful, imaginative,
intense, sincere, and above all, spiritual; his soul was keen, delicate,
sympathetic, heroic; and his life, at once severe and tender, passionate
and self-controlled, alone and unlonely, stands out in its loftiness and
saintliness, a strange, majestic contrast to the agitation and turmoil
of "confused passions, hesitating ideals, tentative virtues, and groping
philanthropies" amidst which it was lived.
Both by word and work did Newman lead forth his generation on the long
pilgrimage to the shrine of Truth, and England of the nineteenth century
has no surer claim to holiness and genius for her great sons than that
set upon John Henry Newman.
He was born in London, 1801; studied, taught, and preached at Oxford;
became the chief promoter of the Tractarian Movement of 1833; entered
the Catholic Church in 1845; founded the Oratory at Birmingham, 1848;
was created Cardinal by Pope Leo XIII 1879; died at Edgbaston, 1890.
Any attempt to choose from the writings of Newman what seems most
desirable for brief class studies is certain to be woefully embarrassed
by the very wealth of matter; and apology for risking the choice would
be due, were it not lost sight of in the desire to see a literary model
so pure, varied, animated, forceful, luminous--"a thing of light and
beauty"--given to our students.
What is more significant of the Life Book of the saintly Oxford Scholar
than his self-written epitaph: "Ex umbris et imaginibus in veritatem?"
APPRECIATIONS
Newman's best essays display a delicate and flexible treatment of
language, without emphasis, without oddity, which hardly arrests the
attention at first,--the reader being absorbed in the argument or
statement,--but which, in course of time, fascinates, as a thing
miraculous in its limpid grace and suavity.
--_Edmund Gosse's History of Modern English Literature._
The work of Newman reveals him as one of the great masters of graceful,
scholarly, finished prose. It is individual, it has charm, and this is
the secret of its power to interest. No writer of our time has reflected
his mind and heart in his pages as has Newman. He has light for the
intellect and warmth for the heart.
--_A. J. George's Types of Literary Art._
Newman towers, with only three or four compeers, above his generation;
and now that the benignity of his great nature has passed from our
sight, its majesty is more evident year by year.
--_Scudder's Modern English Poets._
The finish and urbanity of Newman's prose have been universally
commended even by those who are most strenuously opposed to his
opinions.
--_H. J. Nicoll._
All the resources of a master of English style are at Newman's command:
pure diction, clear arrangement, delicate irony, gracious dignity, a
copious command of words combined with a chaste reserve in using them.
All these qualities go to make up the charm of Newman's style--the
finest flower that the earliest system of a purely classical education
has produced.
--_J. Jacobs's Literary Studies._
Newman combines a thoroughly classical training, a scholarly form, with
the incommunicable and almost inexplicable power to move audiences and
readers.
--_George Saintsbury._
The pure style of Newman may be compared in its distinguishing quality
to the atmosphere. It is at once simple and subtle, vigorous and
elastic; it penetrates into every recess of its subject; it is
transparent, allowing each object it touches to display its own proper
color.
--_H. E. Beeching's English Prose._
There are touching passages characteristic of Newman's writings which
give them a peculiar charm. They are those which yield momentary
glimpses of a very tender heart that has a burden of its own, unrevealed
to man.... It is, as I have heard it described, as though he suddenly
opened a book and gave you a glimpse for a moment of wonderful secrets,
and then as quickly closed it.... In Newman's Sermons, how the old truth
became new; how it came home, as he spoke, with a meaning never felt
before! He laid his finger how gently, yet how powerfully, on some inner
place in the hearer's heart, and told him things about himself he had
never known till then. Subtlest truths, which it would have taken
philosophers pages of circumlocution and big words to state, were
dropped out by the way in a sentence or two of the most transparent
Saxon. What delicacy of style, yet what strength! how simple, yet how
suggestive! how penetrating, yet how refined! how homely, yet how
tender-hearted! You might come away still not believing the tenets
peculiar to the High Church System, but you would be harder than most
men if you did not feel more than ever ashamed of coarseness,
selfishness, worldliness, if you did not feel the things of faith
brought closer to the soul.... Newman's innate and intense idealism is,
perhaps, his most striking characteristic.... It is a thought of his,
always deeply felt and many times repeated, that this visible world is
but the outward shell of an invisible kingdom, a screen which hides from
our view things far greater and more wonderful than any which we see,
and that the unseen world is close to us and ever ready to break through
the shell and manifest itself.
--_Shairp._
Newman's great reputation for prose and the supreme interest attaching
to his life seem to have obscured the fame he might have won as a poet.
He was in poetry, as in theology, a more masculine Keble, but with all
the real purity of Keble, with also the indispensable flavor of
earth.
--_H. Walker._
The _Dream of Gerontius_ resembles Dante more than any other poetry
written since the great Tuscan's time.
--_Sir Henry Taylor._
The _Dream_ is a rare poetic rendering into English verse of that high
ritual which from the death-bed to the Mass of Supplication encompasses
the faithful soul.... Newman has no marked affinities with English
writers of his day. He is strikingly different from Macaulay, whose
eloquence betrays the fury, as it is annealed in the fire, of the
Western Celt. To Ruskin, who deliberately built up a monument, stately
as the palace of Kubla Khan, he is a contrast, for the very reason that
he does not handle words as if they were settings in architecture or
colors in a palette; rather, he would look upon them as transparencies
which let his meaning through. He is more like De Quincey, but again no
player upon the organ for the sake of its music; and that which is
common to both is the literary tradition of the eighteenth century
enhanced by a power to which abstract and concrete yielded in almost
equal degree.... With so prompt and intense an intellect at his call,
there was no subject, outside purely technical criticism, which Newman
could not have mastered.
--_Barry's Literary Lives._
It is when Newman exerts his flexible and vivid imagination in depicting
the deepest religious passion that we are most carried away by him and
feel his great genius most truly.... Whether tried by the test of
nobility, intensity, and steadfastness of his work, or by the test of
the greatness of the powers which have been consecrated to that work,
Cardinal Newman has been one of the greatest of our modern great men.
--_R. H. Hutton's Life of Newman._
Newman's mind was world-wide. He was interested in everything that was
going on in science, in the highest form of politics, in literature....
Nothing was too large for him, nothing too trivial, if it threw light
upon the central question,--what man really is and what is his destiny.
--_J. A. Froude._
In Newman's sketch of the influence of Abelard on his disciples is seen
his belief in the immense power for good or ill of a dominating
personality. And he himself supplied an object-lesson in his theory.
Shairp, Froude, Church, Wilberforce, Gladstone, are only a few of those
who have borne testimony to the personal magnetism which left its mark
on the whole of thinking Oxford. "Cor ad cor loquitur," the motto chosen
by Newman on his receiving the Cardinal's hat, expressed to him the
whole reality of intercourse between man and man, and man and God.
--_Wilfrid Ward's Problems and Persons._
Newman's mind swung through a wide arc, and thoughts apparently
antagonistic often were to him supplemental each to each.... A man of
dauntless courage and profound thoughtfulness, while his intellect was
preëminently a logical one, both the heart and the moral sense possessed
with him their sacred tribunals in matters of reasoning as well as of
sentiment.... The extreme subtlety of his intelligence opposed no
hindrance to his power of exciting vehement emotion.
--_A. De Vere's Literary Reminiscences._
I. CHARACTER SKETCHES
SAUL
"I gave them a king in mine anger, and took him away in my
wrath."--_Hosea_ xiii. 11.
The Israelites seem to have asked for a king
from an unthankful caprice and waywardness.
The ill conduct, indeed, of Samuel's sons was the
occasion of the sin, but "an evil heart of
unbelief," to use Scripture language, was the real cause 5
of it. They had ever been restless and
dissatisfied, asking for flesh when they had manna,
fretful for water, impatient of the wilderness, bent
on returning to Egypt, fearing their enemies,
murmuring against Moses. They had miracles 10
even to satiety; and then, for a change, they
wished a king like the nations. This was the
chief reason of their sinful demand. And further,
they were dazzled with the pomp and splendor
of the heathen monarchs around them, and they 15
desired some one to fight their battles, some
visible succor to depend on, instead of having
to wait for an invisible Providence, which came in
its own way and time, by little and little, being
dispensed silently, or tardily, or (as they might 20
consider) unsuitably. Their carnal hearts did
not love the neighborhood of heaven; and, like
the inhabitants of Gadara afterwards, they prayed
that Almighty God would depart from their
coasts. 5
Such were some of the feelings under which they
desired a king like the nations; and God at length
granted their request. To punish them, He gave
them a king _after their own heart_, Saul, the son of
Kish, a Benjamite; of whom the text speaks in 10
these terms, "I gave them a king in Mine anger,
and took him away in My wrath."
There is, in true religion, a sameness, an absence
of hue and brilliancy, in the eyes of the natural
man; a plainness, austereness, and (what he 15
considers) sadness. It is like the heavenly manna of
which the Israelites complained, insipid, and at
length wearisome, "like wafers made with honey."
They complained that "their soul was dried
away." "There is nothing at all," they said, 20
"beside this manna, before our eyes.... We
remember the fish, which we did eat in Egypt
freely; the cucumbers, and the melons, and the
leeks, and the onions, and the garlick."[1] Such
were the dainty meats in which their soul 25
delighted; and for the same reason they desired a
king. Samuel had too much of primitive
simplicity about him to please them, they felt they
were behind the world, and clamored to be put
on a level with the heathen. 30
[1] Exod. xvi.; Numb. xi. 5.
Saul, the king whom God gave them, had much
to recommend him to minds thus greedy of the
dust of the earth. He was brave, daring,
resolute; gifted, too, with strength of body as well
as of mind--a circumstance which seems to 5
have attracted their admiration. He is described
in person as if one of those sons of Anak, before
whose giant-forms the spies of the Israelites in the
wilderness were as grasshoppers--"a choice
young man, and a goodly; there was not among 10
the children of Israel a goodlier person than he:
from his shoulders and upward he was higher
than any of the people."[2] Both his virtues and
his faults were such as became an eastern monarch,
and were adapted to secure the fear and 15
submission of his subjects. Pride, haughtiness,
obstinacy, reserve, jealousy, caprice--these, in
their way, were not unbecoming qualities in the
king after whom their imaginations roved. On
the other hand, the better parts of his character 20
were of an excellence sufficient to engage the
affection of Samuel himself.
[2] 1 Sam. ix. 2--_vide ibid._ x. 23.
As to Samuel, his conduct is far above human
praise. Though injuriously treated by his countrymen,
who cast him off after he had served them 25
faithfully till he was "old and gray-headed,"[3] and
who resolved on setting over themselves a king
against his earnest entreaties, still we find no trace
of coldness or jealousy in his behavior towards
Saul. On his first meeting with him, he addressed 30
him in the words of loyalty--"On whom
is all the desire of Israel? is it not on thee, and
on all thy father's house?" Afterwards, when he
anointed him king, he "kissed him, and said, Is it
not because the Lord hath anointed thee to be 5
captain over His inheritance?" When he announced
him to the people as their king, he said,
"See ye him whom the Lord hath chosen, that
there is none like him among all the people?"
And, some time after, when Saul had irrecoverably 10
lost God's favor, we are told, "Samuel came no
more to see Saul until the day of his death:
_nevertheless Samuel mourned for Saul_." In the
next chapter he is even rebuked for immoderate
grief--"How long wilt thou mourn for Saul, 15
seeing I have rejected him from reigning over
Israel?"[4] Such sorrow speaks favorably for
Saul as well as for Samuel; it is not only the grief
of a loyal subject and a zealous prophet, but,
moreover, of an attached friend; and, indeed, 20
instances are recorded, in the first years of his
reign, of forbearance, generosity, and neglect of
self, which sufficiently account for the feelings
with which Samuel regarded him. David, under
very different circumstances, seems to have felt 25
for him a similar affection.
[3] _Ibid._ xii. 2.
[4] 1 Sam. ix. 20; x. 1, 24; xv. 35; xvi. 1.
The higher points of his character are brought
out in instances such as the following: The
first announcement of his elevation came upon
him suddenly, but apparently without unsettling 30
him. He kept it secret, leaving it to Samuel, who
had made it to him, to publish it. "Saul said
unto his uncle, He" (that is, Samuel) "told us
plainly that the asses were found. But of the
matter of the kingdom, whereof Samuel spake, 5
_he told him not_." Nay, it would even seem he
was averse to the dignity intended for him; for
when the Divine lot fell upon him, he hid himself,
and was not discovered by the people, without
recourse to Divine assistance. The appointment 10
was at first unpopular. "The children of Belial
said, How shall this man save us? They despised
him, and brought him no presents, _but he held his
peace_." Soon the Ammonites invaded the
country beyond Jordan, with the avowed intention of 15
subjugating it. The people sent to Saul for relief
almost in despair; and the panic spread in the
interior as well as among those whose country
was immediately threatened. The history
proceeds: "_Behold, Saul came after the herd out of 20
the field_; and Saul said, What aileth the people
that they weep? and they told him the tidings
of the men of Jabesh. And the Spirit of God
came upon Saul, and his anger was kindled
greatly." His order for an immediate gathering 25
throughout Israel was obeyed with the alacrity
with which the multitude serve the strong-minded
in times of danger. A decisive victory over the
enemy followed; then the popular cry became,
"Who is he that said, Shall Saul reign over us? 30
bring the men, that we may put them to death.
And Saul said, _There shall not a man be put to
death this day_, for to-day the Lord hath wrought
salvation in Israel."[5]
[5] 1 Sam. xi. 12, 13.
Thus personally qualified, Saul was, moreover,
a prosperous king. He had been appointed to 5
subdue the enemies of Israel, and success attended
his arms. At the end of the fourteenth chapter,
we read: "So Saul took the kingdom over Israel
and fought against all his enemies on every side,
against Moab, and against the children of 10
Ammon, and against Edom, and against the kings of
Zobah, and against the Philistines; and
whithersoever he turned himself, he vexed them. And
he gathered an host, and smote the Amalekites,
and delivered Israel out of the hands of them that 15
spoiled them."
Such was Saul's character and success; his
character faulty, yet not without promise; his
success in arms as great as his carnal subjects
could have desired. Yet, in spite of Samuel's 20
private liking for him, and in spite of the good
fortune which actually attended him, we find that
from the beginning the prophet's voice is raised
both against people and king in warnings and
rebukes, which are omens of his destined 25
destruction, according to the text, "I gave them a king in
Mine anger, and took him away in My wrath."
At the very time that Saul is publicly received as
king, Samuel protests, "Ye have this day rejected
your God, who Himself saved you out of all your 30
adversities and your tribulations."[6] In a
subsequent assembly of the people, in which he
testified his uprightness, he says, "Is it not wheat
harvest to-day? I will call unto the Lord, and
He shall send thunder and rain; _that ye may 5
perceive and see that your wickedness is great_, in asking
you a king." Again, "If ye shall still do wickedly,
ye shall be consumed, both ye and your king."[7]
And after this, on the first instance of disobedience
and at first sight no very heinous sin, the sentence 10
of rejection is passed upon him: "Thy kingdom
shall not continue; the Lord hath sought Him a
man after His own heart."[8]
[6] 1 Sam. x. 19.
[7] _Ibid._ xii. 17, 25.
[8] _Ibid._ xiii. 14.
Here, then, a question may be raised--Why
was Saul thus marked for vengeance from the 15
beginning? Why these presages of misfortune,
which from the first hung over him, gathered, fell
in storm and tempest, and at length overwhelmed
him? Is his character so essentially faulty that
it must be thus distinguished for reprobation 20
above all the anointed kings after him? Why,
while David is called a man after God's own heart,
should Saul be put aside as worthless?
This question leads us to a deeper inspection of,
his character. Now, we know, the first duty of 25
every man is the fear of God--a reverence for His
word, a love of Him, and a desire to obey Him; and,
besides, it was peculiarly incumbent on the king of
Israel, as God's vicegerent, by virtue of his office, to
promote His glory whom his subjects had rejected. 30
Now Saul "lacked this one thing." His
character, indeed, is obscure, and we must be cautious
while considering it; still, as Scripture is given us
for our instruction, it is surely right to make the
most of what we find there, and to form our 5
judgment by such lights as we possess. It would
appear, then, that Saul was never under the
abiding influence of religion, or, in Scripture language,
"the fear of God," however he might be at times
moved and softened. Some men are inconsistent 10
in their conduct, as Samson; or as Eli, in a
different way; and yet may have lived by faith,
though a weak faith. Others have sudden falls,
as David had. Others are corrupted by
prosperity, as Solomon. But as to Saul, there is no 15
proof that he had any deep-seated religious
principle at all; rather, it is to be feared, that his
history is a lesson to us, that the "heart of unbelief"
may exist in the very sight of God, may rule a man
in spite of many natural advantages of character, 20
in the midst of much that is virtuous, amiable,
and commendable.
Saul, it would seem, was naturally brave,
active, generous, and patient; and what nature
made him, such he remained, that is, without 25
improvement; with virtues which had no value,
because they required no effort, and implied the
influence of no principle. On the other hand,
when we look for evidence of his faith, that is, his
practical sense of things unseen, we discover 30
instead a deadness to all considerations not connected
with the present world. It is his habit to
treat prophet and priest with a coldness, to say
the least, which seems to argue some great internal
defect. It would not be inconsistent with the
Scripture account of him, even should the real 5
fact be, that (with some general notions
concerning the being and providence of God) he doubted
of the divinity of the Dispensation of which he was
an instrument. The circumstance which first
introduces him to the inspired history is not in his 10
favor. While in search of his father's asses,
which were lost, he came to the city where
Samuel was; and though Samuel was now an old
man, and from childhood known as the especial
minister and prophet of the God of Israel, Saul 15
seems to have considered him as a mere diviner,
such as might be found among the heathen, who,
for "the fourth part of a shekel of silver," would
tell him his way.
The narrative goes on to mention, that after his 20
leaving Samuel "God gave him another heart,"
and on meeting a company of prophets, "the
Spirit of God came upon him, and he prophesied
among them." Upon this, "all that knew him
beforetime" said, "What is this that is come unto 25
the son of Kish: is Saul also among the prophets?
... therefore it became a proverb." From this
narrative we gather, that his carelessness and
coldness in religious matters were so notorious,
that, in the eyes of his acquaintance, there was 30
a certain strangeness and incongruity, which at
once struck the mind, in his being associated with
a school of the prophets.
