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By Arthur Penrhyn Stanley, D. D. THE PERSIAN DOMINION. ——•—— CYRUS, B.C. 560. Fall of Babylon, B.C. 538. The Return, B.C. 536. CAMBYSES, B.C. 529. DARIUS I., B.C. 522. Completion of the Temple, B.C. 516. XERXES, B.C. 485. Story of Esther, B.C. 480-490? ARTAXERXES, B.C. 465. Coming of Ezra, B.C. 459. Coming of Nehemiah, B.C. 415. Secession of Manasseh, B.C. 419. Malachi, B.C. 400? LECTURE XLIII. THE RETURN. ——•—— SPECIAL AUTHORITIES. (1) Isaiah xl.-lxvi. (2) Ezra i.-vi. (3) Psalms cvii.-cl. (4) Haggai. (5) Zechariah i.-viii. TRADITIONS. 1 Esdras ii.-vii. Josephus Ant. xi. 1-4. Seder Olam, pp. 107, 108 (with comments of Derembourg, Histoire de la Palestine, pp. 19, 20, 21). THE PERSIAN DOMINION. ——•—— LECTURE XLIII. THE RETURN. THE RETURN from the Captivity opens the final era of the history of the Jewish Church and Nation. That any nation should have survived such a dislocation and dissolution of all local and social bonds is almost with- out example. But as in the case of the Greek race centuries of foreign dominion have been unable to eradicate the memory of their distant glory, so in the case of the Israelites, their transplantation to another country was unable to efface the religious aspiration which was the bond of their national coherence. The other Semitic tribes, Moab, Ammon, Edom, felt that with the loss of their home they would lose all. Israel alone survived. The Restoration was an event which, unlikely and remote as it might have seemed, was deemed almost a certainty in the expectations of the exiles. The con- fidence of Jeremiah and Ezekiel never flagged that within two generations from the beginning of the Cap- tivity their countrymen would return. The patriotic sentiment, which had existed as it were unconsciously before, found its first definite expression at this period. The keen sense as of personal anguish at the overthrow of Jerusalem poured forth in the Lamentations—the touching cry, "If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, may "my right hand forget herself"—the clinging to the remembrance of the very dust and stones of Jerusalem,— the earnest supplication for the Holy Nation and the Holy City, kept alive the flame which from this time never died till it was extinguished under the ruins of their country in the final overthrow by Titus. And when the day at last arrived which was to see their expectations fulfilled, the burst of joy was such as has no parallel in the sacred volume; it is in- deed the Revival, the Second Birth, the Second Exodus of the nation. There was now "a new song," of which the burden was that the Eternal again reigned over the earth, and that the gigantic idolatries which sur- rounded them had received a deadly shock; that the waters of oppression had rolled back in which they had been struggling like drowning men; that the snare was broken in which they had been entangled like a caged bird. It was like a dream, too good to be true. The gayety, the laughter of their poetry, resounded far and wide. The surrounding nations could not but confess what great things had been done for them. It was like the sudden rush of the waters into the dry torrent-beds of the south of Palestine, or of the yet extremer south, of which they may have heard, in far Ethiopia. It was like the reaper bearing on his shoulder the golden sheaves in summer which he had sown amongst the tears of winter. So full were their hearts, that all nature was called to join in their thankfulness. The vast rivers of their new Mesopotamian home, and the waves of the Indian Ocean, are to take part in the chorus, and clap their foaming crests like living hands. The mountains of their own native lad are invited to express their joy; each tree in the forests that clothed the hills, or that cast their shade over the field, is to have a tongue for the occasion. In accordance with these strains of the Psalmists there was the Prophetic announcement of the beginning of the new epoch in words which, whilst they vibrate with a force beyond their own time, derive their original strength from the circumstances of their first utterance, and which gave to their unknown author, who thus "comforted them that "mourned in Sion," the name of the Prophet of glad tidings. "Comfort ye, my people, saith your God. "Speak unto Jerusalem that her warfare is accom- "plished, the her iniquity is pardoned, for she hath "received at God's hand the double for all her woe." "A voice cries, Through the wilderness prepare the "way of the Eternal, make smooth in the desert a "highway for our God. Every valley shall be exalted, "every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the "crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places "plain, and the glory of the Eternal shall be revealed, "and all flesh shall see it together, for the mouth of "the Eternal hath spoken it." That opening strain of the Prophet, so full of the great Evangelical truth,—Evangelical in its literal sense and true to the depths of human nature,—that nations and individuals alike can leave their past be- hind them, and start afresh in the race of duty; so im- pressive from its peculiar historical significance as the key-note of the new period of Asiatic and European history; so striking in the imagery with which it figures that Divine progress—demanding for its ap- proach and preparation the reduction of pride, the ex- altation of humility, the simplification of the tortuous, the softening of the angular and harsh—was heard in part once again when long afterwards in the wild thickets of the Jordan a voice was raised inaugurating another new epoch, and preparing the way for another vaster revolution in nations and in churches. But nevertheless the whole expression of the exhortation breathes the atmosphere of the moment when it was first delivered—the sense of the expected deliverance at last come—the heart of an oppressed people again breathing freely—the long prospect of the journey yet before them, through the trackless desert—all irra- diated with the hope that no wilderness would be too arid, no hill too high, no ravine too deep for the Di- vine Providence to surmount. Another utterance of the same Prophet is still more directly fitted to the emergency of his own time, though still more sacredly associated with the mighty future. "The Spirit of the Lord God rests upon me, "because the Eternal hath anointed me to preach good "tidings unto the suffering, He hath sent me to bind "up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the "captives, and the opening of the prison to them that "are bound; to proclaim the acceptable year of the "Eternal." It was five centuries onwards that in the synagogue of a hitherto unknown Jewish village the scroll which contained the writings which by that time were all comprised under the one name of the Prophet Isaiah was handed to a young Teacher, who unfolded the roll and found the place where it was thus written. He closed the book at the point where the special appli- cation to the Israelite exiles began. He fixed the at- tention of His audience only on these larger words which enabled Him to say to all those whose eyes were fastened on His gracious countenance, "This day is this "Scripture fulfilled in your ears." But the original fulfilment of the consolation was that contemplated by Prophet who saw before him the exiles depart in their holiday attire for their homeward journey; des- tined to strike root again like the sturdy ilex of their native country, and carry on the righteous work for which alone home and freedom are worth possessing. His mission was to comfort all that mourn, to appoint "unto them that mourn in Zion, to give them beauty "for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of "praise for the spirit of heaviness, that they might be "called the terebinths of righteousness, the planting "of the Eternal, that He might be glorified." Such is the ideal of the Return; nor is it unworthy of the mighty issues which ultimately hung on that event. Although the actual event seems small and homely, yet that very home- liness indicates one of the main characteristics of the epoch on which we have entered. Unlike the first Ex- odus, this second Exodus was effected not by any sudden effort of the nation itself, nor by any interposition of signs and wonders, but by the complex order of Provi- dence, in which the Prophet thus bids his peo- ple see an intervention no less Divine than that which had released them from Egypt. "Wheel within "wheel" was the intricate machinery which Ezekiel had seen in his visions on the Chebar; but not the less was a spirit as of a living creature within the wheels. The document that inaugurates the new era is not the word of Jewish lawgiver or prophet or priest, but the decree of a heathen king. "Now in "the first year of Cyrus king of Persia, that the word "of Jehovah by Jeremiah might be fulfilled, Jehovah "stirred up the spirit of Cyrus king of Persia, that he "made a proclamation throughout all his kingdom and "put it in writing." It is difficult not to suppose that the language of the decree is colored by the Hebrew medium through which it passes, but in tone and spirit it resembles those which have been fond inscribed on the Persian monu- ments; and if Ormuzd be