Nor have we any reason to believe, from the
after history, that the Divine gift, then first
imparted, left any religious effect upon his mind. 5
At a later period of his life we find him suddenly
brought under the same sacred influence on his
entering the school where Samuel taught; but,
instead of softening him, its effect upon his
outward conduct did but testify the fruitlessness of 10
Divine grace when acting upon a will obstinately
set upon evil.
The immediate occasion of his rejection was his
failing under a specific trial of his obedience, as
set before him at the very time he was anointed. 15
He had collected with difficulty an army against
the Philistines; while waiting for Samuel to offer
the sacrifice, his people became dispirited, and
began to fall off and return home. Here he was
doubtless exposed to the temptation of taking 20
unlawful measures to put a stop to their defection.
But when we consider that the act to which he was
persuaded was no less than that of his offering
sacrifice--he being neither priest nor prophet,
nor having any commission thus to interfere 25
with the Mosaic ritual--it is plain "his _forcing
himself_" to do so (as he tenderly described his
sin) was a direct profaneness--a profaneness
which implied that he was careless about forms,
which in this world will ever be essential to 30
things supernatural, and thought it mattered
little whether he acted in God's way or in his
own.
After this, he seems to have separated himself
from Samuel, whom he found unwilling to become
his instrument, and to have had recourse to the 5
priesthood instead. Ahijah or Ahimelech (as he
is afterwards called), the high priest, followed his
camp; and the ark, too, in spite of the warning
conveyed by the disasters which attended the
presumptuous use of it in the time of Eli. "And 10
Saul said unto Ahijah, Bring hither the ark of
God;" while it was brought, a tumult which was
heard in the camp of the Philistines increased.
On this interruption Saul irreverently put the ark
aside, and went out to the battle. 15
It will be observed, that there was no professed
or intentional irreverence in Saul's conduct; he
was still on the whole the same he had ever been.
He outwardly respected the Mosaic
ritual--about this time he built his first altar to the Lord,[9] 20
and in a certain sense seemed to acknowledge God's
authority. But nothing shows he considered that
there was any vast distinction between Israel and
the nations around them. He was _indifferent_, and
cared for none of these things. The chosen people 25
desired a king like the nations, and such a one
they received.
[9] 1 Sam. xiv. 35.
After this he was commanded to "go and smite
the sinners, the Amalekites, and utterly destroy
them and their cattle." This was a judgment on 30
them which God had long decreed, though He had
delayed it; and He now made Saul the minister
of His vengeance. But Saul performed it so far
only as fell in with his own inclination and
purposes. He smote, indeed, the Amalekites, and 5
"destroyed all the people with the edge of the
sword"--this exploit had its glory; the best of
the flocks and herds he spared, and why? to
sacrifice therewith to the Lord. But since God
had expressly told him to destroy them, what 10
was this but to imply, that Divine intimations had
nothing to do with such matters? what was it but
to consider that the established religion was but
a useful institution, or a splendid pageant
suitable to the dignity of monarchy, but resting on no 15
unseen supernatural sanction? Certainly he in
no sense acted in the fear of God, with the wish
to please Him, and the conviction that he was in
His sight. One might consider it mere pride and
willfulness in him, acting in his own way because 20
it was his own (which doubtless it was in great
measure), except that he appears to have had an
eye to the feelings and opinions of men as to his
conduct, though not to God's judgment. He
"feared the people and obeyed their voice." 25
Again, he spared Agag, the king of the
Amalekites. Doubtless he considered Agag as "his
brother," as Ahab afterwards called Ben-hadad.
Agag was a king, and Saul observed towards him
that courtesy and clemency which earthly 30
monarchs observe one towards another, and rightly
when no Divine command comes in the way. But
the God of Israel required a king after His own
heart, jealous of idolatry; the people had desired
a king like the nations around them.
It is remarkable, moreover, that while he spared 5
Agag, he attempted to exterminate the Gibeonites
with the sword, who were tolerated in Israel by
virtue of an oath taken in their favor by Joshua
and "the princes of the congregation." This he
did "_in his zeal_ to the children of Israel and 10
Judah."[10]
[10] Josh. ix. 2; 2 Sam. xxi. 1-5.
From the time of his disobedience in the matter
of Amalek, Samuel came no more to see Saul,
whose season of probation was over. The evil
spirit exerted a more visible influence upon him; 15
and God sent Samuel to anoint David privately,
as the future king of Israel. I need not trace
further the course of moral degradation which is
exemplified in Saul's subsequent history. Mere
natural virtue wears away, when men neglect to 20
deepen it into religious principle. Saul appears
in his youth to be unassuming and forbearing;
in advanced life he is not only proud and gloomy
(as he ever was in a degree), but cruel, resentful,
and hard-hearted, which he was not in his youth. 25
His injurious treatment of David is a long
history; but his conduct to Ahimelech, the high
priest, admits of being mentioned here.
Ahimelech assisted David in his escape. Saul resolved
on the death of Ahimelech and all his father's 30
house.[11] On his guards refusing to execute his
command, Doeg, a man of Edom, one of the
nations which Saul was raised up to withstand,
undertook the atrocious deed. On that day,
eighty-five priests were slain. Afterwards Nob, 5
the city of the priests, was smitten with the edge
of the sword, and all destroyed, "men and women,
children and sucklings, and oxen, and asses, and
sheep." That is, Saul executed more complete
vengeance on the descendants of Levi, the sacred 10
tribe, than on the sinners, the Amalekites, who
laid wait for Israel in the way, on their going up
from Egypt.
[11] 1 Sam. xxii. 16.
Last of all, he finishes his bad history by an open
act of apostasy from the God of Israel. His last 15
act is like his first, but more significant. He
began, as we saw, by consulting Samuel as a diviner;
this showed the direction of his mind. It steadily
persevered in its evil way--and he ends by
consulting a professed sorceress at Endor. The 20
Philistines had assembled their hosts; Saul's
heart trembled greatly--he had no advisers or
comforters; Samuel was dead--the priests he had
himself slain with the sword. He hoped, by magic
rites, which he had formerly denounced, to 25
foresee the issue of the approaching battle. God
meets him even in the cave of Satanic
delusions--but as an Antagonist. The reprobate king
receives, by the mouth of dead Samuel, who had
once anointed him, the news that he is to be 30
"taken away in God's wrath"--that the Lord
would deliver Israel, with him, into the hands of
the Philistines, and that on the morrow he and his
sons should be numbered with the dead.[12]
[12] 1 Sam. xxviii. 19.
The next day "the battle went sore against him, 5
the archers hit him; and he was sore wounded of
the archers."[13] "Anguish came upon him,"[14] and
he feared to fall into the hands of the
uncircumcised. He desired his armor-bearer to draw his
sword and thrust him through therewith. On his 10
refusing, he fell upon his own sword, and so came
to his end.
[13] _Ibid._ xxxi. 3.
[14] 2 Sam. i. 9.
EARLY YEARS OF DAVID
"Behold, I have seen a son of Jesse the Beth-lehemite, that is
cunning in playing, and a mighty valiant man, and a man of war, and
prudent in matters, and a comely person, and the Lord is with
him."--1 _Samuel_ xvi. 18.
Such is the account given to Saul of David, in
many respects the most favored of the ancient
Saints. David is to be accounted the most
favored, first as being the principal type of Christ,
next as being the author of a great part of the book 5
of Psalms, which have been used as the Church's
form of devotion ever since his time. Besides, he
was a chief instrument of God's providence, both
in repressing idolatry and in preparing for the
gospel; and he prophesied in an especial manner 10
of that Saviour whom he prefigured and preceded.
Moreover, he was the chosen king of Israel, a man
after God's own heart, and blessed, not only in
himself, but in his seed after him. And, further,
to the history of his life a greater share is given of 15
the inspired pages than to that of any other of
God's favored servants. Lastly, he displays in
his personal character that very temper of mind
in which his nation, or rather human nature
itself, is especially deficient. Pride and unbelief 20
disgrace the history of the chosen people; the
deliberate love of this world, which was the sin of
Balaam, and the presumptuous willfulness which
is exhibited in Saul. But David is conspicuous
for an affectionate, a thankful, a loyal heart 5
towards his God and defender, a zeal which was
as fervent and as docile as Saul's was sullen,
and as keen-sighted and as pure as Balaam's was
selfish and double-minded. Such was the son
of Jesse the Beth-lehemite; he stands midway 10
between Abraham and his predicted seed, Judah
and the Shiloh, receiving and transmitting the
promises; a figure of the Christ, and an inspired
prophet, living in the Church even to the end of
time, in his office, his history, and his sacred 15
writings.
Some remarks on his early life, and on his
character, as therein displayed, may profitably
engage our attention at the present time.
When Saul was finally rejected for not 20
destroying the Amalekites, Samuel was bid go to
Bethlehem, and anoint, as future king of Israel, one
of the sons of Jesse, who should be pointed out to
him when he was come there. Samuel
accordingly went thither and held a sacrifice; when, at 25
his command, Jesse's seven sons were brought by
their father, one by one, before the prophet; but
none of them proved to be the choice of Almighty
God. David was the youngest and out of the
way, and it seemed to Jesse as unlikely that God's 30
choice should fall upon him, as it appeared to
Joseph's brethren and to his father, that he and
his mother and brethren should, as his dreams
foretold, bow down before him. On Samuel's
inquiring, Jesse said, "There remaineth yet the
youngest, and, behold, he keepeth the sheep." 5
On Samuel's bidding, he was sent for. "Now
he was ruddy," the sacred historian proceeds,
"and withal of a beautiful countenance, and
goodly to look to. And the Lord said, Arise,
anoint him, for this is he." After Samuel had 10
anointed him, "the Spirit of the Lord came upon
David from that day forward." It is added,
"But the Spirit of the Lord departed from Saul."
David's anointing was followed by no other
immediate mark of God's favor. He was tried 15
by being sent back again, in spite of the promise,
to the care of his sheep, till an unexpected
occasion introduced him to Saul's court. The
withdrawing of the Spirit of the Lord from Saul was
followed by frequent attacks from an evil spirit, as 20
a judgment upon him. His mind was depressed,
and a "trouble," as it is called, came upon him,
with symptoms very like those which we now
refer to derangement. His servants thought that
music, such, perhaps, as was used in the schools 25
of the prophets, might soothe and restore him;
and David was recommended by one of them for
that purpose, in the words of the text: "Behold,
I have seen a son of Jesse the Beth-lehemite,
that is cunning in playing, and a mighty valiant 30
man, and a man of war, and prudent in matters,
and a comely person, and the Lord is with
him."
David came in the power of that sacred
influence whom Saul had grieved and rejected.
The Spirit which inspired his tongue guided his 5
hand also, and his sacred songs became a medicine
to Saul's diseased mind. "When the evil spirit
from God was upon Saul, ... David took an
harp, and played with his hand; so Saul was
refreshed, and was well, and the evil spirit departed 10
from him." Thus he is first introduced to us in
that character in which he still has praise in the
Church, as "the anointed of the God of Jacob,
and the sweet psalmist of Israel."[15]
[15] 2 Sam. xxiii. 1.
Saul "loved David greatly, and he became his 15
armor-bearer;" but the first trial of his humility
and patience was not over, while many other trials
were in store. After a while he was a second time
sent back to his sheep; and though there was war
with the Philistines, and his three eldest brethren 20
were in the army with Saul, and he had already
essayed his strength in defending his father's
flocks from wild beasts, and was "a mighty
valiant man," yet he contentedly stayed at home
as a private person, keeping his promise of 25
greatness to himself, till his father bade him go to his
brethren to take them a present from him, and
report how they fared. An accident, as it
appeared to the world, brought him forward. On
his arrival at the army, he heard the challenge of 30
the Philistine champion, Goliath of Gath. I need
not relate how he was divinely urged to engage
the giant, how he killed him, and how he was, in
consequence, again raised to Saul's favor; who,
with an infirmity not inconsistent with the 5
deranged state of his mind, seems to have altogether
forgotten him.
From this time began David's public life; but
not yet the fulfillment of the promise made to him
by Samuel. He had a second and severer trial 10
of patience to endure for many years; the trial
of "being still" and doing nothing before God's
time, though he had (apparently) the means in his
hands of accomplishing the promise for himself.
It was to this trial that Jeroboam afterwards 15
showed himself unequal. He, too, was promised
a kingdom, but he was tempted to seize upon it
in his own way, and so forfeited God's protection.
David's victory over Goliath so endeared him
to Saul, that he would not let him go back to his 20
father's house. Jonathan, too, Saul's son, at once
felt for him a warm affection, which deepened into
a firm friendship. "Saul set him over the men
of war, and he was accepted in the sight of all the
people, and also in the sight of Saul's servants."[16] 25
This prosperous fortune, however, did not long
continue. As Saul passed through the cities from
his victory over his enemies, the women of Israel
came out to meet him, singing and dancing, and
they said, "Saul hath slain his thousands, and 30
David his ten thousands." Immediately the
jealous king was "very wroth, and the saying
displeased him;" his sullenness returned; he
feared David as a rival; and "eyed him from that
day and forward." On the morrow, as David 5
was playing before him, as at other times, Saul
threw his javelin at him. After this, Saul
displaced him from his situation at his court, and
sent him to the war, hoping so to rid himself of
him by his falling in battle; but, by God's 10
blessing, David returned victorious.
[16] 1 Sam. xviii. 5.
In a second war with the Philistines, David was
successful as before; and Saul, overcome with
gloomy and malevolent passions, again cast at him
with his javelin, as he played before him, with the 15
hope of killing him.
This repeated attempt on his life drove David
from Saul's court; and for some years after, that
is, till Saul's death, he was a wanderer upon the
earth, persecuted in that country which was 20
afterwards to be his own kingdom. Here, as in his
victory over Goliath, Almighty God purposed to
show us, that it was _His_ hand which set David on
the throne of Israel. David conquered his enemy
by a sling and stone, in order, as he said at the 25
time, that all ... might know "that the Lord
saveth not with sword and spear; for the battle
is the Lord's."[17] Now again, but in a different
way, His guiding providence was displayed. As
David slew Goliath without arms, so now he 30
refrained himself and used them not, though he
possessed them. Like Abraham, he traversed
the land of promise "as a strange land,"[18] waiting
for God's good time. Nay, far more exactly, even
than to Abraham, was it given to David to act and 5
suffer that life of faith which the Apostle describes,
and by which "the elders obtained a good report."
By faith he wandered about, "being destitute,
afflicted, evil-entreated, in deserts, and in
mountains, and in dens, and in caves of the earth." 10
On the other hand, through the same faith, he
"subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness,
obtained promises, waxed valiant in fight, turned to
flight the armies of the aliens."
[17] 1 Sam. xvii. 47.
[18] Heb. xi. 9.
On escaping from Saul, he first went to Samuel 15
to ask his advice. With him he dwelt some time.
Driven thence by Saul he went to Bethlehem, his
father's city, then to Ahimelech, the high priest,
at Nob. Thence he fled, still through fear of Saul,
to Achish, the Philistine king of Gath; and 20
finding his life in danger there, he escaped to Adullam,
where he was joined by his kindred, and put
himself at the head of an irregular band of men, such
as, in the unsettled state of the country, might be
usefully and lawfully employed against the 25
remnant of the heathen. After this he was driven to
Hareth, to Keilah, which he rescued from the
Philistines, to the wilderness of Ziph among the
mountains, to the wilderness of Maon, to the
strongholds of Engedi, to the wilderness of Paran. After 30
a time he again betook himself to Achish, king of
Gath, who gave him a city; and there it was that
the news was brought him of the death of Saul in
battle, which was the occasion of his elevation first
to the throne of Judah, afterwards to that of all 5
Israel, according to the promise of God made to
him by Samuel.
It need not be denied that, during these years of
wandering, we find in David's conduct instances
of infirmity and inconsistency, and some things 10
which, without being clearly wrong, are yet
strange and startling in so favored a servant of
God. With these we are not concerned, except
so far as a lesson may be gained from them for
ourselves. We are not at all concerned with them 15
as regards our estimate of David's character.
That character is ascertained and sealed by the
plain word of Scripture, by the praise of Almighty
God, and is no subject for our criticism; and if we
find in it traits which we cannot fully reconcile 20
with the approbation divinely given to him, we
must take it in faith to be what it is said to be,
and wait for the future revelations of Him who
"overcomes when He is judged." Therefore I
dismiss these matters now, when I am engaged 25
in exhibiting the eminent obedience and
manifold virtues of David. On the whole his situation
during these years of trial was certainly that of a
witness for Almighty God, one who does good and
suffers for it, nay, suffers on rather than rid 30
himself from suffering by any unlawful act.
Now, then, let us consider what was, as far as
we can understand, his especial grace, what is his
gift; as faith was Abraham's distinguishing virtue,
meekness the excellence of Moses, self-mastery the
gift especially conspicuous in Joseph. 5
This question may best be answered by
considering the purpose for which he was raised up.
When Saul was disobedient, Samuel said to him,
"Thy kingdom shall not continue: the Lord hath
sought Him _a man after His own heart_, and the 10
Lord hath commanded him to be captain over
His people, because thou hast not kept that which
the Lord commanded thee."[19] The office to
which first Saul and then David were called was
different from that with which other favored 15
men before them had been intrusted. From the
time of Moses, when Israel became a nation, God
had been the king of Israel, and His chosen
servants, not delegates, but mere organs of His
will. Moses did not direct the Israelites by his 20
own wisdom, but he spake to them, as God spake
from the pillar of the cloud. Joshua, again, was
merely a sword in the hand of God. Samuel was
but His minister and interpreter. God acted, the
Israelites "stood still and saw" His miracles, then 25
followed. But, when they had rejected Him
from being king over them, then their chief ruler
was no longer a mere organ of His power and will,
but had a certain authority intrusted to him,
more or less independent of supernatural direction; 30
and acted, not so much _from_ God, as _for_
God, and _in the place of_ God. David, when taken
from the sheepfolds "to feed Jacob His people and
Israel His inheritance," "fed them," in the words
of the Psalm, "with a faithful and true heart; 5
and ruled them prudently with all his power."[20]
From this account of his office, it is obvious that
his very first duty was that of _fidelity to Almighty
God_ in the trust committed to him. He had
power put into his hands, in a sense in which 10
neither Moses had it nor Samuel. He was charged
with a certain office, which he was bound to
administer according to his ability, so as best to
promote the interests of Him who appointed him.
Saul had neglected his Master's honor; but 15
David, in this an eminent type of Christ, "came
to do God's will" as a viceroy in Israel, and, as
being tried and found faithful, he is especially
called "a man after God's own heart."