substituted for Jehovah, and "the Creator of the earth, the heavens, and man- "kinfd," for the single form of "the Creator of earth," there is nothing impossible in the thought that we have the very words of the decree itself. But at any rate it stands as the guiding cause of the liberation, and stamps itself as the turning-point of the whole sub- sequent history. Before this time the people of Israel had been an independent nation; from this moment it is merged in the fortunes of the great Gentile Empires. There are three successive periods through which it has to pass, and each will derive its outward form and press- ure from an external power. Of these the first is the Persian. Cyrus, Darius, Xerxes, and Artaxerxes were henceforth for two hundred years to exercise the in- fluence which in earlier times had been exercised by the Princes and Kings of Israel. The year hencefor- ward is dated from the accession of the Persian Kings as afterwards of the Rulers of Antioch and of Rome. We shall hereafter trace some direct effects of this connection on the religious condition of the people. It is enough for the present to remark that the community which returned under these circumstances was no longer a nation in the full sense of that word, and thenceforth had to eke out that inestimable element by its connec- tion with the powerful monarchies with which it was brought into contact. But this very change was trans- figured in the language of the great contemporary Prophet into the vision which has never since died out of the hopes of mankind, that the wide course of human history, the mighty powers of the earth, instead of standing, as hitherto, apart from the course of religion and progress, would combine with that hitherto isolated movement. "Arise, shine, for thy light is come, and "the glory of the Eternal is risen upon thee. The "nations shall come to thy light, and kings to the "brightness of thy rising. Thou shalt suck the milk of "the nations, and shalt suck the breast of kings." "Kings shall be thy nursing fathers and queens thy "nursing mothers." "The nation shall see thy right- "eousness and all kings thy glory." Doubtless the real fell far short of the ideal, as in the actual Return, so in the actual Cyrus. But the fact which enkindled those hopes, and those hopes them- selves, have lent a framework to the noblest aspirations of humanity: they are the same as Plato expressed in the well-known saying, that the world would not be happy till either philosophers became kings, or kings became philosophers—the same as the last seer of the Jewish race expressed in the cry, "The kingdoms of "this world are become the kingdoms of the Lord and "of his Anointed." It is evident that the return was not that of the whole of the exiles. Those who had been trans- planted from the north of Palestine in the As- syrian captivity never returned at all, or only in small numbers. Those who had been trans- ported to Babylon and became settlers, as we have seen, in those rich plains and in that splendid city, were many of them contented to remain—some holding high places in the Persian court, though still keeping up communication with their brethren in Palestine, some permanently becoming the members of that great Babylonian colony of Jews which caused Mesopotamia to become as it were a second Holy Land, and round which were planted the tombs, real or supposed, of the three great Jewish saints of this epoch—Ezekiel, Dan- iel, and one who is yet to come, Ezra. Still, there were some both of the highest and the lowest of the settlement who listened to the call alike of their inspiring Prophet and of their beneficent ruler; and we can discern the chief elements which constituted the seed of the rising community. The whole caravan consisted of 42,000; besides this were 7,337 slaves, 200 of whom were minstrels, male and female. We recognize at once some conspicuous and familiar names. Twelve chiefs, as if in reminis- cence of the twelve tribes, were marked out as the lead- ers. Amongst these was the acknowledged head of the community, the grandson, real or adopted, of the be- loved and lamented Jehoiachin, last direct heir of the House of David and Josiah—the son of Shaltiel or Salathiel, who bore the trace of his Babylonian birth- place in his two Chaldæan names, Zerubbabel "the "Babel-born," or Sheshbazzar, or Sarabazzar, and who, by his official titles, was marked out as the representa- tive amongst them of the Persian king, "the Tirsha- "tha," or "the Pasha," that old Assyrian word which has never since died out amongst the governments of the East. Next to him was Jeshua or Joshua, the son of Josedek, the High Priest who had been carried into exile with Zedekiah, and shared his imprisonment. Next to them in rank and elder in years was Seraiah the priest, son of Hilkiah. But of the ancient four- and-twenty sacerdotal courses, four only joined in the procession; it may be from the havoc of the priestly caste in the desperate struggle at the time of the capture of the Temple; it may be from the attachment of the others of their Babylonian homes. Still the number of priests (4,000) was large in proportion to the people, yet larger in proportion to the Levites, who numbered only 74 beside the 128 singers of the family of Asaph, and the 139 descendants of those stalwart gatekeepers the sacerdotal soldiery or police, that had guarded the whole circuit of the temple walls, and were believed to have rendered the state such important service on the day that Jahoiada planned the overthrow of Athaliah. Along with them were the 392 representatives of the ancient Canaanite bondmen, whose ancestral names in- dicated their foreign origin, the Nethinim, or "conse- "crated giftsmen" bound over to the honored work of the Temple service—or "the children of Solomon's "slaves"—that is, doubtless, of those Phœnician art- ists whom the great king had employed in the con- struction of his splendid works. So the names stood in a register which a century afterward was found by an inquiring antiquary in the Archives of Jerusalem, and its accuracy was tested by the additional record that there was a rigid scrutiny on the departure from Babylon to ex- clude from this favored community those who could not prove their descent. Such was a body of unknown applicants from the villages in the jungles or salt marshes near the Persian Gulf. Such was another band, claiming to be of priestly origin, and justifying their pretensions, but in vain, by appealing to an an- cestor who had married a daughter and taken the name of the renowned old Gileadite chief Barzillai. In the front or centre of this caravan, borne prob- ably by the Nethinim—in place of the ark that had formed the rallying point of the earlier wanderings— were the carefully collected vessels of the Temple, the Palladium to which the hopes of the nation had been attached, which had been the badges of contention be- tween Jeremiah and his opponents before the Cap- tivity; which had been carried off in triumph by Ne- buchadnezzar and lodged in the most magnificent of all receptacles, the Temple of Bel; which had adorned the banquet of Belshazzar; and which now, by special permission of Cyrus, were taken out of the Baby- lonian treasury, according, as one tradition said, to a special vow made by the King in his earlier days. There they were borne aloft, each article of plate was carefully named in lists three times recorded, the thousand cups of original gold, the thousand cups of silver, which marked the double sage of the Cap- tivity, with all the lesser vessels, even the nine and twenty knives, amounting in all, as was carefully noted, to 5,499. It was like the procession of the Vestal Virgins, with the sacred fire in their hands, in their retreat from Rome; like Æneas with his household gods from troy. Homely as they were, grates, knives, spoons, basins, recalling alike the glory of the time of Solomon, in their original gold, the decline of the last days of Jerusalem in the silver substitutes of Zedekiah, they were the links which seemed to weave a continuous chain across the gulf which parted the old and the new era of Israelite history. Forth from the gates of Babylon they rode on camels, mules, asses, and (now for the first time in their history) on horses, to the sound of joyous music—a band of horsemen playing on flutes and tabrets, accompanied by their own two hun- dred minstrel slaves, and one hundred and twenty-eight singers of the temple, responding to the Prophet's voice, as they quitted the shade of the gigantic walls and found themselves in the open desert beyond. "Go ye out of Babylon. Flee from the Chaldæans, "with a voice of singing declare ye, tell this, utter it "even to the end of the earth; say ye, The Eternal "hath redeemed his servant Jacob." The prospect of crossing that vast desert, which in- tervene between Chaldæa and Palestine, was one which had filled the minds of the exiles with all man- ner of terrors. It seemed like a second wandering in the desert of Sinai. It was a journey of nearly four months at the slow rate at which such caravans then travelled. Unlike the wilderness of Sinai, it was di- versified by no towering mountains, no delicious palm groves, no gushing springs. A hard, gravel plain from the moment they left the banks of the Euphrates