[19] 1 Sam. xiii. 14.
[20] Ps. lxxviii. 71-73.
David's peculiar excellence, then, is that of 20
_fidelity to the trust committed to him_; a firm,
uncompromising, single-hearted devotion to the
cause of his God, and a burning zeal for His
honor.
This characteristic virtue is especially 25
illustrated in the early years of his life which have
engaged our attention. He was tried therein and
found faithful; before he was put in power, it
was proved whether he could obey. Till he came
to the throne, he was like Moses or Samuel, an 30
instrument in God's hands, bid do what was told
him and nothing more;--having borne this trial
of obedience well, in which Saul had failed, then
at length he was intrusted with a sort of
discretionary power, to use in his Master's service. 5
Observe how David was tried, and what
various high qualities of mind he displayed in
the course of the trial. First, the promise of
greatness was given him, and Samuel anointed
him. Still he stayed in the sheepfolds; and 10
though called away by Saul for a time, yet
returned contentedly when Saul released him from
attendance. How difficult is it for such as know
they have gifts suitable to the Church's need to
refrain themselves, till God make a way for their 15
use! and the trial would be the more severe in
David's case, in proportion to the ardor and
energy of his mind; yet he fainted not under it.
Afterwards for seven years, as the time appears
to be, he withstood the strong temptation, ever 20
before his eyes, of acting without God's guidance,
when he had the means of doing so. Though
skillful in arms, popular with his countrymen,
successful against the enemy, the king's
son-in-law, and on the other hand grievously injured by 25
Saul, who not only continually sought his life,
but even suggested to him a traitor's conduct
by accusing him of treason, and whose life was
several times in his hands, yet he kept his
honor pure and unimpeachable. He feared God 30
and honored the king; and this at a time of
life especially exposed to the temptations of
ambition.
There is a resemblance between the early
history of David and that of Joseph. Both
distinguished for piety in youth, the youngest and 5
the despised of their respective brethren, they
are raised, after a long trial to a high station,
as ministers of God's Providence. Joseph was
tempted to a degrading adultery; David was
tempted by ambition. Both were tempted to 10
be traitors to their masters and benefactors.
Joseph's trial was brief; but his conduct under it
evidenced settled habits of virtue which he could
call to his aid at a moment's notice. A long
imprisonment followed, the consequence of his 15
obedience, and borne with meekness and patience;
but it was no part of his temptation, because,
when once incurred, release was out of his power.
David's trial, on the other hand, lasted for years,
and grew stronger as time went on. His master, 20
too, far from "putting all that he had into his
hand,"[21] sought his life. Continual opportunity
of avenging himself incited his passions;
self-defense, and the Divine promise, were specious
arguments to seduce his reason. Yet he mastered 25
his heart--he was "still;" he kept his hands clean
and his lips guileless--he was loyal
throughout--and in due time inherited the promise.
[21] Gen. xxxix. 4.
Let us call to mind some of the circumstances
of his steadfastness recorded in the history. 30
He was about twenty-three years old when he
slew the Philistine; yet, when placed over Saul's
men of war, in the first transport of his victory,
we are told he "behaved himself wisely."[22]
When fortune turned, and Saul became jealous 5
of him, still "David behaved himself wisely in
all his ways, and the Lord was with him." How
like is this to Joseph under different circumstances!
"Wherefore when Saul saw that he behaved
himself very wisely he was afraid of him; and all 10
Israel and Judah loved David." Again, "And
David behaved himself more wisely than all the
servants of Saul, so that his name was much set
by." Here, in shifting fortunes, is evidence of
that staid, composed frame of mind in his youth, 15
which he himself describes in the one hundred
and thirty-first Psalm. "My heart is not haughty,
nor mine eyes lofty.... Surely I have behaved
and quieted myself, as a child that is weaned of his
mother." 20
[22] 1 Sam. xviii. 5-30.
The same modest deportment marks his
subsequent conduct. He consistently seeks counsel
of God. When he fled from Saul he went to
Samuel; afterwards we find him following the
directions of the prophet Gad, and afterwards of 25
Abiathar the high priest.[23] Here his character is
in full contrast to the character of Saul.
[23] _Ibid._ xxii. 5, 20; xxiii. 6.
Further, consider his behavior towards Saul,
when he had him in his power; it displays a most
striking and admirable union of simple faith and 30
unblemished loyalty.
Saul, while in pursuit of him, went into a cave
in Engedi. David surprised him there, and his
companions advised to seize him, if not to take 5
his life. They said, "Behold the day of which the
Lord said unto thee."[24] David, in order to show
Saul how entirely his life had been in his power,
arose and cut off a part of his robe privately.
After he had done it, his "heart smote him" even 10
for this slight freedom, as if it were a disrespect
offered towards his king and father. "He said
unto his men, The Lord forbid that I should do
this thing unto my master, the Lord's anointed,
to stretch forth mine hand against him, seeing he 15
is the anointed of the Lord." When Saul left
the cave, David followed him and cried, "My
Lord the king. And when Saul looked behind
him, David stooped with his face to the earth
and bowed himself." He hoped that he could 20
now convince Saul of his integrity. "Wherefore
hearest thou men's words," he asked, "saying,
Behold, David seeketh thy hurt? Behold, this
day thine eyes have seen how that the Lord had
delivered thee to-day into mine hand in the cave: 25
and some bade me kill thee.... Moreover, my
father, see, yea see the skirt of thy robe in my
hand: for in that I cut off the skirt of thy robe,
and killed thee not, know thou and see, that
there is neither evil nor transgression in mine 30
hand, and I have not sinned against thee: yet
thou huntest my soul to take it. The Lord judge
between me and thee, and the Lord avenge me
of thee: but mine hand shall not be upon
thee.... After whom is the king of Israel come out? 5
after whom dost thou pursue? after a dead dog,
after a flea. The Lord therefore judge ... and
see, and plead my cause, and deliver me out of
thine hand." Saul was for the time overcome;
he said, "Is this thy voice, my son David? and 10
Saul lifted up his voice and wept." And he said,
"Thou art more righteous than I; for thou hast
rewarded me good, whereas I have rewarded thee
evil." He added, "And now, behold, I know well
that thou shalt surely be king." At another time 15
David surprised Saul in the midst of his camp,
and his companion would have killed him; but
he said, "Destroy him not, for who can stretch
forth his hand against the Lord's anointed and
be guiltless?"[25] Then, as he stood over him, he 20
meditated sorrowfully on his master's future
fortunes, while he himself refrained from
interfering with God's purposes. "Surely the Lord
shall smite him; or his day shall come to die; or
he shall descend into battle and perish." David 25
retired from the enemy's camp; and when at a safe
distance, roused Saul's guards, and blamed them
for their negligent watch, which had allowed a
stranger to approach the person of their king. Saul
was moved the second time; the miserable man, 30
as if waking from a dream which hung about
him, said, "I have sinned; return, my son David
... behold, I have played the fool, and have erred
exceedingly." He added, truth overcoming him,
"Blessed be thou, my son David; thou shalt 5
both do great things, and also shalt still prevail."
[24] 1 Sam. xxiv. 4.
[25] 1 Sam. xxvi. 9.
How beautiful are these passages in the history
of the chosen king of Israel! How do they draw
our hearts towards him, as one whom in his
private character it must have been an extreme 10
privilege and a great delight to know! Surely,
the blessings of the patriarchs descended in a
united flood upon "the lion of the tribe of Judah,"
the type of the true Redeemer who was to come.
He inherits the prompt faith and magnanimity 15
of Abraham; he is simple as Isaac; he is humble
as Jacob; he has the youthful wisdom and
self-possession, the tenderness, the affectionateness,
and the firmness of Joseph. And, as his own
especial gift, he has an overflowing thankfulness, 20
an ever-burning devotion, a zealous fidelity to
his God, a high unshaken loyalty towards his
king, an heroic bearing in all circumstances, such
as the multitude of men see to be great, but
cannot understand. Be it our blessedness, unless 25
the wish be presumptuous, so to acquit ourselves
in troubled times; cheerful amid anxieties,
collected in dangers, generous towards enemies,
patient in pain and sorrow, subdued in good
fortune! How manifold are the ways of the 30
Spirit, how various the graces which He imparts;
what depth and width is there in that moral truth
and virtue for which we are created! Contrast
one with another the Scripture Saints; how
different are they, yet how alike! how fitted for
their respective circumstances, yet how unearthly, 5
how settled and composed in the faith and fear
of God! As in the Services, so in the patterns of
the Church, God has met all our needs, all our
frames of mind. "Is any afflicted? let him
pray; is any merry? let him sing Psalms."[26] 10
Is any in joy or in sorrow? there are Saints at
hand to encourage and guide him. There is
Abraham for nobles, Job for men of wealth and
merchandise, Moses for patriots, Samuel for
rulers, Elijah for reformers, Joseph for those who 15
rise into distinction; there is Daniel for the
forlorn, Jeremiah for the persecuted, Hannah for the
downcast, Ruth for the friendless, the
Shunamite for the matron, Caleb for the soldier, Boaz
for the farmer, Mephibosheth for the subject; 20
but none is vouchsafed to us in more varied lights,
and with more abundant and more affecting
lessons, whether in his history or in his writings,
than he whose eulogy is contained in the words of
the text, as cunning in playing, and a mighty 25
valiant man, and prudent in matters, and comely
in person, and favored by Almighty God. May
we be taught, as he was, to employ the gifts, in
whatever measure given us, to God's honor and
glory, and to the extension of that true and only 30
faith which is the salvation of the soul!
[26] James v. 13.
BASIL AND GREGORY
"What are these discourses that you hold one with another, as you
walk and are sad?"
I
The instruments raised up by Almighty God
for the accomplishment of His purposes are of
two kinds, equally gifted with faith and piety,
but from natural temper and talent, education,
or other circumstances, differing in the means by 5
which they promote their sacred cause. The
first of these are men of acute and ready mind,
with accurate knowledge of human nature, and
large plans, and persuasive and attractive
bearing, genial, sociable, and popular, endued with 10
prudence, patience, instinctive tact and decision
in conducting matters, as well as boldness and
zeal. Such in a measure we may imagine the
single-minded, the intrepid, the much-enduring
Hildebrand, who, at a time when society was 15
forming itself anew, was the saviour, humanly
speaking, of the City of God. Such, in an earlier age,
was the majestic Ambrose; such the
never-wearied Athanasius. These last-named
luminaries of the Church came into public life early, 20
and thus learned how to cope with the various
tempers, views, and measures of the men they
encountered there. Athanasius was but
twenty-seven when he went with Alexander to the Nicene
Council, and the year after he was Bishop of
Alexandria. Ambrose was consecrated soon after 5
the age of thirty.
Again, there is an instrument in the hand of
Providence, of less elaborate and splendid
workmanship, less rich in its political endowments,
so to call them, yet not less beautiful in its 10
texture, nor less precious in its material. Such is
the retired and thoughtful student, who remains
years and years in the solitude of a college or a
monastery, chastening his soul in secret, raising
it to high thought and single-minded purpose, 15
and when at length called into active life,
conducting himself with firmness, guilelessness, zeal
like a flaming fire, and all the sweetness of purity
and integrity. Such an one is often unsuccessful
in his own day; he is too artless to persuade, too 20
severe to please; unskilled in the weaknesses of
human nature, unfurnished in the resources of
ready wit, negligent of men's applause,
unsuspicious, open-hearted, he does his work, and so
leaves it; and it seems to die; but in the 25
generation after him it lives again, and on the long run
it is difficult to say which of the two classes of
men has served the cause of truth the more
effectually. Such, perhaps, was Basil, who issued
from the solitudes of Pontus to rule like a king, 30
and minister like the lowest in the kingdom; yet
to meet little but disappointment, and to quit
life prematurely in pain and sorrow. Such was
his friend, the accomplished Gregory, however
different in other respects from him, who left his
father's roof for an heretical city, raised a church 5
there, and was driven back into retirement by
his own people, as soon as his triumph over the
false creed was secured. Such, perhaps, St. Peter
Damiani in the middle age; such St. Anselm,
such St. Edmund. No comparison is, of course, 10
attempted here between the religious excellence
of the two descriptions of men; each of them
serves God according to the peculiar gifts given
to him. If we might continue our instances
by way of comparison, we should say that St. 15
Paul reminds us of the former, and Jeremiah of
the latter....
It often happens that men of very dissimilar
talents and tastes are attracted together by their
very dissimilitude. They live in intimacy for a 20
time, perhaps a long time, till their circumstances
alter, or some sudden event comes, to try them.
Then the peculiarities of their respective minds
are brought out into action; and quarrels ensue,
which end in coolness or separation. It would 25
not be right or true to say that this is exemplified
in the instance of the two blessed Apostles, whose
"sharp contention" is related in the Book of
Acts; for they had been united in spirit once for
all by a Divine gift; and yet their strife reminds 30
us of what takes place in life continually. And it
so far resembled the everyday quarrels of friends,
in that it arose from difference of temper and
character in those favored servants of God.
The zealous heart of the Apostle of the Gentiles
endured not the presence of one who had swerved 5
in his course; the indulgent spirit of Barnabas
felt that a first fault ought not to be a last trial.
Such are the two main characters which are found
in the Church,--high energy, and sweetness of
temper; far from incompatible, of course, united 10
in Apostles, though in different relative
proportions, yet only partially combined in ordinary
Christians, and often altogether parted from each
other.
This contrast of character, leading, first, to 15
intimacy, then to differences, is interestingly
displayed, though painfully, in one passage of the
history of Basil and Gregory: Gregory the
affectionate, the tender-hearted, the man of quick
feelings, the accomplished, the eloquent 20
preacher,--and Basil, the man of firm resolve and hard
deeds, the high-minded ruler of Christ's flock,
the diligent laborer in the field of ecclesiastical
politics. Thus they differed; yet not as if they
had not much in common still; both had the 25
blessing and the discomfort of a sensitive mind;
both were devoted to an ascetic life; both were
men of classical tastes; both were special
champions of the Catholic creed; both were skilled
in argument, and successful in their use of it; 30
both were in highest place in the Church, the one
Exarch of Cæsarea, the other Patriarch of
Constantinople. I will now attempt to sketch the
history of their intimacy.
II
Basil and Gregory were both natives of
Cappadocia, but here, again, under different 5
circumstances; Basil was born of a good family, and
with Christian ancestors: Gregory was the son of
the Bishop of Nazianzus, who had been brought
up an idolater, or rather an Hypsistarian, a
mongrel sort of religionist, part Jew, part Pagan. 10
He was brought over to Christianity by the efforts
of his wife Nonna, and at Nazianzus admitted by
baptism into the Church. In process of time he
was made bishop of that city; but not having a
very firm hold of the faith, he was betrayed in 15
360 into signing the Ariminian creed, which caused
him much trouble, and from which at length his
son recovered him. Cæsarea being at no
unsurmountable distance from Nazianzus, the two
friends had known each other in their own country; 20
but their intimacy began at Athens, whither
they separately repaired for the purposes of
education. This was about A.D. 350, when each of
them was twenty-one years of age. Gregory
came to the seat of learning shortly before Basil, 25
and thus was able to be his host and guide on his
arrival; but fame had reported Basil's merits
before he came, and he seems to have made his
way, in a place of all others most difficult to a
stranger, with a facility peculiar to himself. He
soon found himself admired and respected by
his fellow-students; but Gregory was his only
friend, and shared with him the reputation of 5
talents and attainments. They remained at
Athens four or five years; and, at the end of that
time, made the acquaintance of Julian, since of
evil name in history as the Apostate. Gregory
thus describes in after life his early intimacy 10
with Basil:
"Athens and letters followed on my stage;
Others may tell how I encountered them;--
How in the fear of God, and foremost found
Of those who knew a more than mortal lore;-- 15
And how, amid the venture and the rush
Of maddened youth with youth in rivalry,
My tranquil course ran like some fabled spring,
Which bubbles fresh beneath the turbid brine;
Not drawn away by those who lure to ill, 20
But drawing dear ones to the better part.
There, too, I gained a further gift of God,
Who made me friends with one of wisdom high,
Without compeer in learning and in life.
Ask ye his name?--in sooth, 'twas Basil, since 25
My life's great gain,--and then my fellow dear
In home, and studious search, and knowledge earned.
May I not boast how in our day we moved
A truest pair, not without name in Greece;
Had all things common, and one only soul 30
In lodgment of a double outward frame?
Our special bond, the thought of God above,
And the high longing after holy things.
And each of us was bold to trust in each,
Unto the emptying of our deepest hearts;
And then we loved the more, for sympathy
Pleaded in each, and knit the twain in one."
The friends had been educated for rhetoricians,
and their oratorical powers were such, that they 5
seemed to have every prize in prospect which a
secular ambition could desire. Their names were
known far and wide, their attainments
acknowledged by enemies, and they themselves personally
popular in their circle of acquaintance. It was 10
under these circumstances that they took the
extraordinary resolution of quitting the world
together,--extraordinary the world calls it,
utterly perplexed to find that any conceivable
objects can, by any sane person, be accounted 15
better than its own gifts and favors. They
resolved to seek baptism of the Church, and to
consecrate their gifts to the service of the Giver.
With characters of mind very different--the
one grave, the other lively; the one desponding, 20
the other sanguine; the one with deep feelings,
the other with feelings acute and warm;--they
agreed together in holding, that the things that
are seen are not to be compared to the things that
are not seen. They quitted the world, while it 25
entreated them to stay.
What passed when they were about to leave
Athens represents as in a figure the parting which
they and the world took of each other. When
the day of valediction arrived, their companions 30
and equals, nay, some of their tutors, came about
them, and resisted their departure by entreaties,
arguments, and even by violence. This occasion
showed, also, their respective dispositions; for
the firm Basil persevered, and went; the
tender-hearted Gregory was softened, and stayed awhile 5
longer. Basil, indeed, in spite of the reputation
which attended him, had, from the first, felt
disappointment with the celebrated abode of
philosophy and literature; and seems to have given up
the world from a simple conviction of its emptiness. 10
"He," says Gregory, "according to the way of human
nature, when, on suddenly falling in with what we hoped
to be greater, we find it less than its fame, experienced
some such feeling, began to be sad, grew impatient, and
could not congratulate himself on his place of residence. 15
He sought an object which hope had drawn for him;
and he called Athens 'hollow blessedness.'"