till they reached the northern extremity of Syria; with no solace except the occasional wells and walled stations; or, if their passage was in the spring, the natural herbage and flowers which clothed the arid soil. ferocious hordes of Bedouin robbers then, as now, swept the whole tract. This dreary prospect preoccupied with overwhelm- ing prominence the Evangelical Prophet. But he would not hear of fear. It was in his vision not a perilous enterprise but a march of triumph: "There- "fore the redeemed of the Eternal shall return, and "come with singing to Zion, and everlasting joy "shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain gladness "and joy, and sorrow and mourning shall flee away." As before some royal potentate, there would go be- fore them an invisible Protector, who should remove the hard stones from the bare feet of those that ran beside the camels, and cast them up in piles on either side to mark the broad track seen for long miles across the desert. It should be as if Moses were again at their head, and the wonders of the Red Sea and Sinai re-enacted. The heat of the scorching sun shall be softened; they shall be led to every spring and pool of water: if water is not there, their invisible Guide shall, as of old, bring it out of the cloven rock. Even the wild animals of the desert, the ostrich and the jackal, shall be startled at its unexpected rush. Even the isles of palms which cheered the ancient Israelites in Arabia shall not be sufficient. Cedar as well as acacia, olive and myrtle, pine and cypress, all that is most unlike to the vegetation of the desert shall spring up along these fountains. It is a curious instance of the prosaic temper which has led many modern com- mentators to expect a literal fulfilment of the poetic expressions of the Hebrew Prophets, that the Jewish rabbis of later times supposed all these wonders to have actually occurred, and were surprised to find no mention of them in the narrative of the contemporary chronicler. But the spirit of these high-wrought strains is the same as that expressed in the simpler language yet similar faith of the songs of the "ascents," some of which we can hardly doubt to have been chanted by the minstrels of the caravan during their long ascend- in journey up the weary slope which reached from the level plains of Babylon to their own rocky fortress of Judæa. They lifted up their eyes to the distant mountains of Syria, and when they thought of the long interval yet to traverse they asked whence was to come their help? Their answer was, that they looked to the eternal, unsleeping watchfulness of the Guardian of Israel, who by night and day should guard them, stand as their shade on the southern side against the noon- day sun, and at last guard their entrance into Palestine, as He had guarded their Exodus from Babylon. The high, snowclad ridge of Hermon would be the first object that at a distance of four or five days journey would rise on the uniform horizon of the exiles. We knew not whether they would enter Syria at the nearer point of Damascus or at the farther point )but as it would appear, the usual route at that time) of Hamath or Riblah. Even then there would still be a long journey of hill and vale to traverse before they reached their home. But, already (so we gather from the shouts of joy with which the Prophet anticipated this happy moment), the dead city would be roused up from her slumber of sev- enty years. The sleeping potion of the Divine wrath has been drunk to the dregs—she is to shake off the dust of the ruins amongst which he has lain—she is to break the chain which fastened her neck down to the ground. She is to listen for the joy- ful signal of the messengers stationed on the eastern hills, who will descry the exiles from afar and hand on the good tidings from hill to hill, like beacon flames, till at last it reaches the height of Olivet, or of Ramah; where Zion herself stands on tiptoe to catch the news, and, like the maidens of old who welcomed the return- ing heroes, proclaim to the cities of Judah, each on their crested hills around her, that the Divine Presence is at hand; that the little flock has been guided through the wilderness safely; even the weary laggards are cared for; even the lambs are folded in the shepherd's bo- som; even the failing ewes are gently helped onwards. It is not difficult to figure to ourselves the general aspect of Palestine on the return. Monarchy, priesthood, art, and commerce had departed, but a large population had been left, partly of the aboriginal tribes, partly of the humbler classes of Is- rael, to till the ground. There was the Persian govern- or, perhaps more than one, who controlled the whole. The central portion was occupied, as we have seen, by mixed settlers from the East, who combined with the original habitants to compose the people, alter- nately called, from their twofold origin, Cutheans or Samaritans. The Scythians still remained in posses- sion of the Canaanite stronghold of Bethshan—the centre, at that time, of the borderland between Israel and the heathen nations, already forming itself under the Monarchy, but now becoming more and more defined, and gradually taking itself the name, which was at last in fame to eclipse that of any other division of Palestine—Galilee of the Gentiles, or Galilee; "the Heathen-march," or the March. In the Transjordanic territory, although the country of Moab and Ammon had been frightfully devasted by the Chaldæan invasion, the inhabitants had been allowed to remain in their homes, and their chiefs occupied independent and powerful positions. The western coast was occupied by the old enemies of Israel, the Philistines, now re-asserting their in- dependence, and their chief city, Ashdod, still speak- ing their own language—still worshipping their an- cient sea-god Dagon. The south was overrun by the vindictive and un- generous race of Edom, which even claimed the whole country as its own, with the capital of Akrabbim. There only remained therefore, for the new comers the small, central strip of the country round Jerusalem occupied by the tribes of Judah and Benjamin. From these two tribes the larger part of the exiles were descendants, and to this, their ancient home, they re- turned. Henceforth the name of Judah took the predominant place in the national titles. As the primitive name of "Hebrew" had given way to the historical name of Israel, so that of Israel now gave way to the name of Judæan, or Jew, so full of praise and pride, of reproach and scorn. "It "was born," as their later historian truly ob- serves, "on the day when they came out from Baby- "lon," and their history thence forth is the history not of Israel but of Judaism. We trace the settlers of these rocky fastnesses back, each like a bird to its nest. Each hill-fort, so well- known in the wars of Saul and David, in the ap- proaches of Sennacherib, once more leaps into vie; Gibeon, and Ramah, and Geba, and the pass of Michmash, and the slope of Anothoth, and the long descent of Bethel and Ai, and the waving palms of Jericho, and the crested height of Bethlehem, and the ancient stronghold of Kirjathjearim, all re- ceived back their "men," their "children," after their long separation. Some gradually crept farther south through the now Idumæan territory to the villages round Hebron, to which the old Canaanite possessors once more gave its ancient name of "Kijath-arba." Some stole along the plains of the south coast down to the half-Bedouin settlements of Beersheba and Moladda on the frontier of the desert. The bands of singers established themselves in the neighborhood of Jerusalem, at Geba, or at Gilgal, in the Jordan valley. But these all, as it were, clustered round Jerusalem, which now for the first time in history assumes the name never since lost, and which in the East still remains its only title, "The Holy City," and if the country at large also takes for the first time in the mouths of he returning exiles the name which has clung to it with hardly less tenacity, "The Holy "Land," it is as the seat and throne of the consecrated capital, which, if fallen from its antique splendor, reigned supreme, as never before, over the affections and the reverence of the people. When Herodotus in the next century passed by it he knew it only by this name, "The Holy Place," Kadesh, Grecised into Kadytis. When, three centuries later, Strabo saw it again, though the name of Jerusalem had been as- certained, it was transformed into Hierosolyma, the Holy Place of Salem, or Solomon, and he felt that it properly expressed the awe and veneration with which he regarded it, as though it had been one of his own ancestral seats of oracular sanctity. All the other shrines an capitals of Israel, with the single exception of that on Mount Gerizim, had been swept away. The sanctity of Bethel and Shiloh, the regal dignity of Samaria and Jezreel, had now disap- peared for ever. Jerusalem remained the undisputed queen of the whole country in an unprecedented sense. Even those very tribes which before had been her ri- vals, acknowledged in her misfortunes the supremacy which they had denied to her in her prosperity. Pil- grims from Shechem, Shiloh and Samaria, immediately after the Babylonian Captivity began, came, with every outward sign of mourning, to wail and weep (like the Jews of our own day) over the still smoking ruins. It was natural, therefore, that the exiles had con- stantly nourished the hope of the rebuilding of Jerusa- lem, which they had never forgotten in their brightest or their darkest days on the banks of the Euphrates; that the highest reward to which any of them could look forward would be that they should build the old waste places, raised up the foundations of many gener- ations, be called the repairer of the ruins, the restorer of paths to dwell in. It was natural that along the broken walls of the city of David there should have been, as the Return drew nearer, devout Israelites seen standing like sentinels, repeating their constant watch- words, which consisted of an incessant cry day and night, giving the Divine Protector no rest until He es- tablish and make Jerusalem a praise upon the earth. It was natural that the names which had begun to at- tach to her during her desertion, as though she were the impersonation of Solitude and Desolation, should give place to the joyful names of the Bride and the Favorite returning to her married home with all the gayety and hopefulness of an Eastern wedding. It was natural that Ezekiel by the banks of the Chebar should so concentrate his thoughts on the City and Temple of Jerusalem that their dimensions grew in his vision to such a colossal size as to absorb the whole of Palestine by their physical structure, no less than they did actually by their moral significance. Accordingly, the one object which filled the thoughts of the returning exiles, the one object, as it was believed by them, for which the Return had been permitted by the Persian king, was "the "building of an house of the Lord God of Israel at Je- "rusalem which is in Judah." There was a moment, it might have been supposed, when the idea of a more spiritual worship, like that of the Persians, would dispense altogether with outward buildings. "The heaven is my throne, the earth is my "footstool: where is the house that ye build unto me? "and where is my place of rest?" But this doc- trine of the Evangelical Prophet was not yet capable of being put into practice; perhaps in its literal sense never will be. Ezekiel's idea was, as we have seen, rather the restoration of the Temple on a gigantic scale. It was the chief, the one mission of Zerubbabel, and in a few weeks or months after his arrival the first step was taken toward the erection of the second Temple of Jerusalem, the Temple which as destined to meet the requirements of the national worship, till it gave way to the third Temple of the half-heathen Herod. That first step was precisely on the traces of the older Temple. As the altar which David erected long pre- ceded the completion of the splendid structure of Sol- omon, so before any attempt was made to erect the walls, or even to lay the foundations of the Temple of the coming era, there was erected on the platform for- merly occupied by the threshing-floor of Araunah, then for five centuries by the stately altar of David and his son Solomon, the central hearth of the future Temple; but, as if to vindicate for itself an intrinsic majesty de- spite of its mean surroundings, it was in its dimensions double the size even of its vast predecessor. The day fixed for the occasion of its consecration was well suited to do it honor. It was the opening to the great au- tumnal Feast of the Jewish year—the Feast of Tabernacles—the same festival as that chosen by Solomon for the dedication of his Temple, and by Jeroboam for the dedication of the rival sanctuary at Bethel. It was the first day of the seventh month, which, according to the Babylonian, now adopted as the Jewish, calendar, henceforth took the Chaldæan name of Tisri, "the opening" month, the "January," and thus became the first of the year. The settlers from all parts of the country, as well as the aboriginal inhabitants, gathered for the occasion and witnessed the solemnity from the open space in front of the eastern gate of the Temple.
2019.11.06 23:52 MarleyEngvall schiphol amsterdam has been created
The Fall, by Albert Camus. English translation by Justin O'Brien. Originally published as Le Chute ©1956 Librairie Gallimard pp. 72—96.
Written by Albert Camus Translated by Justin O'Brien A DOLL'S village, isn't it? No shortage of quaintness here! But I didn't bring you to this island for quaintness, cher ami. Anyone can show you peasant headdresses, wooden shoes, and orna- mented houses with fishermen smoking choice to- bacco surrounded by the smell of furniture wax. I am one of the few people, on the other hand, who can show you what really matters here. We are reaching the dike. We'll have to follow it to get as far as possible from these two charm- ing houses. Please, let's sit down. Well, what di you think of it? Isn't it the most beautiful negative landscape? Just see on the left that pile of ashes they call a dune here, the gray dike on the right, the livid beach at our feet, and in front of us, the see the color of a weak lye-solution with the vast sky reflecting the colorless waters. A soggy hell, indeed! Everything horizontal, no relief; space is colorless, and life dead. Is it not universal oblitera- tion, everlasting nothingness made visible? No hu- man beings, above all, no human beings! You and I alone facing the planet at last deserted! The sky is alive? You are right, cher ami. It thickens, be- comes concave, opens up air shafts and closes cloudy doors. Those are the doves. Haven't you noticed that the sky of Holland is filled and mil- lions of doves, invisible because of their altitude, which flap their wings, rise or fall in unison, filling the heavenly space with dense multitudes of gray- ish feathers carried hither and thither by the wind? The doves wait up there all year round. They wheel above the earth, look down, and would like to come down. But there is nothing but the sea and the canals, roofs covered with shop signs, and never a head on which to light. You don't understand what I mean? I'll admit my fatigue. I lose the thread of what I am saying; I've lost that lucidity to which my friends used to enjoy paying respects. I say "my friends," more- over, as a convention. I have no more friends; I have nothing but accomplices. To make up for this, their number has increased; they are the whole hu- man race. And within the human race, you first of all. Whoever is at hand is always the first. How do I know I have no friends? It's very easy: I dis- covered it the day I thought of killing myself to play a trick on them, to punish them, in a way. But punish whom? Some would be surprised, and no one would feel punished. I realized I had no frriends. Besides, if I had had, I shouldn't be any better off. If I had been able to commit suicide and then see their reaction, why, then the game would have been worth the candle. But the earth is dark, cher ami, the coffin thick, and the shroud opaque. The eyes of the soul——to be sure——if there is a soul and it has eyes! But you see, we're not sure, we can't be sure. Otherwise, there would be a solution; at least one could get oneself taken seri- ously. Men are never convinced of your reasons, of your sincerity, of the seriousness of your suffer- ings, except by your death. So long as you are alive, your case is doubtful; you have a right only to their skepticism. So if there were the least cer- tainty that one could enjoy the show, it would be worth proving to them what they are unwilling to believe and thus amazing them. But you kill your- self and what does it matter whether or not they believe you? You are not there to see their amaze- ment and their contrition (fleeting at best), to wit- ness, according to every man's dream, your own funeral. In order to cease being a doubtful case, one has to cease being, that's all. Besides, isn't it better thus? We'd suffer too much from their indifference. "You'll pay for this!" a daughter said to her father who had prevented her from marrying a too well groomed suitor. And she killed herself. But the father paid for noth- ing. He loved fly-casting. Three Sundays later he went back to the river——to forget, as he said. He was right; he forgot. To tell the truth, the con- trary would have been surprising. You think you are dying to punish your wife and actually you are freeing her. It's better not to see that. Besides the fact that you might hear the reasons they give for your action. As far as I am concerned, I can hear them now: "He killed himself because he couldn't bear . . ." Ah, cher ami, how poor in in- vention men are! They always think one commits suicide for a reason. But it's quite possible to com- mit suicide for two reasons. No, that never occurs to them. So what's the good of dying intentionally, of sacrificing yourself to the idea you want people to have of you? Once you are dead, they will take advantage of it to attribute idiotic or vulgar mo- tives to your action. Martyrs, mon cher, must choose between being forgotten, mocked, or made use of. As for being understood——never! Besides, let's not beat about the bush; I love life——that's my real weakness. I love it so much that I am incapable of imagining what is not life. Such avidity has something plebeian about it, don't you think? Aristocracy cannot imagine itself with- out