Gregory himself, on the contrary, looked at
things more cheerfully; as the succeeding
sentences show. 20
"Thus Basil; but I removed the greater part of his
sorrow, meeting it with reason, and smoothing it with
reflections, and saying (what was most true) that
character is not at once understood, nor except by long time
and perfect intimacy; nor are studies estimated, by 25
those who are submitted to them, on a brief trial and
by slight evidence. Thus I reassured him, and by
continual trials of each other, I bound myself to him."
--_Orat._ 43.
III
Yet Gregory had inducements of his own to 30
leave the world, not to insist on his love of Basil's
company. His mother had devoted him to God,
both before and after his birth; and when he was
a child he had a remarkable dream, which made
a great impression upon him.
"While I was asleep," he says in one of his poems, 5
which runs thus in prose, "a dream came to me, which
drew me readily to the desire of chastity. Two virgin
forms, in white garments, seemed to shine close to me.
Both were fair and of one age, and their ornament lay
in their want of ornament, which is a woman's beauty. 10
No gold adorned their neck, nor jacinth; nor had they
the delicate spinning of the silkworm. Their fair robe
was bound with a girdle, and it reached down to their
ankles. Their head and face were concealed by a veil,
and their eyes were fixed on the ground. The fair glow 15
of modesty was on both of them, as far as could be seen
under their thick covering. Their lips were closed in
silence, as the rose in its dewy leaves. When I saw
them, I rejoiced much; for I said that they were far
more than mortals. And they in turn kept kissing me, 20
while I drew light from their lips, fondling me as a dear
son. And when I asked who and whence the women
were, the one answered, 'Purity,' the other, 'Sobriety';
'We stand by Christ, the King, and delight in the beauty
of the celestial virgins. Come, then, child, unite thy 25
mind to our mind, thy light to our light; so shall we carry
thee aloft in all brightness through the air, and place
thee by the radiance of the immortal Trinity.'"
--_Carm._ p. 930.
He goes on to say, that he never lost the 30
impression this made upon him, as "a spark of
heavenly fire," or "a taste of divine milk and
honey."
As far, then, as these descriptions go, one might
say that Gregory's abandonment of the world
arose from an early passion, as it may be called,
for a purity higher than his own nature; and
Basil's, from a profound sense of the world's
nothingness and the world's defilements. Both 5
seem to have viewed it as a sort of penitential
exercise, as well as a means towards perfection.
When they had once resolved to devote
themselves to the service of religion, the question
arose, how they might best improve and employ 10
the talents committed to them. Somehow, the
idea of marrying and taking orders, or taking
orders and marrying, building or improving their
parsonages, and showing forth the charities, the
humanities, and the gentilities of a family man, 15
did not suggest itself to their minds. They fancied
that they must give up wife, children, property,
if they would be perfect; and, this being taken
for granted, that their choice lay between two
modes of life, both of which they regarded as 20
extremes. Here, then, for a time, they were in
some perplexity. Gregory speaks of two ascetic
disciplines, that of the solitary or hermit, and that
of the secular;[27] one of which, he says, profits
a man's self, the other his neighbor. Midway, 25
however, between these lay the Coenobite, or
what we commonly call the monastic; removed
from the world, yet acting in a certain select
circle. And this was the rule which the friends
at length determined to adopt, withdrawing from 30
mixed society in order to be of the greater service
to it.
[27] [Greek: azyges] and [Greek: migades].
The following is the passage in which Gregory
describes the life which was the common choice
of both of them: 5
"Fierce was the whirlwind of my storm-toss'd mind,
Searching,'mid holiest ways, a holier still.
Long had I nerved me, in the depths to sink
Thoughts of the flesh, and then more strenuously.
Yet, while I gazed upon diviner aims, 10
I had not wit to single out the best:
For, as is aye the wont in things of earth,
Each had its evil, each its nobleness.
I was the pilgrim of a toilsome course,
Who had o'erpast the waves, and now look'd round, 15
With anxious eye, to track his road by land.
Then did the awful Thesbite's image rise,
His highest Carmel, and his food uncouth;
The Baptist wealthy in his solitude;
And the unencumbered sons of Jonadab. 20
But soon I felt the love of holy books,
The spirit beaming bright in learned lore,
Which deserts could not hear, nor silence tell.
Long was the inward strife, till ended thus:--
I saw, when men lived in the fretful world, 25
They vantaged other men, but risked the while
The calmness and the pureness of their hearts.
They who retired held an uprighter port,
And raised their eyes with quiet strength towards heaven;
Yet served self only, unfraternally. 30
And so, 'twixt these and those, I struck my path,
To meditate with the free solitary,
Yet to live secular, and serve mankind."
AUGUSTINE AND THE VANDALS
"The just perisheth, and no man layeth it to heart; and men of
mercy are taken away, for there is none to understand; for the just
man is taken away from before the face of evil."
I
I began by directing the reader's attention to
the labors of two great bishops, who restored
the faith of Christianity where it had long been
obscured. Now, I will put before him, by way
of contrast, a scene of the overthrow of 5
religion,--the extinction of a candlestick,--effected, too,
by champions of the same heretical creed which
Basil and Gregory successfully resisted. It will
be found in the history of the last days of the
great Augustine, Bishop of Hippo, in Africa. 10
The truth triumphed in the East by the power of
preaching; it was extirpated in the South by the
edge of the sword.
Though it may not be given us to appropriate
the prophecies of the Apocalypse to the real 15
events to which they belong, yet it is impossible
to read its inspired pages, and then to turn to
the dissolution of the Roman empire, without
seeing a remarkable agreement, on the whole,
between the calamities of that period and the 20
sacred prediction. There is a plain announcement
in the inspired page, of "Woe, woe, woe, to
the inhabitants of the earth;" an announcement
of "hail and fire mingled with blood," the
conflagration of "trees and green grass," the
destruction of ships, the darkening of the sun, and the 5
poisoning of the rivers over a third of their course.
There is a clear prophecy of revolutions on the
face of the earth and in the structure of society.
And, on the other hand, let us observe how fully
such general foretokenings are borne out, among 10
other passages of history, in the Vandalic
conquest of Africa.
The coast of Africa, between the great desert
and the Mediterranean, was one of the most
fruitful and opulent portions of the Roman world. 15
The eastern extremity of it was more especially
connected with the empire, containing in it
Carthage, Hippo, and other towns, celebrated as
being sees of the Christian Church, as well as
places of civil importance. In the spring of the 20
year 428, the Vandals, Arians by creed, and
barbarians by birth and disposition, crossed the
Straits of Gibraltar, and proceeded along this
fertile district, bringing with them devastation
and captivity on every side. They abandoned 25
themselves to the most savage cruelties and
excesses. They pillaged, ravaged, burned,
massacred all that came in their way, sparing not even
the fruit trees, which might have afforded some
poor food to the remnant of the population, who 30
had escaped from them into caves, the recesses
of the mountains, or into vaults. Twice did this
desolating pestilence sweep over the face of the
country.
The fury of the Vandals was especially exercised
towards the memorials of religion. Churches, 5
cemeteries, monasteries, were objects of their
fiercest hatred and most violent assaults. They
broke into the places of worship, cut to pieces all
internal decorations, and then set fire to them.
They tortured bishops and clergy with the hope of 10
obtaining treasure. The names of some of the
victims of their ferocity are preserved. Mansuetus,
Bishop of Utica, was burnt alive; Papinianus,
Bishop of Vite, was laid upon red-hot plates of
iron. This was near upon the time when the 15
third General Council was assembling at Ephesus,
which, from the insecure state of the roads, and
the universal misery which reigned among them,
the African bishops were prevented from
attending. The Clergy, the religious brotherhoods, the 20
holy virgins, were scattered all over the country.
The daily sacrifice was stopped, the sacraments
could not be obtained, the festivals of the Church
passed unnoticed. At length, only three cities
remained unvisited by the general 25
desolation,--Carthage, Hippo, and Cirtha.
II
Hippo was the see of St. Austin, then
seventy-four years of age (forty almost of which had been
passed in ministerial labors), and warned, by
the law of nature, of the approach of dissolution.
It was as if the light of prosperity and peace
were fading away from the African Church, as
sank the bodily powers of its great earthly
ornament and stay. At this time, when the terrors 5
of the barbaric invasion spread on all sides, a
bishop wrote to him to ask whether it was allowable
for the ruler of a Church to leave the scene of his
pastoral duties in order to save his life.
Different opinions had heretofore been expressed on 10
this question. In Augustine's own country
Tertullian had maintained that flight was unlawful,
but he was a Montanist when he so wrote. On
the other hand, Cyprian had actually fled, and
had defended his conduct when questioned by 15
the clergy of Rome. His contemporaries,
Dionysius of Alexandria, and Gregory of Neocæsarea,
had fled also; as had Polycarp before them, and
Athanasius after them.
Athanasius also had to defend his flight, and he 20
defended it, in a work still extant, thus: First,
he observes, it has the sanction of numerous
Scripture precedents. Thus, in the instance of
confessors under the old covenant, Jacob fled
from Esau, Moses from Pharao, David from Saul; 25
Elias concealed himself from Achab three years,
and the sons of the prophets were hid by Abdias
in a cave from Jezebel. In like manner under
the Gospel, the disciples hid themselves for fear
of the Jews, and St. Paul was let down in a basket 30
over the wall at Damascus. On the other hand,
no instance can be adduced of overboldness and
headstrong daring in the saints of Scripture.
But our Lord Himself is the chief exemplar of
fleeing from persecution. As a child in arms He
had to flee into Egypt. When He returned, He 5
still shunned Judea, and retired to Nazareth.
After raising Lazarus, on the Jews seeking His
life, "He walked no more openly among them,"
but retreated to the neighborhood of the desert.
When they took up stones to cast at Him, He 10
hid Himself; when they attempted to cast Him
down headlong, He made His way through them;
when He heard of the Baptist's death, He retired
across the lake into a desert place, apart. If it
be said that He did so, because His time was not 15
yet come, and that when it was come, He
delivered up Himself, we must ask, in reply, how a
man can know that his time is come, so as to
have a right to act as Christ acted? And since
we do not know, we must have patience; and, 20
till God by His own act determines the time, we
must "wander in sheepskins and goatskins,"
rather than take the matter into our own hands;
as even Saul, the persecutor, was left by David
in the hands of God, whether He would "strike 25
him, or his day should come to die, or he should
go down to battle and perish."
If God's servants, proceeds Athanasius, have
at any time presented themselves before their
persecutors, it was at God's command: thus Elias 30
showed himself to Achab; so did the prophet
from Juda, to Jeroboam; and St. Paul appealed
to Cæsar. Flight, so far from implying
cowardice, requires often greater courage than not to
flee. It is a greater trial of heart. Death is an
end of all trouble; he who flees is ever expecting 5
death, and dies daily. Job's life was not to be
touched by Satan, yet was not his fortitude
shown in what he suffered? Exile is full of
miseries. The after-conduct of the saints showed
they had not fled for fear. Jacob, on his 10
death-bed, contemned death, and blessed each of the
twelve Patriarchs; Moses returned, and
presented himself before Pharao; David was a
valiant warrior; Elias rebuked Achab and
Ochazias; Peter and Paul, who had once hid 15
themselves, offered themselves to martyrdom at
Rome. And so acceptable was the previous
flight of these men to Almighty God, that we
read of His showing them some special favor
during it. Then it was that Jacob had the 20
vision of Angels; Moses saw the burning bush;
David wrote his prophetic Psalms; Elias raised
the dead, and gathered the people on Mount
Carmel. How would the Gospel ever have been
preached throughout the world, if the Apostles 25
had not fled? And, since their time, those, too,
who have become martyrs, at first fled; or, if they
advanced to meet their persecutors, it was by
some secret suggestion of the Divine Spirit. But,
above all, while these instances abundantly 30
illustrate the rule of duty in persecution, and the
temper of mind necessary in those who observe
it, we have that duty itself declared in a plain
precept by no other than our Lord: "When they
shall persecute you in this city," He says, "flee
into another;" and "let them that are in Judea 5
flee unto the mountains."
Thus argues the great Athanasius, living in
spirit with the saints departed, while full of
labor and care here on earth. For the
arguments on the other side, let us turn to a writer, 10
not less vigorous in mind, but less subdued in
temper. Thus writes Tertullian on the same
subject, then a Montanist, a century and a half
earlier: Nothing happens, he says, without
God's will. Persecution is sent by Him, to put 15
His servants to the test; to divide between good
and bad: it is a trial; what man has any right
to interfere? He who gives the prize, alone can
assign the combat. Persecution is more than
permitted, it is actually appointed by Almighty 20
God. It does the Church much good, as leading
Christians to increased seriousness while it lasts.
It comes and goes at God's ordering. Satan
could not touch Job, except so far as God gave
permission. He could not touch the Apostles, 25
except as far as an opening was allowed in the
words, "Satan hath desired to have you, but I
have prayed for thee," Peter, "and thou, being
once converted, confirm thy brethren." We
pray, "Lead us not into temptation, but deliver 30
us from evil;" why, if we may deliver ourselves?
Satan is permitted access to us, either for
punishment, as in Saul's case, or for our chastisement.
Since the persecution comes from God, we may
not lawfully avoid it, nor can we avoid it. We
cannot, because He is all powerful; we must not, 5
because He is all good. We should leave the
matter entirely to God. As to the command of
fleeing from city to city, this was temporary. It
was intended to secure the preaching of the
Gospel to the nations. While the Apostles preached 10
to the Jews,--till they had preached to the
Gentiles,--they were to flee; but one might as
well argue, that we now are not to go "into the
way of the Gentiles," but to confine ourselves
to "the lost sheep of the house of Israel," as that 15
we are now to "flee from city to city." Nor,
indeed, was going from city to city a flight; it was
a continued preaching; not an accident, but a
rule: whether persecuted or not, they were to go
about; and before they had gone through the 20
cities of Israel, the Lord was to come. The
command contemplated only those very cities.
If St. Paul escaped out of Damascus by night,
yet afterwards, against the prayers of the disciples
and the prophecy of Agabus, he went up to 25
Jerusalem. Thus the command to flee did not last
even through the lifetime of the Apostles; and,
indeed, why should God introduce persecution,
if He bids us retire from it? This is imputing
inconsistency to His acts. If we want texts to 30
justify our not fleeing, He says, "Whoso shall
confess Me before men, I will confess him before
My Father." "Blessed are they that suffer
persecution;" "He that shall persevere to the end,
he shall be saved;" "Be not afraid of them that
kill the body;" "Whosoever does not carry his 5
cross and come after Me, cannot be My disciple."
How are these texts fulfilled when a man flees?
Christ, who is our pattern, did not more than
pray, "If it be possible, let this chalice pass;"
we, too, should both stay and pray as He did. 10
And it is expressly told us, that "We also ought
to lay down our lives for the brethren." Again, it
is said, "Perfect charity casteth out fear;" he
who flees, fears; he who fears, "is not perfected
in charity." The Greek proverb is sometimes 15
urged, "He who flees, will fight another day;"
yes, and he may flee another day, also. Again,
if bishops, priests, and deacons flee, why must
the laity stay? or must they flee also? "The
good shepherd," on the contrary, "layeth down 20
his life for his sheep;" whereas, the bad shepherd
"seeth the wolf coming, and leaveth the sheep,
and fleeth." At no time, as Jeremiah, Ezekiel,
and Zechariah tell us, is the flock in greater
danger of being scattered than when it loses its 25
shepherd. Tertullian ends thus: "This doctrine, my
brother, perhaps appears to you hard; nay,
intolerable. But recollect that God has said, 'He
that can take, let him take it;' that is, he who
receives it not, let him depart. He who fears to 30
suffer cannot belong to Him who has suffered.
He who does not fear to suffer is perfect in love,
that is, of God. Many are called, few are chosen.
Not he who would walk the broad way is sought
out by God, but he who walks the narrow."
Thus the ingenious and vehement Tertullian. 5
III
With these remarks for and against flight in
persecution, we shall be prepared to listen to
Augustine on the subject; I have said, it was
brought under his notice by a brother bishop,
with reference to the impending visitation of the 10
barbarians. His answer happily is preserved to
us, and extracts from it shall now be set before
the reader.
"TO HIS HOLY BROTHERS AND FELLOW-BISHOP HONORATUS, AUGUSTINE SENDS
HEALTH IN THE LORD
"I thought the copy of my letter to our brother
Quodvultdeus, which I sent to you, would have been 15
sufficient, dear brother, without the task you put on me
of counseling you on the proper course to pursue under
our existing dangers. It was certainly a short letter;
yet I included every question which it was necessary to
ask and answer, when I said that no persons were 20
hindered from retiring to such fortified places as they were
able and desirous to secure; while, on the other hand, we
might not break the bonds of our ministry, by which
the love of Christ has engaged us not to desert the Church,
where we are bound to serve. The following is what I 25
laid down in the letter I refer to: 'It remains, then,'
I say, 'that, though God's people in the place where we
are be ever so few, yet, if it does stay, we, whose ministration
is necessary to its staying, must say to the Lord,
Thou art our strong rock and place of defense.'
"But you tell me that this view is not sufficient for
you, from an apprehension lest we should be running
counter to our Lord's command and example, to flee 5
from city to city. Yet is it conceivable that He meant
that our flocks, whom He bought with His own blood,
should be deprived of that necessary ministration
without which they cannot live? Is He a precedent for
this, who was carried in flight into Egypt by His parents 10
when but a child, before He had formed Churches which
we can talk of His leaving? Or, when St. Paul was let
down in a basket through a window, lest the enemy
should seize him, and so escaped his hands, was the Church
of that place bereft of its necessary ministration, seeing 15
there were other brethren stationed there to fulfill what
was necessary? Evidently it was their wish that he,
who was the direct object of the persecutors' search,
should preserve himself for the sake of the Church.
Let then, the servants of Christ, the ministers of His 20
word and sacraments, do in such cases as He enjoined
or permitted. Let such of them, by all means, flee from
city to city, as are special objects of persecution; so
that they who are not thus attacked desert not the
Church, but give meat to those their fellow-servants, 25
who they know cannot live without it. But in a case
when all classes--I mean bishops, clergy, and
people--are in some common danger, let not those who need the
aid of others be deserted by those whom they need. Either
let one and all remove into some fortified place, or, if 30
any are obliged to remain, let them not be abandoned
by those who have to supply their ecclesiastical necessity,
so that they may survive in common, or suffer in common
what their Father decrees they should undergo."