a little distance surrounding itself and its life. One dies if necessary, one breaks rather than bend- ing. But I bend, because I continue to love myself. For example, after all I have told you, what do you think I developed? An aversion for myself? Come, come, it was especially with others that I was fed up. To be sure, I knew my failings and re- regretting them. Yet I continued to forget them with a rather meritorious obstinacy. The prosecution of others, on the contrary, went on constantly in my heart. Of course——does that shock you? Maybe you think it's not logical? But the question is not to remain logical. The question is to slip through and, above all——yes, above all, the question is to elude judgment. I'm not saying to avoid punishment, for punishment without judgment is bearable. It has a name, besides, that guarantees our innocence: it is called misfortune. No, on the contrary, it's a matter of dodging judgment, of avoiding being for- ever judged without ever having a sentence pro- nounced. But one can't dodge it so easily. Today we are always ready to judge as we are to fornicate. With this difference, that there are no inadequacies to fear. If you doubt this, just listen to the table conversation during August in those summer hotels where our charitable fellow citizens take the bore- dom cure. If you still hesitate to conclude, read the writing of our great men of the moment. Or else observe your own family and you will be edified. Mon cher ami, let's not give them any pretext, no matter how small, for judging us! Otherwise, we'll be left in shreds. We are forced to take the same precautions as the animal tamer. If, before going into the cage, he has the misfortune to cut himself while shaving, what a feast for the wild animals! I realized this all at once the moment I had the suspi- cion that maybe I wasn't so admirable. From then on, I became distrustful. Since I was bleeding slightly, there was no escape for me; they would devour me. My relations with my contemporaries were apparently the same and yet subtly out of tune. My friends hadn't changed. On occasion, they still extolled the harmony and security they found in my company. But I was aware only of the dis- sonances and disorder that filled me; I felt vulner- able and open to public accusation. In my eyes my fellows ceased to be the respectful public to which I was accustomed. The circle of which I was the center broke and they lined up in a row as on the judges' bench. In short, the moment I grasped that there was something to judge in me, I realized that there was in them an irresistible vocation for judg- ment. Yes, they were there as before, but they were laughing. Or rather it seemed to me that every one I encountered was looking at me with a hidden smile. I even had the impression, at that time, that people were tripping me up. Two or three times, in fact, I stumbled as I entered public places. Once, even, I went sprawling on the floor. The Cartesian Frenchman in me didn't take long to catch hold of himself and attribute those accidents to the only reasonable divinity——that is, chance. Nonetheless, my distrust remained. Once my attention was aroused, it was not hard for me to discover that I had enemies. In my profession, to begin with, and also in my social life. Some among them I had obliged. Others I should have obliged. All that, after all, was natural and I discovered it without too much grief. It was harder and more painful, on the other hand, to ad- mit that I had enemies among people I hardly knew or didn't know at all. I had always thought, with the ingeniousness I have already illustrated to you, that those who didn't know me couldn't resist lik- ing me if they came to know me. Not at all! I encountered hostility especially among those who knew me only at a distance without my knowing them myself. Doubtless they suspected me of living fully, given up completely to happiness; and that cannot be forgiven. The look of success, when it is worn in a certain way, would infuriate a jackass. Then again, my life was full to bursting, and for lack of time, I used to refuse many advances. Then I would forget my refusals, for the same person. But those advances had been made me by people whose lives were not full and who, for that very reason, would remember my refusals. Thus it is that in the end, to take but one ex- ample, women cost me dear. The time I used to devote to them I couldn't give to men, who didn't always forgive this. Is there any way out? Your success and happiness are forgiven you only if you generously consent to share them. But to be happy it is essential not to be too concerned with others. Consequently, there is no escape. Happy and judged, or absolved and wretched. As for me, the injustice was even greater: I was condemned for past successes. For a long time I had lived in the illusion of a general agreement, whereas, from all sides, judgments, arrows, mockeries rained upon me, inattentive and smiling. The day I was alerted I became lucid; I received all the wounds at the same time and lost my strength all at once. The whole universe then began to laugh at me. That is what no man (except those who are not really alive——in other words, wise men) can endure. Spitefulness is the only possible ostentation. People hasten to judge in order not to be judged themselves. What do you expect? The idea that comes most naturally to man, as if from his very nature, is the idea of his innocence. From this point of view, we are all like that little Frenchman at Buchenwald who insisted on registering a complaint with the clerk, himself a prisoner, who was record- ing his arrival. A complaint? The clerk and his comrades laughed: "Useless, old man. You don't lodge a complaint here." "But you see, sir," said the little Frenchman, "My case is exceptional. I am innocent!" We are all exceptional cases. We all want to appeal against something! Each of us insists on being innocent at all cost, even if he has to accuse the whole human race and heaven itself. You won't delight a man by complimenting him on the efforts by which he has become intelligent or generous. On the other hand, he will beam if you admire his natural generosity. Inversely, if you tell a criminal that his crime is not due to his nature or his char- acter but to unfortunate circumstances, he will be extravagantly grateful to you. During the counsel's speech, this is the moment he will choose to weep. Yet there is no credit in being honest or intelligent by birth. Just as one is surely no more responsible for being a criminal by nature than for being a criminal by circumstance. But those rascals want grace, that is irresponsibility, and they shamelessly allege the justifications of nature or the excuses of circumstances, even if they are contradictory. The essential thing is that they should be innocent, that their virtues, by grace of birth, should not be ques- tioned and that their misdeeds, born of a momen- tary misfortune, should never be more than pro- visional. As I told you, it's a matter of dodging judgment. Since it is hard to dodge it, tricky to get one's nature simultaneously admired and ex- cused, they all strive to be rich. Why? Did you ever ask yourself? For power, of course. But es- pecially because wealth shields from immediate judgment, takes you out of the subway crowd to enclose you in a chromium-plated automobile, iso- lates you in huge protected lawns, Pullmans, first- class cabins. Wealth, cher ami, is not quite acquit- tal, but reprieve, and that's always worth taking. Above all, don't believe your friends when they ask you to be sincere with them. They merely hope you will encourage them in the good opinion they have of themselves by providing them with the additional assurance they will find in your promise of sincerity. How could sincerity be a con- dition of friendship? A liking for truth at any cost is a passion that spares nothing and that nothing re- sists. It's a vice, at times a comfort, or a selfish- ness. Therefore, if you are in that situation, don't hesitate: promise to tell the truth and then lie as best you can. You can satisfy their hidden desire and doubly prove your affection. This is so true that we rarely confide in those who are better than we. Rather, we are more in- clined to flee their society. Most often, on the other hand, we confess to those who are like us and who share our weaknesses. Hence we don't want to im- prove ourselves or be bettered, for we should first have to be judged in default. We merely wish to be pitied and encouraged in the course we have chosen. In short, we should like, at the same time, to cease being guilty and yet not to make the effort of cleansing ourselves. Not enough cynicism and not enough virtue. We lack the energy of evil as well as the energy of good. Do you know Dante? Really? The devil you say! Then you know that Dante accepts the idea of neutral angels in the quarrel between God and Satan. And he puts them in Limbo, a sort of vestibule of his Hell. We are in the vestibule, cher ami. Patience? You are probably right. It would take patience to wait for the Last Judgment. But that's it, we're in a hurry. So much in a hurry, in- deed, that I was obliged to make myself a judge- penitent. However, I first had to make shift with my discoveries and put myself right with my con- temporaries' laughter. From the evening when I was called——for I was really called——I had to answer or at least seek an answer. It wasn't easy; for some time I floundered. To begin with, that perpetual laugh and the laughers had to teach me to see clearly within me and to discover at last that I was not simple. Don't smile; that truth is not so basic as it seems. What we call basic truths are simply the ones we discover after all the others. However that may be, after prolonged research on myself, I brought out the fundamental duplicity of the human being. Then I realized, as a result of delving in my memory, that modesty helped me to shine, humility to conquer, and virtue to oppress. I used to wage war by peaceful means and even- tually used to achieve, through disinterested means, everything I desired. For instance, I never com- plained that my birthday was overlooked; people were even surprised, with a touch of admiration, by my discretion on this subject. But the reason for my disinterestedness was even more discreet: I longed to be forgotten in order to be able to com- plain to myself. Several days before the famous date (which I knew very well) I was on the alert, eager to let nothing slip that might arouse my attention and memory of those on whose lapse I was counting (didn't I once go so far as to contemplate falsifying a friend's calendar). Once my solitude was thor- oughly proved, I could surrender to the charms of a virile self-pity. Thus the surface of all my virtues had a less imposing reverse side. It is true that, in another sense, my shortcomings turned to my advantage. For example, the obligation I felt to conceal the vicious part of my life gave me a cold look that was confused with the look of virtue; my indifference made me loved; my selfishness wound up in my generosities. I stop there, for too great a symmetry would upset my argument. But after all, I presented a harsh exterior and yet could never resists the offer of a glass or of a woman! I was considered active, energetic, and my kingdom was the bed. I used to advertise my loyalty and I don't believe there is a single person I loved that I didn't eventually betray. Of course, my betrayals didn't stand in the way of my fidelity; I used to knock off a considerable pile of work through successive periods of idleness; and I had never ceased aiding my neighbor, thanks to my enjoyment in doing so. But however much I re- peated such facts to myself, they gave me but super- ficial consolations. Certain mornings, I would get up the case against myself most thoroughly, coming to the conclusion that I excelled above all in scorn. The very people I helped most often were the most scorned. Courteously, with a solidarity charged with emotion, I used to spit daily in the face of all the blind. Tell me frankly, is there any excuse for that? There is one, but so wretched that I cannot dream of advancing it. In any case, here it is: I have never been really able to believe that human affairs were serious matters. I had no idea where the serious might lie, except that it was not in all this I saw around me——which seemed to me merely an amus- ing game, or tiresome. There are really efforts and convictions I have never been able to understand. I always looked with amazement, and a certain suspi- cion, on those strange creatures who died for money, fell into despair over the loss of a "posi- tion," or sacrificed themselves with a high and mighty manner for the prosperity of their family. I could better understand that friend who had made up his mind to stop smoking and through sheer will power had succeeded. One morning he opened the paper, read that the first H-bomb had been ex- ploded, learned about its wonderful effects, and hastened to the tobacco shop. To be sure, I occasionally pretended to take life seriously. But very soon the frivolity of serious- ness struck me and I merely went on playing my role as well as I could. I played at being efficient, intelligent, virtuous, civic-minded, shocked, in- dulgent, fellow-spirited, edifying . . . In short, there's no need of going on, you have already grasped that I was like my Dutchmen who are here without being here: I was absent at the moment when I took up the most space. I have never been really sincere and enthusiastic except when I used to indulge in sports, and in the army, when I used to act in plays we put on for our own amusement. In both cases there was a rule of the game, which was not serious but which we enjoyed taking as if it were. Even now, the Sunday matches in an over- flowing stadium, and the the theater, which I loved with the greatest passion, are the only places in the world where I feel innocent. But who would consider such an attitude legiti- mate in the face of love, death, and the wages of the poor? Yet what can be done about it? I could imagine the love of Isolde only in novels or on the stage. At times people on their deathbeds seemed to me convinced of their roles. The lines spoken by my poor clients always struck me as fitting the same pattern. Whence, living among men without sharing their interests, I could not manage to believe in the commitments I made. I was courteous and indolent enough to live up to what was expected of me in my profession, my family, or my civic life, but each time with a sort of indifference that spoiled every- thing. I lived my whole life under a double code, and my most serious acts were often the ones in which I was the least involved. Wasn't that after all the reason that, added to my blunders, I could not forgive myself, that made me revolt most vio- lently against the judgment I felt forming, in me and around me, and that forced me to seek an es- cape? For some time, my life continued outwardly as if nothing had changed. I was on rails and speed- ing ahead. As if purposely, people's praises in- creased. And that's just where the trouble came from. You remember the remark: "Woe to you when all men speak well of you!" Ah, the one who said that spoke words of wisdom! Woe to me! Consequently, the engine began to have whims, in- explicable breakdowns. Then it was that the thought of death burst into my daily life. I would measure the years sepa- rating me from my end. I would look for examples of men my age who were already dead. And I was tormented by the thought that I might not have time to accomplish my task. What task? I had no idea. Frankly, was what I was doing worth continu- ing? But that was not quite it. A ridiculous fear pursued me, in fact: one could not die without hav- in confessed all one's lies. Not to God or to one of his representatives; I was above that, as you well imagine. No, it was a matter of confessing to men, to a friend, to a beloved woman, for example. Oth- erwise, were there but one lie hidden in life, death made it definitive. No one, ever again, would know the truth on this point, since the only one to know it was precisely the dead man sleeping on his secret. That absolute murder of a truth used to make me dizzy. Today, let me interject, it would cause me, instead, subtle joys. The idea, for instance, that I am the only one to know what everyone is looking for and that I have at home an object which kept the police of three centuries on the run is a sheer delight. But let's not go into that. At the time, I had not yet found the recipe and I was fretting. I pulled myself together, of course. What did one man's lie matter in the history of generations? And what pretension to want to drag out into the full light of truth a paltry fraud, lost in the sea of ages like a grain of sand in the ocean! I also told myself that the body's death, to judge from those I had seen, was in itself sufficient punishment that absolved all. Salvation was won (that is, the right to disappear definitively) in the sweat of the death agony. Nonetheless the discomfort grew; death was faithful at my bedside; I used to get up with it every morning, and compliments became more and more unbearable to me. It seemed to me that the falsehood increased with them so inordinately that never again could I put myself right. A day came when I could bear it no longer. My first reaction was excessive. Since I was a liar, I would reveal this and hurl my duplicity in the face of all those imbeciles, even before they discov- ered it. Provoked to truth, I would accept the chal- lenge. In order to forestall the laughter, I dreamed of hurling myself into the general derision. In short, it was still a question of dodging judgment. I wanted to put the laughers on my side, or at least to put myself on their side. I contemplated, for in- stance, jostling the blind on the street; and from the secret, unexpected joy this gave me I recognized how much a part of my soul loathed them; I planned to puncture the tires of invalids' vehicles, to go and shout "lousy proletarian" under the scaffoldings on which laborers were working, to slap infants in the subway. I dreamed of all that and did none of it, or if I did something of the sort, I have forgotten it. In any case, the very word "justice" gave me strange fits of rage. I continued, of necessity, to use it in my speeches to the court. But I took my revenge by publicly inveighing against the humanitarian spirit; I announced the publication of a manifesto exposing the oppression