Then he makes mention of the argument of a 35
certain bishop, that "if our Lord has enjoined
upon us flight, in persecutions which may ripen
into martyrdom, much more is it necessary to
flee from barren sufferings in a barbarian and
hostile invasion," and he says, "this is true and
reasonable, in the case of such as have no 5
ecclesiastical office to tie them;" but he continues:
"Why should men make no question about obeying
the precept of fleeing from city to city, and yet have
no dread of 'the hireling who seeth the wolf coming, and
fleeth, because he careth not for the sheep'? Why do 10
they not try to reconcile (as they assuredly can) these
two incontrovertible declarations of our Lord, one of
which suffers and commands flight, the other arraigns
and condemns it? And what other mode is there of
reconciling them than that which I have above laid down? 15
viz., that we, the ministers of Christ, who are under the
pressure of persecution, are _then_ at liberty to leave our
posts, when no flock is left for us to serve; or again,
when, though there be a flock, yet there are others to
supply our necessary ministry, who have not the same 20
reason for fleeing,--as in the case of St. Paul; or,
again, of the holy Athanasius, bishop of Alexandria,
who was especially sought after by the emperor
Constantius, while the Catholic people, who remained
together in Alexandria, were in no measure deserted by the 25
other ministers. But when the people remain, and the
ministers flee, and the ministration is suspended, what
is that but the guilty flight of hirelings, who care not for
the sheep? For then the wolf will come,--not man, but
the devil, who is accustomed to persuade such believers 30
to apostasy, who are bereft of the daily ministration of
the Lord's Body; and by your, not knowledge, but
ignorance of duty, the weak brother will perish, for whom
Christ died.
"Let us only consider, when matters come to an 35
extremity of danger, and there is no longer any means
of escape, how persons flock together to the Church, of
both sexes, and all ages, begging for baptism, or
reconciliation, or even for works of penance, and one and
all of them for consolation, and the consecration and 5
application of the sacraments. Now, if ministers are
wanting, what ruin awaits those, who depart from this
life unregenerate or unabsolved! Consider the grief
of their believing relatives, who will not have them as
partakers with themselves in the rest of eternal life; 10
consider the anguish of the whole multitude, nay, the
cursings of some of them, at the absence of ministration
and ministers.
"It may be said, however, that the ministers of God
ought to avoid such imminent perils, in order to 15
preserve themselves for the profit of the Church for more
tranquil times. I grant it where others are present to
supply the ecclesiastical ministry, as in the case of
Athanasius. How necessary it was to the Church, how
beneficial, that such a man should remain in the flesh, the 20
Catholic faith bears witness, which was maintained
against the Arians by his voice and his love. But when
there is a common danger, and when there is rather
reason to apprehend lest a man should be thought to
flee, not from purpose of prudence, but from dread of 25
dying, and when the example of flight does more harm
than the service of living does good, it is by no means
to be done. To be brief, holy David withdrew himself
from the hazard of war, lest perchance he should 'quench
the light of Israel,' at the instance of his people, not on 30
his own motion. Otherwise, he would have occasioned
many imitators of an inactivity which they had in that
case ascribed, not to regard for the welfare of others,
but to cowardice."
Then he goes on to a further question, what is 35
to be done in a case where all ministers are likely
to perish, unless some of them take to flight? or
when persecution is set on foot only with the view
of reaching the ministers of the Church? This
leads him to exclaim:
"O, that there may be then a quarrel between God's 5
ministers, _who_ are to remain, and _who_ to flee, lest the
Church should be deserted, whether by all fleeing or all
dying! Surely there will ever be such a quarrel, where
each party burns in its own charity, yet indulges the
charity of the other. In such a difficulty, the lot seems 10
the fairest decision, in default of others. God judges
better than man in perplexities of this sort; whether it
be His will to reward the holier among them with the
crown of martyrdom, and to spare the weak, or again,
to strengthen the latter to endure evil, removing those 15
from life whom the Church of God can spare the better.
Should it, however, seem inexpedient to cast
lots,--a measure for which I cannot bring precedent,--at
least, let no one's flight be the cause of the Church's
losing those ministrations which, in such dangers, are 20
so necessary and so imperative. Let no one make
himself an exception, on the plea of having some particular
grace, which gives him a claim to life, and therefore to
flight.
"It is sometimes supposed that bishops and clergy, 25
remaining at their posts in dangers of this kind, mislead
their flocks into staying, by their example. But it is
easy for us to remove this objection or imputation, by
frankly telling them not to be misled by our remaining.
'We are remaining for your sake,' we must say, 'lest you 30
should fail to obtain such ministration, as we know to
be necessary to your salvation in Christ. Make your
escape, and you will then set us free.' The occasion for
saying this is when there seems some real advantage in
retiring to a safer position. Should all or some make 35
answer, 'We are in His hands from whose anger no one
can flee anywhere; whose mercy every one may find
everywhere, though he stir not, whether some necessary
tie detains him, or the uncertainty of safe escape deters
him'; most undoubtedly such persons are not to be
left destitute of Christian ministrations. 5
"I have written these lines, dearest brother, in truth,
as I think, and in sure charity, by way of reply, since you
have consulted me; but not as dictating, if, perchance,
you may find some better view to guide you. However,
better we cannot do in these perils than pray the Lord 10
our God to have mercy upon us."--_Ep._ 228.
IV
The luminous judgment, the calm faith, and
the single-minded devotion which this letter
exhibits, were fully maintained in the conduct of
the far-famed writer, in the events which 15
followed. It was written on the first entrance of
the Vandals into Africa, about two years before
they laid siege to Hippo; and during this
interval of dreadful suspense and excitement, as well
as of actual suffering, amid the desolation of the 20
Church around him, with the prospect of his own
personal trials, we find this unwearied teacher
carrying on his works of love by pen, and word
of mouth,--eagerly, as knowing his time was
short, but tranquilly, as if it were a season of 25
prosperity....
His life had been for many years one of great
anxiety and discomfort, the life of one dissatisfied
with himself, and despairing of finding the truth.
Men of ordinary minds are not so circumstanced 30
as to feel the misery of irreligion. That misery
consists in the perverted and discordant action
of the various faculties and functions of the soul,
which have lost their legitimate governing power,
and are unable to regain it, except at the hands 5
of their Maker. Now the run of irreligious men
do not suffer in any great degree from this
disorder, and are not miserable; they have neither
great talents nor strong passions; they have not
within them the materials of rebellion in such 10
measure as to threaten their peace. They follow
their own wishes, they yield to the bent of the
moment, they act on inclination, not on principle,
but their motive powers are neither strong nor
various enough to be troublesome. Their minds 15
are in no sense under rule; but anarchy is not in
their case a state of confusion, but of deadness;
not unlike the internal condition as it is reported
of eastern cities and provinces at present, in
which, though the government is weak or null, 20
the body politic goes on without any great
embarrassment or collision of its members one with
another, by the force of inveterate habit. It is
very different when the moral and intellectual
principles are vigorous, active, and developed. 25
Then, if the governing power be feeble, all the
subordinates are in the position of rebels in arms;
and what the state of a mind is under such
circumstances, the analogy of a civil community will
suggest to us. Then we have before us the 30
melancholy spectacle of high aspirations without
an aim, a hunger of the soul unsatisfied, and a
never ending restlessness and inward warfare of
its various faculties. Gifted minds, if not
submitted to the rightful authority of religion,
become the most unhappy and the most mischievous. 5
They need both an object to feed upon, and the
power of self-mastery; and the love of their
Maker, and nothing but it, supplies both the one
and the other. We have seen in our own day, in
the case of a popular poet, an impressive instance 10
of a great genius throwing off the fear of God,
seeking for happiness in the creature, roaming
unsatisfied from one object to another, breaking
his soul upon itself, and bitterly confessing and
imparting his wretchedness to all around him. 15
I have no wish at all to compare him to St.
Augustine; indeed, if we may say it without
presumption, the very different termination of their trial
seems to indicate some great difference in their
respective modes of encountering it. The one 20
dies of premature decay, to all appearance, a
hardened infidel; and if he is still to have a name,
will live in the mouths of men by writings at once
blasphemous and immoral: the other is a Saint
and Doctor of the Church. Each makes 25
confessions, the one to the saints, the other to the
powers of evil. And does not the difference of
the two discover itself in some measure, even to
our eyes, in the very history of their wanderings
and pinings? At least, there is no appearance in 30
St. Augustine's case of that dreadful haughtiness,
sullenness, love of singularity, vanity, irritability,
and misanthropy, which were too certainly the
characteristics of our own countryman.
Augustine was, as his early history shows, a man of
affectionate and tender feelings, and open and 5
amiable temper; and, above all, he sought for some
excellence external to his own mind, instead of
concentrating all his contemplations on himself.
But let us consider what his misery was; it
was that of a mind imprisoned, solitary, and wild 10
with spiritual thirst; and forced to betake itself
to the strongest excitements, by way of relieving
itself of the rush and violence of feelings, of which
the knowledge of the Divine Perfections was the
true and sole sustenance. He ran into excess, 15
not from love of it, but from this fierce fever of
mind. "I sought what I might love,"[28] he says
in his Confessions, "in love with loving, and safety
I hated, and a way without snares. For within
me was a famine of that inward food, Thyself, 20
my God; yet throughout that famine I was not
hungered, but was without any longing for
incorruptible sustenance, not because filled therewith,
but the more empty, the more I loathed it. For
this cause my soul was sickly and full of sores; it 25
miserably cast itself forth, desiring to be scraped
by the touch of objects of sense."--iii. I.
[28] Most of these translations are from the Oxford edition of 1838.
"O foolish man that I then was," he says elsewhere,
"enduring impatiently the lot of man! So I fretted,
sighed, wept, was distracted; had neither rest nor
counsel. For I bore about a shattered and bleeding
soul, impatient of being borne by me, yet where to repose
it I found not; not in calm groves, nor in games and
music, nor in fragrant spots, nor in curious banquetings, 5
nor in indulgence of the bed and the couch, nor, finally, in
books or poetry found it repose. All things looked ghastly,
yea, the very light. In groaning and tears alone found
I a little refreshment. But when my soul was withdrawn
from them, a huge load of misery weighed me down. 10
To Thee, O Lord, it ought to have been raised, for Thee
to lighten; I knew it, but neither could, nor would;
the more, since when I thought of Thee, Thou wast not
to me any solid or substantial thing. For Thou wert not
Thyself, but a mere phantom, and my error was my God. 15
If I offered to discharge my load thereon, that it might
rest, it glided through the void, and came rushing down
against me; and I had remained to myself a hapless
spot, where I could neither be, nor be from thence. For
whither should my heart flee from my heart? whither 20
should I flee from myself? whither not follow myself?
And yet I fled out of my country; for so should mine
eyes look less for _him_, where they were not wont to see
him."--iv. 12.
He is speaking in this last sentence of a friend he 25
had lost, whose death-bed was very remarkable,
and whose dear familiar name he apparently has
not courage to mention. "He had grown from a
child with me," he says, "and we had been both
schoolfellows and playfellows." Augustine had 30
misled him into the heresy which he had adopted
himself, and when he grew to have more and more
sympathy in Augustine's pursuits, the latter united
himself to him in a closer intimacy. Scarcely had
he thus given him his heart, when God took him. 35
"Thou tookest him," he says, "out of this life, when he
had scarce completed one whole year of my friendship,
sweet to me above all sweetness in that life of mine.
A long while, sore sick of a fever, he lay senseless in the
dews of death, and being given over, he was baptized 5
unwitting; I, meanwhile little regarding, or presuming
that his soul would retain rather what it had received
of me than what was wrought on his unconscious body."
The Manichees, it should be observed, rejected
baptism. He proceeds: 10
"But it proved far otherwise; for he was refreshed
and restored. Forthwith, as soon as I could speak with
him (and I could as soon as he was able, for I never left
him, and we hung but too much upon each other), I
essayed to jest with him, as though he would jest with 15
me at that baptism, which he had received, when
utterly absent in mind and feeling, but had now understood
that he had received. But he shrunk from me, as from
an enemy; and with a wonderful and sudden freedom
bade me, if I would continue his friend, forbear such 20
language to him. I, all astonished and amazed,
suppressed all my emotions till he should grow well, and his
health were strong enough for me to deal with him as I
would. But he was taken away from my madness, that
with Thee he might be preserved for my comfort: a few 25
days after, in my absence, he was attacked again by
fever, and so departed."--iv. 8.
V
From distress of mind Augustine left his native
place, Thagaste, and came to Carthage, where he
became a teacher in rhetoric. Here he fell in 30
with Faustus, an eminent Manichean bishop and
disputant, in whom, however, he was
disappointed; and the disappointment abated his
attachment to his sect, and disposed him to look
for truth elsewhere. Disgusted with the license
which prevailed among the students at Carthage, 5
he determined to proceed to Rome, and
disregarding and eluding the entreaties of his mother,
Monica, who dreaded his removal from his own
country, he went thither. At Rome he resumed
his professions; but inconveniences as great, 10
though of another kind, encountered him in that
city; and upon the people of Milan sending for a
rhetoric reader, he made application for the
appointment, and obtained it. To Milan then he
came, the city of St. Ambrose, in the year of our 15
Lord 385.
Ambrose, though weak in voice, had the
reputation of eloquence; and Augustine, who seems
to have gone with introductions to him, and was
won by his kindness of manner, attended his 20
sermons with curiosity and interest. "I listened,"
he says, "not in the frame of mind which became
me, but in order to see whether his eloquence
answered what was reported of it: I hung on his
words attentively, but of the matter I was but an 25
unconcerned and contemptuous hearer."--v. 23.
His impression of his style of preaching is worth
noticing: "I was delighted with the sweetness
of his discourse, more full of knowledge, yet in
manner less pleasurable and soothing, than that 30
of Faustus." Augustine was insensibly moved:
he determined on leaving the Manichees, and
returning to the state of a catechumen in the
Catholic Church, into which he had been admitted
by his parents. He began to eye and muse upon
the great bishop of Milan more and more, and tried 5
in vain to penetrate his secret heart, and to
ascertain the thoughts and feelings which swayed him.
He felt he did not understand him. If the
respect and intimacy of the great could make
a man happy, these advantages he perceived 10
Ambrose to possess; yet he was not satisfied that
he was a happy man. His celibacy seemed a
drawback: what constituted his hidden life? or
was he cold at heart? or was he of a famished
and restless spirit? He felt his own malady, and 15
longed to ask him some questions about it. But
Ambrose could not easily be spoken with. Though
accessible to all, yet that very circumstance
made it difficult for an individual, especially one
who was not of his flock, to get a private 20
interview with him. When he was not taken up with
the Christian people who surrounded him, he
was either at his meals or engaged in private
reading. Augustine used to enter, as all persons
might, without being announced; but after 25
staying awhile, afraid of interrupting him, he
departed again. However, he heard his expositions
of Scripture every Sunday, and gradually made
progress.
He was now in his thirtieth year, and since he 30
was a youth of eighteen had been searching after
truth; yet he was still "in the same mire, greedy of
things present," but finding nothing stable.
"To-morrow," he said to himself, "I shall find it; it
will appear manifestly, and I shall grasp it: lo, Faustus
the Manichee will come and clear everything! O you 5
great men, ye academics, is it true, then, that no
certainty can be attained for the ordering of life? Nay,
let us search diligently, and despair not. Lo, things in
the ecclesiastical books are not absurd to us now, which
sometimes seemed absurd, and may be otherwise taken 10
and in a good sense. I will take my stand where, as a
child, my parents placed me, until the clear truth be
found out. But where shall it be sought, or when?
Ambrose has no leisure; we have no leisure to read;
where shall we find even the books? where, or when, 15
procure them? Let set times be appointed, and
certain hours be ordered for the health of our soul. Great
hope has dawned; the Catholic faith teaches not what
we thought; and do we doubt to knock, that the rest
may be opened? The forenoons, indeed, our scholars 20
take up; what do we during the rest of our time? why
not this? But if so, when pay we court to our great
friend, whose favors we need? when compose what we
may sell to scholars? when refresh ourselves, unbending
our minds from this intenseness of care? 25
"Perish everything: dismiss we these empty
vanities; and betake ourselves to the one search for truth!
Life is a poor thing, death is uncertain; if it surprises
us, in what state shall we depart hence? and when shall
we learn what here we have neglected? and shall we not 30
rather suffer the punishment of this negligence? What
if death itself cut off and end all care and feeling?
Then must this be ascertained. But God forbid this!
It is no vain and empty thing, that the excellent dignity
of the Christian faith has overspread the whole world. 35
Never would such and so great things be wrought for
us by God, if with the body the soul also came to an
end. Wherefore delay then to abandon worldly hopes,
and give ourselves wholly to seek after God and the
blessed life?..."
Finding Ambrose, though kind and accessible, 5
yet reserved, he went to an aged man named
Simplician, who, as some say, baptized St.
Ambrose, and eventually succeeded him in his
see. He opened his mind to him, and
happening in the course of his communications to 10
mention Victorinus's translation of some Platonic
works, Simplician asked him if he knew that
person's history. It seems he was a professor of
rhetoric at Rome, was well versed in literature and
philosophy, had been tutor to many of the 15
senators, and had received the high honor of a statue
in the Forum. Up to his old age he had
professed, and defended with his eloquence, the old
pagan worship. He was led to read the Holy
Scriptures, and was brought, in consequence, to 20
a belief in their divinity. For a while he did not
feel the necessity of changing his profession; he
looked upon Christianity as a philosophy, he
embraced it as such, but did not propose to join
what he considered the Christian sect, or, as 25
Christians would call it, the Catholic Church.
He let Simplician into his secret; but whenever
the latter pressed him to take the step, he was
accustomed to ask, "whether walls made a
Christian." However, such a state could not 30
continue with a man of earnest mind: the leaven
worked; at length he unexpectedly called upon
Simplician to lead him to church. He was
admitted a catechumen, and in due time baptized,
"Rome wondering, the Church rejoicing." It
was customary at Rome for the candidates for 5
baptism to profess their faith from a raised place
in the church, in a set form of words. An offer
was made to Victorinus, which was not unusual
in the case of bashful and timid persons, to make
his profession in private. But he preferred to 10
make it in the ordinary way. "I was public
enough," he made answer, "in my profession of
rhetoric, and ought not to be frightened when
professing salvation." He continued the school
which he had before he became a Christian, till 15
the edict of Julian forced him to close it. This
story went to Augustine's heart, but it did not
melt it. There was still the struggle of two wills,
the high aspiration and the habitual inertness.
His conversion took place in the summer of 386. 20
* * * * *
He gives an account of the termination of the
conflict he underwent:
"At length burst forth a mighty storm, bringing
a mighty flood of tears; and to indulge it to the full
even unto cries, in solitude, I rose up from Alypius, ... 25
who perceived from my choked voice how it was with
me. He remained where we had been sitting, in deep
astonishment. I threw myself down under a fig tree, I
know not how, and allowing my tears full vent, offered
up to Thee the acceptable sacrifice of my streaming eyes. 30
"And I cried out to this effect: 'And Thou, O Lord,
how long, how long, Lord, wilt Thou be angry?
Forever? Remember not our old sins!' for I felt that they
were my tyrants. I cried out, piteously, 'How long?
how long? to-morrow and to-morrow? why not _now_? 5
why not in this very hour put an end to this my vileness?'
While I thus spoke, with tears, in the bitter contrition
of my heart, suddenly I heard a voice, as if from a house
near me, of a boy or girl chanting forth again and again,
'TAKE UP AND READ, TAKE UP AND READ!' Changing 10
countenance at these words, I began intently to think
whether boys used them in any game, but could not
recollect that I had ever heard them. I left weeping and
rose up, considering it a divine intimation to open the
Scriptures and read what first presented itself. I had 15
heard that Antony had come in during the reading of the
Gospel, and had taken to himself the admonition, 'Go,
sell all that thou hast,' etc., and had turned to Thee at
once, in consequence of that oracle. I had left St.
Paul's volume where Alypius was sitting, when I rose 20
thence. I returned thither, seized it, opened, and read
in silence the following passage, which first met my eyes,
'_Not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and
impurities, not in contention and envy, but put ye on the
Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh in 25
its concupiscences_.' I had neither desire nor need to
read farther. As I finished the sentence, as though the
light of peace had been poured into my heart, all the
shadows of doubt dispersed. Thus hast Thou converted
me to Thee, so as no longer to seek either for wife or 30
other hope of this world, standing fast in that rule of
faith in which Thou so many years before hadst revealed
me to my mother."--viii. 26-30.
The last words of this extract relate to a dream
which his mother had had some years before, 35
concerning his conversion. On his first turning
Manichee, abhorring his opinions, she would not
for a while even eat with him, when she had this
dream, in which she had an intimation that where
she stood, there Augustine should one day be
with her. At another time she derived great 5
comfort from the casual words of a bishop, who,
when importuned by her to converse with her
son, said at length with some impatience, "Go
thy ways, and God bless thee, for it is not possible
that the son of these tears should perish!" 10
would be out of place, and is perhaps unnecessary,
to enter here into the affecting and well-known
history of her tender anxieties and persevering
prayers for Augustine. Suffice it to say, she saw
the accomplishment of them; she lived till 15
Augustine became a Catholic; and she died on her way
back to Africa with him. Her last words were,
"Lay this body anywhere; let not the care of it
in any way distress you; this only I ask, that
wherever you be, you remember me at the Altar 20
of the Lord."
"May she," says her son, in dutiful remembrance of
her words, "rest in peace with her husband, before and
after whom she never had any; whom she obeyed, with
patience bringing forth fruit unto Thee, that she might 25
win him also unto Thee. And inspire, O Lord my God,
inspire Thy servants, my brethren,--Thy sons, my
masters,--whom, in heart, voice, and writing I serve,
that so many as read these confessions, may at Thy altar
remember Monica, Thy handmaid, with Patricius, her 30
sometime husband, from whom Thou broughtest me into
this life; how, I know not. May they with pious affection
remember those who were my parents in this
transitory light,--my brethren under Thee, our Father,
in our Catholic Mother,--my fellow-citizens in the
eternal Jerusalem, after which Thy pilgrim people sigh
from their going forth unto their return: that so, her 5
last request of me may in the prayers of many receive
a fulfillment, through my confessions, more abundant
than through my prayers."--ix. 37.
* * * * *
CHRYSOSTOM
INTRODUCTORY
I confess to a delight in reading the lives, and
dwelling on the characters and actions, of the
Saints of the first ages, such as I receive from none
besides them; and for this reason, because we
know so much more about them than about most 5
of the Saints who come after them. People are
variously constituted; what influences one does
not influence another. There are persons of
warm imaginations, who can easily picture to
themselves what they never saw. They can at 10
will see Angels and Saints hovering over them
when they are in church; they see their
lineaments, their features, their motions, their
gestures, their smile or their grief. They can go
home and draw what they have seen, from the 15
vivid memory of what, while it lasted, was so
transporting. I am not one of such; I am touched
by my five senses, by what my eyes behold and
my ears hear. I am touched by what I read
about, not by what I myself create. As faith 20
need not lead to practice, so in me mere
imagination does not lead to devotion. I gain more
from the life of our Lord in the Gospels than from
a treatise _de Deo_. I gain more from three verses
of St. John than from the three points of a
meditation. I like a Spanish crucifix of painted wood
more than one from Italy, which is made of gold.
I am more touched by the Seven Dolors than by
the Immaculate Conception; I am more devout 5
to St. Gabriel than to one of Isaiah's seraphim.
I love St. Paul more than one of those first
Carmelites, his contemporaries, whose names and acts
no one ever heard of; I feel affectionately towards
the Alexandrian Dionysius, I do homage to St. 10
George. I do not say that my way is better than
another's; but it is my way, and an allowable
way. And it is the reason why I am so specially
attached to the Saints of the third and fourth
century, because we know so much about them. 15
This is why I feel a devout affection for St.
Chrysostom. He and the rest of them have
written autobiography on a large scale; they
have given us their own histories, their thoughts,
words, and actions, in a number of goodly folios, 20
productions which are in themselves some of their
meritorious works....
The Ancient Saints have left behind them just
that kind of literature which more than any other
represents the abundance of the heart, which 25
more than any other approaches to conversation;
I mean correspondence. Why is it that we feel
an interest in Cicero which we cannot feel in
Demosthenes or Plato? Plato is the very type
of soaring philosophy, and Demosthenes of 30
forcible eloquence; Cicero is something more than
an orator and a sage; he is not a mere ideality, he
is a man and a brother; he is one of ourselves.
We do not merely believe it, or infer it, but we
have the enduring and living evidence of
it--how? In his letters. He can be studied, 5
criticised if you will; but still dwelt upon and
sympathized with also. Now the case of the Ancient
Saints is parallel to that of Cicero. We have their
letters in a marvelous profusion. We have
above 400 letters of St. Basil's; above 200 of 10
St. Augustine's. St. Chrysostom has left us
about 240; St. Gregory Nazianzen the same
number; Pope St. Gregory as many as 840....
A Saint's writings are to me his real "Life;"
and what _is called_ his "Life" is not the outline 15
of an individual, but either of the _auto-saint_ or
of a myth. Perhaps I shall be asked what I
mean by "Life." I mean a narrative which
impresses the reader with the idea of moral unity,
identity, growth, continuity, personality. When 20
a Saint converses with me, I am conscious of the
presence of one active principle of thought, one
individual character, flowing on and into the
various matters which he discusses, and the
different transactions in which he mixes. It is 25
what no memorials can reach, however skillfully
elaborated, however free from effort or study,
however conscientiously faithful, however
guaranteed by the veracity of the writers. Why
cannot art rival the lily or the rose? Because the 30
colors of the flower are developed and blended
by the force of an inward life; while on the other
hand, the lights and shades of the painter are
diligently laid on from without. A magnifying
glass will show the difference. Nor will it
improve matters, though not one only, but a dozen 5
good artists successively take part in the picture;
even if the outline is unbroken, the coloring is
muddy. Commonly, what is called "the Life,"
is little more than a collection of anecdotes brought
together from a number of independent quarters; 10
anecdotes striking, indeed, and edifying, but
valuable in themselves rather than valuable as parts
of a biography; valuable whoever was the
subject of them, not valuable as illustrating a
particular Saint. It would be difficult to mistake 15
for each other a paragraph of St. Ambrose, or of
St. Jerome, or of St. Augustine; it would be very
easy to mistake a chapter in the life of one holy
missionary or nun for a chapter in the life of
another. 20
An almsgiving here, an instance of meekness
there, a severity of penance, a round of religious
duties,--all these things humble me, instruct
me, improve me; I cannot desire anything
better of their kind; but they do not necessarily 25
coalesce into the image of a person. From such
works I do but learn to pay devotion to an
abstract and typical perfection under a certain
particular name; I do not know more of the real
Saint who bore it than before. Saints, as other 30
men, differ from each other in this, that the
multitude of qualities which they have in
common are differently combined in each of them.
This forms one great part of their personality.
One Saint is remarkable for fortitude; not that
he has not other heroic virtues by _concomitance_, 5
as it may be called, but by virtue of that one gift
in particular he has won his crown. Another is
remarkable for patient hope, another for
renunciation of the world. Such a particular virtue
may be said to give form to all the rest which are 10
grouped round it, and are molded and modified
by means of it. Thus it is that often what is
right in one would be wrong in another; and, in
fact, the very same action is allowed or chosen
by one, and shunned by another, as being 15
consistent or inconsistent with their respective
characters,--pretty much as in the combination of
colors, each separate tint takes a shade from
the rest, and is good or bad from its company.
The whole gives a meaning to the parts; but it 20
is difficult to rise from the parts to the whole.
When I read St. Augustine or St. Basil, I hold
converse with a beautiful grace-illumined soul,
looking out into this world of sense, and leavening
it with itself; when I read a professed life of him, 25
I am wandering in a labyrinth of which I cannot
find the center and heart, and am but conducted
out of doors again when I do my best to penetrate
within.
This seems to me, to tell the truth, a sort of 30
pantheistic treatment of the Saints. I ask something
more than to stumble upon the _disjecta
membra_ of what ought to be a living whole. I
take but a secondary interest in books which
chop up a Saint into chapters of faith, hope,
charity, and the cardinal virtues. They are too 5
scientific to be devotional. They have their
great utility, but it is not the utility which they
profess. They do not manifest a Saint, they
mince him into spiritual lessons. They are
rightly called spiritual reading, that is just what 10
they are, and they cannot possibly be anything
better; but they are not anything else. They
contain a series of points of meditation on
particular virtues, made easier because those points
are put under the patronage and the invocation 15
of a Saint. With a view to learning real
devotion to him, I prefer (speaking for myself) to have
any one action or event of his life drawn out
minutely, with his own comments upon it, than
a score of virtues, or of acts of one virtue, strung 20
together in as many sentences. Now, in the
ancient writings I have spoken of, certain
transactions are thoroughly worked out. We know all
that happened to a Saint on such or such an
occasion, all that was done by him. We have a view 25
of his character, his tastes, his natural infirmities,
his struggles and victories over them, which in
no other way can be attained. And therefore it
is that, without quarreling with the devotion of
others, I give the preference to my own. 30
Here another great subject opens upon us,
when I ought to be bringing these remarks to
an end; I mean the endemic perennial fidget
which possesses us about giving scandal; facts
are omitted in great histories, or glosses are put
upon memorable acts, because they are thought 5
not edifying, whereas of all scandals such
omissions, such glosses, are the greatest. But I am
getting far more argumentative than I thought
to be when I began; so I lay my pen down, and
retire into myself. 10
I
John of Antioch, from his sanctity and his
eloquence called Chrysostom, was approaching
sixty years of age, when he had to deliver himself
up to the imperial officers, and to leave
Constantinople for a distant exile. He had been the great 15
preacher of the day now for nearly twenty years;
first at Antioch, then in the metropolis of the
East; and his gift of speech, as in the instance of
the two great classical orators before him, was to
be his ruin. He had made an Empress his enemy, 20
more powerful than Antipater,--as passionate,
if not so vindictive, as Fulvia. Nor was this all;
a zealous Christian preacher offends not
individuals merely, but classes of men, and much more
so when he is pastor and ruler too, and has to 25
punish as well as to denounce. Eudoxia, the
Empress, might be taken off suddenly,--as
indeed she was taken off a few weeks after the
Saint arrived at the place of exile, which she personally, 30
in spite of his entreaties, had marked out
for him; but her death did but serve to increase
the violence of the persecution directed against
him. She had done her part in it, perhaps she
might have even changed her mind in his favor; 5
probably the agitation of a bad conscience was,
in her critical condition, the cause of her death.
She was taken out of the way; but her partisans,
who had made use of her, went on vigorously
with the evil work which she had begun. When 10
Cucusus would not kill him, they sent him on his
travels anew, across a far wilder country than he
had already traversed, to a remote town on the
eastern coast of the Euxine; and he sank under
this fresh trial. 15
The Euxine! that strange mysterious sea,
which typifies the abyss of outer darkness, as
the blue Mediterranean basks under the smile of
heaven in the center of civilization and religion.
The awful, yet splendid drama of man's history 20
has mainly been carried on upon the
Mediterranean shores; while the Black Sea has ever been
on the very outskirts of the habitable world,
and the scene of wild unnatural portents; with
legends of Prometheus on the savage Caucasus, 25
of Medea gathering witch herbs in the moist
meadows of the Phasis, and of Iphigenia
sacrificing the shipwrecked stranger in Taurica; and
then again, with the more historical, yet not more
grateful visions of barbarous tribes, Goths, Huns, 30
Scythians, Tartars, flitting over the steppes and
wastes which encircle its inhospitable waters.
To be driven from the bright cities and sunny
clime of Italy or Greece to such a region, was
worse than death; and the luxurious Roman
actually preferred death to exile. The suicide 5
of Gallus, under this dread doom, is well known;
Ovid, too cowardly to be desperate, drained out
the dregs of a vicious life on the cold marshes
between the Danube and the sea. I need scarcely
allude to the heroic Popes who patiently lived on 10
in the Crimea, till a martyrdom, in which they
had not part but the suffering, released them.
But banishment was an immense evil in itself.
Cicero, even though he had liberty of person, the
choice of a home, and the prospect of a return, 15
roamed disconsolate through the cities of Greece,
because he was debarred access to the
senate-house and forum. Chrysostom had his own
_rostra_, his own _curia_; it was the Holy Temple,
where his eloquence gained for him victories not 20
less real, and more momentous, than the
detection and overthrow of Catiline. Great as was
his gift of oratory, it was not by the fertility of
his imagination, or the splendor of his diction
that he gained the surname of "Mouth of Gold." 25
We shall be very wrong if we suppose that fine
expressions, or rounded periods, or figures of
speech, were the credentials by which he claimed
to be the first doctor of the East. His oratorical
power was but the instrument by which he 30
readily, gracefully, adequately expressed--expressed
without effort and with felicity--the
keen feelings, the living ideas, the earnest
practical lessons which he had to communicate to his
hearers. He spoke, because his heart, his head,
were brimful of things to speak about. His 5
elocution corresponded to that strength and
flexibility of limb, that quickness of eye, hand, and
foot, by which a man excels in manly games or
in mechanical skill. It would be a great mistake,
in speaking of it, to ask whether it was Attic or 10
Asiatic, terse or flowing, when its distinctive
praise was that it was natural. His unrivaled
charm, as that of every really eloquent man, lies
in his singleness of purpose, his fixed grasp of his
aim, his noble earnestness. 15
A bright, cheerful, gentle soul; a sensitive
heart, a temperament open to emotion and
impulse; and all this elevated, refined, transformed
by the touch of heaven,--such was St. John
Chrysostom; winning followers, riveting 20
affections, by his sweetness, frankness, and neglect
of self. In his labors, in his preaching, he
thought of others only. "I am always in
admiration of that thrice-blessed man," says an able
critic,[29] "because he ever in all his writings puts 25
before him as his object, to be useful to his
hearers; and as to all other matters, he either
simply put them aside, or took the least possible
notice of them. Nay, as to his seeming ignorant
of some of the thoughts of Scripture, or careless of 30
entering into its depths, and similar defects, all
this he utterly disregarded in comparison of the
profit of his hearers."
[29] Photius, p. 387.
There was as little affectation of sanctity in his
dress or living as there was effort in his eloquence. 5
In his youth he had been one of the most austere
of men; at the age of twenty-one, renouncing
bright prospects of the world, he had devoted
himself to prayer and study of the Scriptures.
He had retired to the mountains near Antioch, 10
his native place, and had lived among the monks.
This had been his home for six years, and he had
chosen it in order to subdue the daintiness of his
natural appetite. "Lately," he wrote to a friend
at the time,--"lately, when I had made up my 15
mind to leave the city and betake myself to the
tabernacle of the monks, I was forever
inquiring and busying myself how I was to get a
supply of provisions; whether it would be possible
to procure fresh bread for my eating, whether 20
I should be ordered to use the same oil for my
lamp and for my food, to undergo the hardship
of peas and beans, or of severe toil, such as
digging, carrying wood or water, and the like; in
a word, I made much account of bodily comfort."[30] 25
Such was the nervous anxiety and fidget of mind
with which he had begun: but this rough
discipline soon effected its object, and at length, even
by preference, he took upon him mortifications
which at first were a trouble to him. For the 30
last two years of his monastic exercise, he lived
by himself in a cave; he slept, when he did sleep,
without lying down; he exposed himself to the
extremities of cold. At length he found he was
passing the bounds of discretion, nature would 5
bear no more; he fell ill, and returned to the
city.
[30] Ad Demetrium, i. 6.
A course of ascetic practice such as this would
leave its spiritual effects upon him for life. It
sank deep into him, though the surface might 10
not show it. His duty at Constantinople was to
mix with the world; and he lived as others,
except as regards such restraints as his sacred
office and archiepiscopal station demanded of
him. He wore shoes, and an under garment; 15
but his stomach was ever delicate, and at meals
he was obliged to have his own dish, such as it
was, to himself. However, he mixed freely with
all ranks of men; and he made friends,
affectionate friends, of young and old, men and women, 20
rich and poor, by condescending to all of every
degree. How he was loved at Antioch, is shown
by the expedient used to transfer him thence to
Constantinople. Asterius, count of the East, had
orders to send for him, and ask his company to a 25
church without the city. Having got him into
his carriage, he drove off with him to the first
station on the highroad to Constantinople, where
imperial officers were in readiness to convey him
thither. Thus he was brought upon the scene of 30
those trials which have given him a name in history,
and a place in the catalogue of the Saints.
At the imperial city he was as much followed, if
not as popular, as at Antioch. "The people
flocked to him," says Sozomen, "as often as he
preached; some of them to hear what would 5
profit them, others to make trial of him. He
carried them away, one and all, and persuaded
them to think as he did about the Divine Nature.