that the oppressed inflict on decent people. One day while I was eating lobster at a side- walk restaurant and a beggar bothered me, I called the proprietor to drive him away and loudly ap- proved the words of that administrator of justice: "You are embarrassing people," he said. "Just put yourself in the place of these ladies and gents, after all!" Finally, I used to express, to whoever would listen, my regret that it was no longer possible to act like a certain Russian landowner whose charac- ter I admired. He would have a beating adminis- tered both to his peasants who bowed to him and to those who didn't bow to him in order to punish a boldness he considered equally impudent in both cases. However, I recall more serious excesses. I be- gan to write an "Ode to the Police" and an "Apotheosis of the Guillotine." Above all, I used to force myself to visit regularly the special cafés where our professional humanitarian free thinkers gathered. My good past record assured me of a wel- come. There, without seeming to, I would let fly a forbidden expression: "Thank God . . ." I would say, or more simply: "My God . . ." You know what shy little children our café atheists are. A mo- ment of amazement would follow that outrageous expression, they would look at one another dumb- founded, then the tumult would burst forth. Some would flee the café, others would gabble indig- nantly without listening to anything, and all would writhe in convulsions like the devil in holy water. You must look on that as childish. Yet maybe there was a more serious reason for those little jokes. I wanted to upset the game and above all to destroy that flattering reputation, the thought of which threw me into a rage. "A man like you . . ." people would say sweetly, and I would blanch. I didn't want their esteem because it wasn't general, and how could it be general since I couldn't share it? Hence it is better to cover everything, judg- ment and esteem, with a cloak of ridicule. I had to liberate at all cost the feeling that was stifling me. In order to reveal to all eyes what he was made of, I wanted to break open the handsome wax-figure I presented everywhere. For instance, I recall an in- formal lecture I had to give to a group of young fledgling lawyers. Irritated by the fantastic praises of the President of the Bar, who had introduced me, I couldn't resist long. I had begun with the enthu- siasm and emotion expected of me, which I had no trouble summoning up on order. But I suddenly be- gan to advise alliance as a system of defense. Not, I said, that alliance perfected by modern inquisi- tions which judge simultaneously a thief and an honest man in order to crush the second under the crimes of the first. On the contrary, I meant to de- fend the thief by exposing the crimes of the honest man, the lawyer in this instance. I explained myself very clearly on this point: "Let us suppose that I have accepted the de- fense of some touching citizen, a murderer through jealousy. Gentlemen of the jury, consider, I should say, how venial it is to get angry when one sees one's natural goodness put to the test by the malig- nity of the fair sex. Is it not more serious, on the contrary, to be by chance on this side of the bar, on my own bench, without ever having been good or suffered from being duped? I am free, shielded from your severities, yet who am I? A Louis XIV in pride, a billy goat for lust, a Pharaoh for wrath, a king of laziness. I haven't killed anyone? Not yet, to be sure! But have I not let deserving creatures die? Maybe. And maybe I am ready to do so again. Whereas this man——just look at him——will not do so again. He is still quite amazed to have accom- plished what he has." This speech rather upset my young colleagues. After a moment, they made up their minds to laugh at it. They became completely reassured when I got to my conclusion, in which I invoked the human individual and his supposed rights. That day, habit won out. By repeating these pleasant indiscretions, I merely succeeded in disconcerting opinion some- what. Not in disarming it, or above all in disarming myself. The amazement I generally encountered in my listeners, their rather reticent embarrassment, somewhat like what you are showing——no, don't protest——did not calm me at all. You see, it is not enough to accuse yourself in order to clear your- self; otherwise, I'd be as innocent as a lamb. One must accuse oneself in a certain way, which it took me considerable time to perfect. I did not discover it until I fell into the most utterly forlorn state. Until then, the laughter continued to drift my way, without my random efforts succeeded in divesting it of its benevolent, almost tender quality that hurt me. But the sea is rising, it seems to me. It won't be long before our boat leaves; the day is ending. Look, the doves are gathering up there. They are crowding against one another, hardly stirring, and the light is waning. Don't you think we should be silent to enjoy this rather sinister moment? No, I interest you? You are very polite. Moreover, I now run the risk of really interesting you. Before ex- plaining myself on the subject of judges-penitent, I must talk to you of debauchery and of the little- ease.
2019.11.04 23:16 MarleyEngvall joyful and triumphant has been created
By John Lord, LL. D. CHARLEMAGNE. A. D. 742-814. REVIVAL OF WESTERN EMPIRE. (ii. of iii.) It was necessary that a truly great man should arise in the eighth century, if the new forces of civilization were to be organized. To show what he did for the new races, and how he did it, is the historian's duty and task in describing the reign of Charlemagne,——sent, I think, as Moses was, for a providential mission, in the fulness of time, after the slaveries of three hundred years, which prepared the people for labor and industry. Better was it that they should till the lands of allodial proprietors in misery and sorrow, attacked and pillaged, than to wander like savages in forests and morasses in quest of a precarious support, or in great predatory bands, as they did in the fourth and fifth centuries, when they ravaged the provinces of the falling Empire. Nothing was wanted but their consolidation under cen- tral rule in order to repel aggressors. And that is what Charlemagne attempted to do. He soon perceived the greatness of the struggle to which he was destined, and did not flinch from the contest which has given him immortality. He com- prehended the difficulties which surrounded him and the dangers which menaced him. The great perils which threatened Europe were from unsubdued barbarians, who sought to replunge it into the miseries which the great irruptions had inflicted three hundred years before. He therefore bent all the energies of his mind and all the resources of his king- dom to arrest these fresh waves of inundation. And so long was his contest with Saxons, Avares, Lombards, and other tribes and races that he is chiefly to be con- templated as a man who struggled against barbarism. And he fought them, not for excitement, not for the love of fighting, not for useless conquests, not for a mili- tary fame, not for aggrandizement, but because a stern necessity was laid upon him to protect his own territories and the institutions he wished to conserve. Of these barbarians there was one nation peculiarly warlike and ferocious, and which cherished an inex- tinguishable hatred not merely of the Franks, but of civilization itself. They were obstinately attached to their old superstitions, and had a great repugnance to Christianity. They were barbarians, like the old North American Indians, because they determined to be so; because they loved their forests and the chase, indulged in amusements which were uncertain and dangerous, and sought for nothing beyond their immediate inclina- tions. They had no territorial divisions, and abhorred cities as prisons of despotism. But, like all the Ger- manic barbarians, they had interesting traits. They respected women; they were brave and daring; they had a dogged perseverance, and a noble passion for personal independence. But they were nevertheless the enemies of civilization, of a regular and in- dustrious life, and sought plunder and revenge. The Franks and Goths were once like them, before the time of Clovis; but they had made settlements, they tilled the land, and built villages and cities: they were partially civilized, and were converted to Chris- tianity. But these new barbarians could not be won by arts or the ministers of religion. These people were Saxons, and inhabited those parts of Germany which were bounded by the Rhine, the Oder, the North Sea, and the Thuringian forests. They were fond of the sea, and of daring expeditions for plunder. They were a kindred race to those Saxons who had conquered England, and had the same elements of character. They were poor, and sought to live by piracy and rob- bery. They were very dangerous enemies, but if brought under subjection to law, and converted to Christianity, might be turned into useful allies, for they had the materials of a noble race. With such a people on his border, and every day becoming more formidable, what was Charlemagne's policy? What was he to do? The only thing to the eye of that enlightened statesman was to conquer them, if possible, and add their