They hung upon his words, and could not have
enough of them; so that, when they thrust and 10
jammed themselves together in an alarming way,
every one making an effort to get nearer to him,
and to hear him more perfectly, he took his seat
in the midst of them, and taught from the pulpit
of the Reader."[31] He was, indeed, a man to make 15
both friends and enemies; to inspire affection,
and to kindle resentment; but his friends loved
him with a love "stronger" than "death," and
more burning than "hell;" and it was well to be
so hated, if he was so beloved. 20
[31] Hist. viii. 5.
Here he differs, as far as I can judge, from his
brother saints and doctors of the Greek Church,
St. Basil and St. Gregory Nazianzen. They were
scholars, shy perhaps and reserved; and though
they had not given up the secular state, they were 25
essentially monks. There is no evidence, that I
remember, to show that they attached men to
their persons. They, as well as John, had a
multitude of enemies; and were regarded, the
one with dislike, the other perhaps with contempt; 30
but they had not, on the other hand,
warm, eager, sympathetic, indignant, agonized
friends. There is another characteristic in
Chrysostom, which perhaps gained for him this great
blessing. He had, as it would seem, a vigor, 5
elasticity, and, what may be called, sunniness of
mind, all his own. He was ever sanguine,
seldom sad. Basil had a life-long malady, involving
continual gnawing pain and a weight of physical
dejection. He bore his burden well and 10
gracefully, like the great Saint he was, as Job bore his;
but it was a burden like Job's. He was a calm, mild,
grave, autumnal day; St. John Chrysostom was
a day in spring-time, bright and rainy, and
glittering through its rain. Gregory was the full 15
summer, with a long spell of pleasant stillness, its
monotony relieved by thunder and lightning.
And St. Athanasius figures to us the stern
persecuting winter, with its wild winds, its dreary
wastes, its sleep of the great mother, and the 20
bright stars shining overhead. He and
Chrysostom have no points in common; but Gregory was
a dethroned Archbishop of Constantinople, like
Chrysostom, and, again, dethroned by his
brethren the Bishops. Like Basil, too, Chrysostom was 25
bowed with infirmities of body; he was often ill;
he was thin and wizened; cold was a misery to
him; heat affected his head; he scarcely dare
touch wine; he was obliged to use the bath;
obliged to take exercise, or rather to be 30
continually on the move. Whether from a nervous or
febrile complexion, he was warm in temper; or
at least, at certain times, his emotion struggled
hard with his reason. But he had that noble
spirit which complains as little as possible; which
makes the best of things; which soon recovers 5
its equanimity, and hopes on in circumstances
when others sink down in despair....
II
Whence is this devotion to St. John
Chrysostom, which leads me to dwell upon the thought of
him, and makes me kindle at his name, when so 10
many other great Saints, as the year brings round
their festivals, command indeed my veneration,
but exert no personal claim upon my heart?
Many holy men have died in exile, many holy
men have been successful preachers; and what 15
more can we write upon St. Chrysostom's
monument than this, that he was eloquent and that he
suffered persecution? He is not an Athanasius,
expounding a sacred dogma with a luminousness
which is almost an inspiration; nor is he 20
Athanasius, again, in his romantic life-long adventures,
in his sublime solitariness, in his ascendency over
all classes of men, in his series of triumphs over
material force and civil tyranny. Nor, except
by the contrast, does he remind us of that 25
Ambrose who kept his ground obstinately in an
imperial city, and fortified himself against the
heresy of a court by the living rampart of a
devoted population. Nor is he Gregory or Basil,
rich in the literature and philosophy of Greece,
and embellishing the Church with the spoils of
heathenism. Again, he is not an Augustine,
devoting long years to one masterpiece of thought, 5
and laying, in successive controversies, the
foundations of theology. Nor is he a Jerome, so dead to
the world that he can imitate the point and wit
of its writers without danger to himself or
scandal to his brethren. He has not trampled upon 10
heresy, nor smitten emperors, nor beautified the
house or the service of God, nor knit together the
portions of Christendom, nor founded a religious
order, nor built up the framework of doctrine, nor
expounded the science of the Saints; yet I love 15
him, as I love David or St. Paul.
How am I to account for it? It has not
happened to me, as it might happen to many a man,
that I have devoted time and toil to the study of
his writings or of his history, and cry up that 20
upon which I have made an outlay, or love what
has become familiar to me. Cases may occur
when our admiration for an author is only
admiration of our own comments on him, and when
our love of an old acquaintance is only our love 25
of old times. For me, I have not written the
life of Chrysostom, nor translated his works, nor
studied Scripture in his exposition, nor forged
weapons of controversy out of his sayings or his
doings. Nor is his eloquence of a kind to carry 30
any one away who has ever so little knowledge
of the oratory of Greece and Rome. It is not
force of words, nor cogency of argument, nor
harmony of composition, nor depth or richness of
thought, which constitute his power,--whence,
then, has he this influence, so mysterious, yet so 5
strong?
I consider St. Chrysostom's charm to lie in his
intimate sympathy and compassionateness for
the whole world, not only in its strength, but in
its weakness; in the lively regard with which he 10
views everything that comes before him, taken
in the concrete, whether as made after its own
kind or as gifted with a nature higher than its
own. Not that any religious man--above all,
not that any Saint--could possibly contrive to 15
abstract the love of the work from the love of
its Maker, or could feel a tenderness for earth
which did not spring from devotion to heaven;
or as if he would not love everything just in that
degree in which the Creator loves it, and 20
according to the measure of gifts which the Creator
has bestowed upon it, and preëminently for the
Creator's sake. But this is the characteristic
of all Saints; and I am speaking, not of what St.
Chrysostom had in common with others, but what 25
he had special to himself; and this specialty, I
conceive, is the interest which he takes in all
things, not so far as God has made them alike,
but as He has made them different from each
other. I speak of the discriminating 30
affectionateness with which he accepts every one for what is
personal in him and unlike others. I speak of his
versatile recognition of men, one by one, for the
sake of that portion of good, be it more or less,
of a lower order or a higher, which has severally
been lodged in them; his eager contemplation of 5
the many things they do, effect, or produce, of
all their great works, as nations or as states;
nay, even as they are corrupted or disguised by
evil, so far as that evil may in imagination be
disjoined from their proper nature, or may be 10
regarded as a mere material disorder apart from
its formal character of guilt. I speak of the
kindly spirit and the genial temper with which
he looks round at all things which this
wonderful world contains; of the graphic fidelity with 15
which he notes them down upon the tablets of
his mind, and of the promptitude and propriety
with which he calls them up as arguments or
illustrations in the course of his teaching as the
occasion requires. Possessed though he be by 20
the fire of Divine charity, he has not lost one
fiber, he does not miss one vibration, of the
complicated whole of human sentiment and affection;
like the miraculous bush in the desert, which, for
all the flame that wrapt it round, was not thereby 25
consumed.
Such, in a transcendent perfection, was the
gaze, as we may reverently suppose, with which
the loving Father of all surveyed in eternity that
universe even in its minutest details which He 30
had decreed to create, such the loving pity with
which He spoke the word when the due moment
came, and began to mold the finite, as He
created it, in His infinite hands; such the watchful
solicitude with which he now keeps His
catalogue of the innumerable birds of heaven, and 5
counts day by day the very hairs of our head and
the alternations of our breathing. Such, much
more, is the awful contemplation with which He
encompasses incessantly every one of those souls
on whom He heaps His mercies here, in order 10
to make them the intimate associates of His own
eternity hereafter. And we too, in our measure,
are bound to imitate Him in our exact and vivid
apprehension of Himself and of His works. As to
Himself, we love Him, not simply in His nature, 15
but in His triple personality, lest we become mere
pantheists. And so, again, we choose our patron
Saints, not for what they have in common with
each other (else there could be no room for choice
at all), but for what is peculiar to them severally. 20
That which is my warrant, therefore, for particular
devotions at all, becomes itself my reason for
devotion to St. John Chrysostom. In him I
recognize a special pattern of that very gift of
discrimination. He may indeed be said in some sense to 25
have a devotion of his own for every one who
comes across him,--for persons, ranks, classes,
callings, societies, considered as Divine works and
the subjects of his good offices or good will, and
therefore I have a devotion for him. 30
It is this observant benevolence which gives to
his exposition of Scripture its chief characteristic.
He is known in ecclesiastical literature as the
expounder, above all others, of its literal sense.
Now in mystical comments the direct object which
the writer sets before him is the Divine Author 5
Himself of the written Word. Such a writer
sees in Scripture, not so much the works of God,
as His nature and attributes; the Teacher more
than the definite teaching, or its human
instruments, with their drifts and motives, their courses 10
of thought, their circumstances and personal
peculiarities. He loses the creature in the glory
which surrounds the Creator. The problem
before him is not what the inspired writer directly
meant, and why, but, out of the myriad of 15
meanings present to the Infinite Being who inspired him,
which it is that is most illustrative of that Great
Being's all-holy attributes and solemn dispositions.
Thus, in the Psalter, he will drop David and Israel
and the Temple together, and will recognize 20
nothing there but the shadows of those greater truths
which remain forever. Accordingly, the
mystical comment will be of an objective character;
whereas a writer who delights to ponder human
nature and human affairs, to analyze the 25
workings of the mind, and to contemplate what is
subjective to it, is naturally drawn to investigate
the sense of the sacred writer himself, who was the
organ of the revelation, that is, he will investigate
the literal sense. Now, in the instance of St. 30
Chrysostom, it so happens that literal exposition
is the historical characteristic of the school in
which he was brought up; so that if he commented
on Scripture at all, he anyhow would have
adopted that method; still, there have been
many literal expositors, but only one 5
Chrysostom. It is St. Chrysostom who is the charm of
the method, not the method that is the charm
of St. Chrysostom.
That charm lies, as I have said, in his habit and
his power of throwing himself into the minds 10
of others, of imagining with exactness and with
sympathy circumstances or scenes which were
not before him, and of bringing out what he has
apprehended in words as direct and vivid as the
apprehension. His page is like the table of a 15
_camera lucida_, which represents to us the living
action and interaction of all that goes on around
us. That loving scrutiny, with which he follows
the Apostles as they reveal themselves to us in
their writings, he practices in various ways 20
towards all men, living and dead, high and low,
those whom he admires and those whom he weeps
over. He writes as one who was ever looking
out with sharp but kind eyes upon the world of
men and their history; and hence he has always 25
something to produce about them, new or old,
to the purpose of his argument, whether from
books or from the experience of life. Head and
heart were full to overflowing with a stream of
mingled "wine and milk," of rich vigorous thought 30
and affectionate feeling. This is why his manner
of writing is so rare and special; and why, when
once a student enters into it, he will ever
recognize him, wherever he meets with extracts from
him.
LETTERS OF CHRYSOSTOM, WRITTEN IN EXILE
"TO OLYMPIAS
"Why do you bewail me? Why beat your breast, 5
and abandon yourself to the tyranny of despondency?
Why are you grieved because you have failed in
effecting my removal from Cucusus? Yet, as far as your own
part is concerned, you have effected it, since you have
left nothing undone in attempting it. Nor have you any 10
reason to grieve for your ill success; perhaps it has seemed
good to God to make my race course longer that my
crown may be brighter. You ought to leap and dance and
crown yourself for this, viz., that I should be accounted
worthy of so great a matter, which far exceeds my merit. 15
Does my present loneliness distress you? On the
contrary, what can be more pleasant than my sojourn here?
I have quiet, calm, much leisure, excellent health. To
be sure, there is no market in the city, nor anything
on sale; but this does not affect me; for all things, as if 20
from some fountains, flow in upon me. Here is my lord,
the Bishop of the place, and my lord Dioscorus, making
it their sole business to make me comfortable. That
excellent person Patricius will tell you in what good
spirits and lightness of mind, and amid what kind 25
attentions, I am passing my time."--_Ep._ 14.
The same is his report to his friends at Cæesarea,
and the same are his expressions of gratitude
and affection towards them. The following is
addressed to the President of Cappodocia 30
TO CARTERIUS
"Cucusus is a place desolate in the extreme; however,
it does not annoy me so much by its desolateness as it
relieves me by its quiet and its leisure. Accordingly, I
have found a sort of harbor in this desolateness; and
have set me down to recover breath after the miseries 5
of the journey, and have availed myself of the quiet to
dispose of what remained both of my illness and of the
other troubles which I have undergone. I say this to
your illustriousness, knowing well the joy you feel in
this rest of mine. I can never forget what you did for 10
me in Cæsarea, in quelling those furious and senseless
tumults, and striving to the utmost, as far as your powers
extended, to place me in security. I give this out
publicly wherever I go, feeling the liveliest gratitude to you,
my most worshipful lord, for so great solicitude towards 15
me."--_Ep._ 236.
"TO DIOGENES
"Cucusus is indeed a desolate spot, and moreover
unsafe to dwell in, from the continual danger to which
it is exposed of brigands. You, however, though away,
have turned it for me into a paradise. For, when I 20
hear of your abundant zeal and charity in my behalf,
so genuine and warm (it does not at all escape me, far
removed as I am from you), I possess a great treasure
and untold wealth in such affection, and feel myself
to be dwelling in the safest of cities, by reason of the 25
great gladness which bears me up, and the high
consolation which I enjoy."--_Ep._ 144.
Diogenes was one of the friends who sent him
supplies, he writes in answer:
"You know very well yourself that I have ever been 30
one of your most warmly attached admirers; therefore
I beg you will not be hurt at my having returned your
presents. I have pressed out of them and have quaffed
the honor which they did me; and if I return the things
themselves, it has been from no slight or distrust of you,
but because I was in no need of them. I have done the
same in the case of many others; for many others too,
with a generosity like yours, ardent friends of mine, have 5
made me the same offers; and the same apology has set
me right with them which I now ask you to receive. If
I am in want, I will ask these things of you with much
freedom, as if they were my own property, nay with
more, as the event will show. Receive them back, then, 10
and keep them carefully; so that, if there is a call for
them some time hence, I may reckon on them."--_Ep._ 50.
As a fellow to the above, I add one of his
letters:
"TO CARTERIA
"What are you saying? that your unintermitting 15
ailments have hindered you from visiting me? but you
_have_ come, you are present with me. From your very
intention I have gained all this, nor have you any need
to excuse yourself in this matter. That warm and true
charity of yours, so vigorous, so constant, suffices to 20
make me very happy. What I have ever declared in
my letters, I now declare again, that, wherever I may be,
though I be transported to a still more desolate place
than this, you and your matters I never shall forget.
Such pledges of your warm and true charity have you 25
stored up for me, pledges which length of time can never
obliterate nor waste; but, whether I am near you or far
away, ever do I cherish that same charity, being
assured of the loyalty and sincerity of your affection for
me, which has been my comfort hitherto."--_Ep._ 227. 30
"TO OLYMPIAS
"It is not a light effort," he says (_Ep._ 2), "but
it demands an energetic soul and a great mind to
bear separation from one whom we love in the
charity of Christ. Every one knows this who
knows what it is to love sincerely, who knows
the power of supernatural love. Take the blessed
Paul: here was a man who had stripped himself 5
of the flesh, and who went about the world
almost with a disembodied soul, who had
exterminated from his heart every wild impulse, and
who imitated the passionless sereneness of the
immaterial intelligences, and who stood on high 10
with the Cherubim, and shared with them in their
mystical music, and bore prisons, chains,
transportations, scourges, stoning, shipwreck, and every
form of suffering; yet he, when separated from
one soul loved by him in Christian charity, was 15
so confounded and distracted as all at once to
rush out of that city, in which he did not find the
beloved one whom he expected. 'When I was
come to Troas,' he says, 'for the gospel of Christ,
and a door was opened to me in the Lord, I had 20
no rest in my spirit, because I found not Titus
my brother; but bidding them farewell, I went
into Macedonia.'
"Is it Paul who says this?" he continues;
"Paul who, even when fastened in the stocks, 25
when confined in a dungeon, when torn with
the bloody scourge, did nevertheless convert and
baptize and offer sacrifice, and was chary even
of one soul which was seeking salvation? and
now, when he has arrived at Troas, and sees the 30
field cleansed of weeds, and ready for the sowing,
and the floor full, and ready to his hand,
suddenly he flings away the profit, though he came
thither expressly for it. 'So it was,' he answers
me, 'just so; I was possessed by a predominating
tyranny of sorrow, for Titus was away; and this 5
so wrought upon me as to compel me to this
course.' Those who have the grace of charity
are not content to be united in soul only, they
seek for the personal presence of him they love.
"Turn once more to this scholar of charity, and 10
you will find that so it is. 'We, brethren,' he
says, 'being bereaved of you for the time of an
hour, in sight, not in heart, have hastened the
more abundantly to see your face with great
desire. For we would have come unto you, I, 15
Paul, indeed, once and again, but Satan hath
hindered us. For which cause, forbearing no
longer, we thought it good to remain at Athens
alone, and we sent Timothy.' What force is
there in each expression! That flame of charity 20
living in his soul is manifested with singular
luminousness. He does not say so much as
'separated from you,' nor 'torn,' nor 'divided,'
nor 'abandoned,' but only 'bereaved'; moreover
not 'for a certain period,' but merely 'for the 25
time of an hour'; and separated, 'not in heart,
but in presence only'; again, 'have hastened
the more abundantly to see your face.' What!
it seems charity so captivated you that you
desiderated their sight, you longed to gaze upon 30
their earthly, fleshly countenance? 'Indeed I
did,' he answers: 'I am not ashamed to say so;
for in that seeing all the channels of the senses
meet together. I desire to see your presence;
for there is the tongue which utters sounds and
announces the secret feelings; there is the 5
hearing which receives words, and there the eyes
which image the movements of the soul.' But
this is not all: not content with writing to them
letters, he actually sends to them Timothy, who
was with him, and who was more than any letters. 10
And, 'We thought it good to remain alone;'
that is, when he is divided from one brother,
he says, he is left alone, though he had so many
others with him."
II THE TURK
THE TARTAR AND THE TURK
You may think, Gentlemen, I have been very
long in coming to the Turks, and indeed I have
been longer than I could have wished; but I
have thought it necessary, in order to your taking
a just view of them, that you should survey them 5
first of all in their original condition. When they
first appear in history they are Huns or Tartars,
and nothing else; they are indeed in no
unimportant respects Tartars even now; but, had they
never been made something more than Tartars, 10
they never would have had much to do with the
history of the world. In that case, they would
have had only the fortunes of Attila and Zingis;
they might have swept over the face of the earth,
and scourged the human race, powerful to destroy, 15
helpless to construct, and in consequence
ephemeral; but this would have been all. But this has
not been all, as regards the Turks; for, in spite
of their intimate resemblance or relationship to
the Tartar tribes, in spite of their essential 20
barbarism to this day, still they, or at least great
portions of the race, have been put under
education; they have been submitted to a slow
course of change, with a long history and a profitable
discipline and fortunes of a peculiar kind;
and thus they have gained those qualities of
mind, which alone enable a nation to wield and
to consolidate imperial power.
I have said that, when first they distinctly 5
appear on the scene of history, they are
indistinguishable from Tartars. Mount Altai, the
high metropolis of Tartary, is surrounded by a
hilly district, rich not only in the useful, but in
the precious metals. Gold is said to abound 10
there; but it is still more fertile in veins of iron,
which indeed is said to be the most plentiful in
the world. There have been iron works there
from time immemorial, and at the time that the
Huns descended on the Roman Empire (in the 15
fifth century of the Christian era), we find
the Turks nothing more than a family of slaves,
employed as workers of the ore and as blacksmiths
by the dominant tribe. Suddenly in the course
of fifty years, soon after the fall of the Hunnish 20
power in Europe, with the sudden development
peculiar to Tartars, we find these Turks spread
from East to West, and lords of a territory so
extensive, that they were connected, by relations
of peace or war, at once with the Chinese, the 25
Persians, and the Romans. They had reached
Kamtchatka on the North, the Caspian on the
West, and perhaps even the mouth of the Indus
on the South. Here then we have an
intermediate empire of Tartars, placed between the 30
eras of Attila and Zingis; but in this sketch it has
no place, except as belonging to Turkish history,
because it was contained within the limits of
Asia, and, though it lasted for 200 years, it only
faintly affected the political transactions of
Europe. However, it was not without some sort 5
of influence on Christendom, for the Romans
interchanged embassies with its sovereign in the
reign of the then Greek Emperor Justin the
younger (A.D. 570), with the view of engaging
him in a warlike alliance against Persia. The 10
account of one of these embassies remains, and
the picture it presents of the Turks is important,
because it seems clearly to identify them with
the Tartar race.
For instance, in the mission to the Tartars 15
from the Pope, which I have already spoken of,
the friars were led between two fires, when they
approached the Khan, and they at first refused
to follow, thinking they might be countenancing
some magical rite. Now we find it recorded of 20
this Roman embassy, that, on its arrival, it was
purified by the Turks with fire and incense. As
to incense, which seems out of place among such
barbarians, it is remarkable that it is used in
the ceremonial of the Turkish court to this day. 25
At least Sir Charles Fellows, in his work on the
Antiquities of Asia Minor, in 1838, speaks of the
Sultan as going to the festival of Bairam with
incense-bearers before him. Again, when the
Romans were presented to the great Khan, they 30
found him in his tent, seated on a throne, to which
wheels were attached and horses attachable, in
other words, a Tartar wagon. Moreover, they
were entertained at a banquet which lasted the
greater part of the day; and an intoxicating
liquor, not wine, which was sweet and pleasant, 5
was freely presented to them; evidently the
Tartar _koumiss_.[32] The next day they had a
second entertainment in a still more splendid
tent; the hangings were of embroidered silk, and
the throne, the cups, and the vases were of gold. 10
On the third day, the pavilion, in which they were
received, was supported on gilt columns; a couch
of massive gold was raised on four gold peacocks;
and before the entrance to the tent was what
might be called a sideboard, only that it was a 15
sort of barricade of wagons, laden with dishes,
basins, and statues of solid silver. All these
points in the description--the silk hangings, the
gold vessels, the successively increasing splendor
of the entertainments--remind us of the courts 20
of Zingis and Timour, 700 and 900 years
afterwards.
[32] Univ. Hist. Modern, vol. iii. p. 346.
This empire, then, of the Turks was of a Tartar
character; yet it was the first step of their
passing from barbarism to that degree of civilization 25
which is their historical badge. And it was their
first step in civilization, not so much by what
it did in its day, as (unless it be a paradox to
say so) by its coming to an end. Indeed it so
happens, that those Turkish tribes which have 30
changed their original character and have a place
in the history of the world, have obtained their
_status_ and their qualifications for it, by a process
very different from that which took place in the
nations most familiar to us. What this process 5
has been I will say presently; first, however, let
us observe that, fortunately for our purpose, we
have still specimens existing of those other
Turkish tribes, which were never submitted to
this process of education and change, and, in 10
looking at them as they now exist, we see at this
very day the Turkish nationality in something
very like its original form, and are able to decide
for ourselves on its close approximation to the
Tartar. You may recollect I pointed out to 15
you, Gentlemen, in the opening of these lectures,
the course which the pastoral tribes, or nomads
as they are often called, must necessarily take
in their emigrations. They were forced along
in one direction till they emerged from their 20
mountain valleys, and descended their high
plateau at the end of Tartary, and then they had
the opportunity of turning south. If they did
not avail themselves of this opening, but went on
still westward, their next southern pass would 25
be the defiles of the Caucasus and Circassia, to
the west of the Caspian. If they did not use this,
they would skirt the top of the Black Sea, and
so reach Europe. Thus in the emigration of the
Huns from China, you may recollect a tribe of 30
them turned to the South as soon as they could,
and settled themselves between the high Tartar
land and the sea of Aral, while the main body
went on to the furthest West by the north of the
Black Sea. Now with this last passage into
Europe we are not here concerned, for the Turks 5
have never introduced themselves to Europe by
means of it;[33] but with those two southward
passages which are Asiatic, viz., that to the east
of the Aral, and that to the west of the Caspian.
The Turkish tribes have all descended upon the 10
civilized world by one or other of these two roads;
and I observe, that those which have descended
along the east of the Aral have changed their
social habits and gained political power, while
those which descended to the west of the Caspian 15
remain pretty much what they ever were. The
former of these go among us by the general
name of Turks; the latter are the Turcomans
or Turkmans.... At the very date at which
Heraclius called the Turcomans into Georgia, at 20
the very date when their Eastern brethren
crossed the northern border of Sogdiana, an event
of most momentous import had occurred in the
South. A new religion had arisen in Arabia.
The impostor Mahomet, announcing himself the 25
Prophet of God, was writing the pages of that
book, and molding the faith of that people, which
was to subdue half the known world. The Turks
passed the Jaxartes southward in A.D. 626; just
four years before Mahomet had assumed the royal
dignity, and just six years after, on his death,
his followers began the conquest of the Persian
Empire. In the course of 20 years they effected
it; Sogdiana was at its very extremity, or its 5
borderland; there the last king of Persia took
refuge from the south, while the Turks were
pouring into it from the north. There was little to
choose for the unfortunate prince between the
Turk and the Saracen; the Turks were his 10
hereditary foe; they had been the giants and
monsters of the popular poetry; but he threw
himself into their arms. They engaged in his
service, betrayed him, murdered him, and
measured themselves with the Saracens in his stead. 15
Thus the military strength of the north and south
of Asia, the Saracenic and the Turkish, came into
memorable conflict in the regions of which I have
said so much. The struggle was a fierce one, and
lasted many years; the Turks striving to force 20
their way down to the ocean, the Saracens to
drive them back into their Scythian deserts.
They first fought this issue in Bactriana or
Khorasan; the Turks got the worst of the fight,
and then it was thrown back upon Sogdiana 25
itself, and there it ended again in favor of the
Saracens. At the end of 90 years from the time
of the first Turkish descent on this fair region,
they relinquished it to their Mahometan
opponents. The conquerors found it rich, populous, 30
and powerful; its cities, Carisme, Bokhara, and
Samarcand, were surrounded beyond their
fortifications by a suburb of fields and gardens, which
was in turn protected by exterior works; its plains
were well cultivated, and its commerce extended
from China to Europe. Its riches were 5
proportionally great; the Saracens were able to extort
a tribute of two million gold pieces from the
inhabitants; we read, moreover, of the crown
jewels of one of the Turkish princesses; and of
the buskin of another, which she dropt in her 10
flight from Bokhara, as being worth two
thousand pieces of gold.[34] Such had been the prosperity
of the barbarian invaders, such was its end; but
not _their_ end, for adversity did them service, as
well as prosperity, as we shall see. 15
[33] I am here assuming that the Magyars are not of the Turkish
stock; vid. Gibbon and Pritchard.
[34] Gibbon.
It is usual for historians to say, that the
triumph of the South threw the Turks back again
upon their northern solitudes; and this might
easily be the case with some of the many hordes,
which were ever passing the boundary and 20
flocking down; but it is no just account of the
historical fact, viewed as a whole. Not often indeed
do the Oriental nations present us with an
example of versatility of character; the Turks, for
instance, of this day are substantially what they 25
were four centuries ago. We cannot conceive,
were Turkey overrun by the Russians at the
present moment, that the fanatical tribes, which
are pouring into Constantinople from Asia Minor,
would submit to the foreign yoke, take service 30
under their conquerors, become soldiers,
custom-officers, police, men of business, attaches,
statesmen, working their way up from the ranks and
from the masses into influence and power; but,
whether from skill in the Saracens, or from 5
far-reaching sagacity in the Turks (and it is difficult
to assign it to either cause), so it was, that a
process of this nature followed close upon the
Mahometan conquest of Sogdiana. It is to be
traced in detail to a variety of accidents. Many 10
of the Turks probably were made slaves, and the
service to which they were subjected was no
matter of choice. Numbers had got attached to
the soil; and inheriting the blood of Persians,
White Huns, or aboriginal inhabitants for three 15
generations, had simply unlearned the wildness
of the Tartar shepherd. Others fell victims to
the religion of their conquerors, which ultimately,
as we know, exercised a most remarkable
influence upon them. Not all at once, but as 20
tribe descended after tribe, and generation
followed generation, they succumbed to the creed
of Mahomet; and they embraced it with the
ardor and enthusiasm which Franks and Saxons
so gloriously and meritoriously manifested in their 25
conversion to Christianity.
Here again was a very powerful instrument
in modification of their national character. Let
me illustrate it in one particular. If there is one
peculiarity above another, proper to the savage 30
and to the Tartar, it is that of excitability and
impetuosity on ordinary occasions; the Turks,
on the other hand, are nationally remarkable for
gravity and almost apathy of demeanor. Now
there are evidently elements in the Mahometan
creed, which would tend to change them from 5
the one temperament to the other. Its
sternness, its coldness, its doctrine of fatalism; even
the truths which it borrowed from Revelation,
when separated from the truths it rejected, its
monotheism untempered by mediation, its severe 10
view of the Divine attributes, of the law, and of a
sure retribution to come, wrought both a gloom
and also an improvement in the barbarian, not
very unlike the effect which some forms of
Protestantism produce among ourselves. But 15
whatever was the mode of operation, certainly
it is to their religion that this peculiarity of the
Turks is ascribed by competent judges.
Lieutenant Wood in his journal gives us a lively
account of a peculiarity of theirs, which he 20
unhesitatingly attributes to Islamism. "Nowhere,"
he says, "is the difference between European and
Mahometan society more strongly marked than
in the lower walks of life.... A Kasid, or
messenger, for example, will come into a public 25
department, deliver his letters in full durbar, and
demean himself throughout the interview with
so much composure and self-possession, that an
European can hardly believe that his grade in
society is so low. After he has delivered his 30
letters, he takes his seat among the crowd, and
answers, calmly and without hesitation, all the
questions which may be addressed to him, or
communicates the verbal instructions with which
he has been intrusted by his employer, and
which are often of more importance than the 5
letters themselves. Indeed, all the inferior classes
possess an innate self-respect, and a natural
gravity of deportment, which differs as far from
the suppleness of a Hindustani as from the
awkward rusticity of an English clown." ... "Even 10
children," he continues, "in Mahometan countries
have an unusual degree of gravity in their
deportment. The boy, who can but lisp his 'Peace be
with you,' has imbibed this portion of the national
character. In passing through a village, these 15
little men will place their hands upon their
breasts, and give the usual greeting. Frequently
have I seen the children of chiefs approach their
father's durbar, and stopping short at the
threshold of the door, utter the shout of 'Salam 20
Ali-Kum,' so as to draw all eyes upon them; but
nothing daunted, they marched boldly into the
room, and sliding down upon their knees, folded
their arms and took their seat upon the musnad
with all the gravity of grown-up persons." 25
As Islamism has changed the demeanor of the
Turks, so doubtless it has in other ways materially
innovated on their Tartar nature. It has given
an aim to their military efforts, a political
principle, and a social bond. It has laid them under 30
a sense of responsibility, has molded them into
consistency, and taught them a course of policy
and perseverance in it. But to treat this part
of the subject adequately to its importance would
require, Gentlemen, a research and a fullness of
discussion unsuitable to the historical sketch 5
which I have undertaken. I have said enough
for my purpose upon this topic; and indeed
on the general question of the modification of
national character to which the Turks were at
this period subjected. 10
THE TURK AND THE SARACEN
Mere occupation of a rich country is not
enough for civilization, as I have granted already.
The Turks came into the pleasant plains and
valleys of Sogdiana; the Turcomans into the
well-wooded mountains and sunny slopes of Asia 15
Minor. The Turcomans were brought out of
their dreary deserts, yet they retained their old
habits, and they remain barbarians to this day.
But why? it must be borne in mind, they neither
subjugated the inhabitants of their new country 20
on the one hand, nor were subjugated by them
on the other. They never had direct or intimate
relations with it; they were brought into it by
the Roman Government at Constantinople as its
auxiliaries, but they never naturalized themselves 25
there. They were like gypsies in England, except
that they were mounted freebooters instead of
pilferers and fortune tellers. It was far otherwise
with their brethren in Sogdiana; they were
there first as conquerors, then as conquered.
First they held it in possession as their prize for
90 or 100 years; they came into the usufruct and
enjoyment of it. Next, their political ascendency 5
over it involved, as in the case of the White Huns,
some sort of moral surrender of themselves to it.
What was the first consequence of this? that,
like the White Huns, they intermarried with the
races they found there. We know the custom 10
of the Tartars and Turks; under such
circumstances they would avail themselves of their
national practice of polygamy to its full extent
of license. In the course of twenty years a new
generation would arise of a mixed race; and 15
these in turn would marry into the native
population, and at the end of ninety or a hundred
years we should find the great-grandsons or the
great-great-grandsons of the wild marauders who
first crossed the Jaxartes, so different from their 20
ancestors in features both of mind and body,
that they hardly would be recognized as deserving
the Tartar name. At the end of that period their
power came to an end, the Saracens became
masters of them and of their country, but the 25
process of emigration southward from the
Scythian desert, which had never intermitted during
the years of their domination, continued still,
though that domination was no more.
Here it is necessary to have a clear idea of the 30
nature of that association of the Turkish tribes
from the Volga to the Eastern Sea, to which I
have given the name of Empire: it was not so
much of a political as of a national character;
it was the power, not of a system, but of a race.
They were not one well-organized state, but a 5
number of independent tribes, acting generally
together, acknowledging one leader or not,
according to circumstances, combining and
coöperating from the identity of object which acted
on them, and often jealous of each other and 10
quarreling with each other on account of that
very identity. Each tribe made its way down to
the south as it could; one blocked up the way of
the other for a time; there were stoppages and
collisions, but there was a continual movement 15
and progress. Down they came one after another,
like wolves after their prey; and as the tribes
which came first became partially civilized, and
as a mixed generation arose, these would naturally
be desirous of keeping back their less polished 20
uncles or cousins, if they could; and would do so
successfully for a while: but cupidity is stronger
than conservatism; and so, in spite of delay and
difficulty, down they would keep coming, and
down they did come, even after and in spite of 25
the overthrow of their Empire; crowding down
as to a new world, to get what they could, as
adventurers, ready to turn to the right or the
left, prepared to struggle on anyhow, willing to
be forced forward into countries farther still, 30
careless what might turn up, so that they did but
get down. And this was the process which went
on (whatever were their fortunes when they
actually got down, prosperous or adverse) for
400, nay, I will say for 700 years. The
storehouse of the north was never exhausted; it 5
sustained the never ending run upon its resources.
I was just now referring to a change in the
Turks, which I have mentioned before, and
which had as important a bearing as any other
of their changes upon their subsequent fortunes. 10
It was a change in their physiognomy and shape,
so striking as to recommend them to their
masters for the purposes of war or of display.
Instead of bearing any longer the hideous exterior
which in the Huns frightened the Romans and 15
Goths, they were remarkable, even as early as the
ninth century, when they had been among the
natives of Sogdiana only two hundred years,
for the beauty of their persons. An important
political event was the result: hence the 20
introduction of the Turks into the heart of the
Saracenic empire. By this time the Caliphs had
removed from Damascus to Bagdad; Persia was
the imperial province, and into Persia they were
introduced for the reason I have mentioned, 25
sometimes as slaves, sometimes as captives taken
in war, sometimes as mercenaries for the
Saracenic armies: at length they were enrolled as
guards to the Caliph, and even appointed to
offices in the palace, to the command of the forces, 30
and to governorships in the provinces. The son
of the celebrated Harun al Raschid had as many
as 50,000 of these troops in Bagdad itself. And
thus slowly and silently they made their way to
the south, not with the pomp and pretense of
conquest, but by means of that ordinary 5
inter-communion which connected one portion of the
empire of the Caliphs with another. In this
manner they were introduced even into Egypt.
This was their history for a hundred and fifty
years, and what do we suppose would be the 10
result of this importation of barbarians into the
heart of a nourishing empire? Would they be
absorbed as slaves or settlers in the mass of the
population, or would they, like mercenaries
elsewhere, be fatal to the power that introduced 15
them? The answer is not difficult, considering
that their very introduction argued a want of
energy and resource in the rulers whom they
served. To employ them was a confession of
weakness; the Saracenic power indeed was not 20
very aged, but the Turkish was much younger,
and more vigorous; then too must be
considered the difference of national character
between the Turks and the Saracens. A writer of
the beginning of the present century[35] compares 25
the Turks to the Romans; such parallels are
generally fanciful and fallacious; but, if we must
accept it in the present instance, we may
complete the picture by likening the Saracens and
Persians to the Greeks, and we know what was 30
the result of the collision between Greece and
Rome. The Persians were poets, the Saracens
were philosophers. The mathematics, astronomy,
and botany were especial subjects of the studies of
the latter. Their observatories were celebrated, 5
and they may be considered to have originated
the science of chemistry. The Turks, on the
other hand, though they are said to have a
literature, and though certain of their princes have
been patrons of letters, have never distinguished 10
themselves in exercises of pure intellect; but
they have had an energy of character, a
pertinacity, a perseverance, and a political talent, in
a word, they then had the qualities of mind
necessary for ruling, in far greater measure, than
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