territories to the Frankish Empire. If left to themselves, they might have con- quered the Franks. It was either anvil or hammer. There could be no lasting peace in Europe while these barbarians were left to pursue their depredations. A vigorous warfare was imperative, for, unless subdued, a disadvantageous war would be carried on near the frontiers, until some warrior would arise among them, unite the various chieftains, and lead his followers to successful invasion. Charlemagne knew that the diffi- cult and unpleasant work of subjugation must be done by somebody, and he was unwilling to leave the work to enervated successors. The work was not child's play. It took him the best part of his life to accom- plish it, and amid great discouragements. Of his fifty- three expeditions, eighteen were against the Saxons. As soon as he had cut off one head of the monster, another head appeared. How allegorical of human labor is that old fable of the Hydra! Where do man's labors cease? Charlemagne fought not only amid great difficulties, but perpetual irritations. The Saxons cheated him; they broke their promises and their oaths. When beaten, they sued for peace; but the moment his back was turned, they broke out in new insurrections. The fame of Cæsar chiefly rests on his eight campaigns in Gaul. But Cæsar had the disci- plined Legions of Rome to fight with. Charlemagne had no such disciplined troops. Yet he had as many difficulties to surmount as Cæsar,——rugged forests to penetrate, rapid rivers to cross, morasses to avoid, and mountains to climb. It is a very difficult thing to subdue even savages who are desperate, determined, and united. Charlemagne fought the Saxons for thirty-three years. Though he never lost a battle, they still held out. At first he was generous and forgiving, for he was more magnanimous than Cæsar; but they could not be won by kindness. He was obliged to change his course, and at last was as summary as Oliver Cromwell in Ireland. He is even accused of cruelties. but war in the hands of masters has no quarter to give, and no tears to shed. It was necessary to con- quer the Saxons, and Charlemagne used the requisite means. Sometimes the harshest measures will most speedily effect the end. Did our fathers ever dream of compromise with treacherous and hostile Indians? War has a horrid maxim,——that "nothing is so suc- cessful as success." Charlemagne, at last, was successful. The Saxons were so completely subdued at the end of thirty-three years, that they never molested civilized Europe again. They became civilized, like the once invading Celts and Goths; and they even embraced the religion of the conquerors. They became ultimately the best people in Europe,——earnest, honest, and brave. They formed great kingdoms and states, and became new barriers against fresh inundations from the North and East. The Saxons formed the nucleus of the great German Empire (or were incorporated with it) which arose in the Middle Ages, and which to-day is the most powerful in Europe, and the least corrupted by the vices of a luxurious life. The descendants of those Saxons are among the most industrious and useful settlers in the New World. There was one mistake which Charlemagne made in reference to them. He forced their conversion to a nominal Christianity. He immersed them in the rivers of Saxony, whether they would or no. He would make them Christians in his way. But then, who does not seek to make converts in his way, whether enlightened or not? When have the principles of religious toleration been understood? Did the Puritans understand them, with all their professions? Do we tolerate, in our hearts, those who differ from us? Do not men look daggers, though they dare not use them? If we had the power, would we not seek to produce conformity with our notions, like Queen Elizabeth, or Oliver Crom- well, or Archbishop Laud? There is not perhaps a village in America where a true catholicism reigns. There is not a spot on the globe where there is not some form of religious persecution. Nor is there any thing more sincere than religious bigotry. And when people have not fundamental principles to fight about, they will fight about technicalities and matters of no account, and all the more bitterly sometimes when the objects of contention are not worth fighting about at all,——as in forms of worship, or baptism. Such is the weakness of human nature. Charlemagne was no ex- ception to the race. But if he wished to make Chris- tians in his way, he was, on the whole, enlightened. He caused the young Saxons, whom he baptized and marked with the sign of the Cross, to be educated. He built monasteries and churches in the conquered terri- tories. He recognized this,——that Christianity, what- ever it be, is the mightiest power of the world; and he bore his testimony in behalf of the intellectual dignity of the clergy in comparison with other classes. He encouraged missions as well as schools. There was another Germanic tribe at that time which he held in great alarm, but which he did not attack, since they were not immediately dangerous. This tribe or race was the Norman, just then beginning their ravages,——pirates in open boats. They had dares to enter a port in Narbonensis Gaul for purposes of plunder. Some took them for Africans, and others for British merchants. Nay, said Charlemagne, they are not merchants, but cruel enemies; and he covered his face with his iron hands and wept like a child. He did not fear these barbarians, but he wept when he foresaw the evil they would do when he was dead. "I weep," said he, "that they should dare almost to land on my shores, in my lifetime." These Normans escaped him. They conquered and they founded king- doms. But they did not replunge Europe in darkness. A barrier had been made against their inundation. The Saxon conquest was that barrier. Moreover, the Normans were the noblest race of barbarians which then roamed through the forests of Germany, or skirted the shores of Scandinavia. They had grand natural traits of character. They were poetic, brave, and adventurous. They were superior t the Saxons and the Franks. When converted, they were the great allies of the Pope, and early became civilized. To them we trace the noblest development of Gothic architecture. They became great scholars and states- men. They were more refined by nature than the Saxons, and avoided their gluttonous habits. In after times they composed the flower of European chivalry. It was providential that they were not subdued,——that they became the leading race in Northern Europe. To them we trace the mercantile greatness of England, for they were born sailors. They never lost their natural heroism, or love of power. The next important conquest of Charlemagne was that of the Avares,——a tribe of the Huns, of Slavonic origin. They are represented as very hideous barba- rians, and only thought of plunder. They never sought to reconstruct. There seemed to be no end of their invasions from the time of Attila. They were more formidable for their numbers and destructive ravages than for their military skill. There was a time, how- ever, when they threatened the combined forces of Germany and Rome; but Europe was delivered by the battle of Poictiers,——the bloodiest battle on record,—— when they seemed to be annihilated. But they sprang up again, in new invasions, in the ninth century. Had they conquered, civilization would have been crushed out. But Charlemagne was successful against them, and from that time to this they were shut out from western Europe. They would be formidable now, for the Russians are the descendants of these people, were it not for the barrier raised against them by the Ger- mans. The necessities of Europe still require the vast military strength and organization of Germany, not to fight France, but to awe Russia. Napoleon predicted that Europe would become either French or Cossack; but there is little probability of Russian aggressions in Europe, so long as Russia is held in check by Germany. Charlemagne had now delivered France and Ger- many from external enemies. He then turned his arms against the Saracens of Spain. This was the great mistake of his life. Yet every one makes mistakes, however great his genius. Alexander made the mis- take of pushing his arms into India; and Napoleon made a great blunder in invading Russia. Even Cæsar died at the right time for his military fame, for he was on the point of attempting the conquest of Parthia, where, like Crassus, he would probably have perished, or have lost his army. Needless conquests seem to be impossible in the moral government of God, who rules the fate of war. Conquests are only possible when civilization seems to require them. In seeking to in- vade Spain, Charlemagne warred against a race from whom Europe had nothing more to fear. His grand- father, Charles Martel, had arrested the conquests of the Saracens; and they were quiet in their settlements in Spain, and had made considerable attainments in science and literature. Their schools of medicine and their arts were in advance of the rest of Europe. They were the translators of Aristotle, who reigned in the rising universities during the Middle Ages. As this war was unnecessary, Providence seemed to rebuke Charlemagne. His defeat at Roncesvalles was one of the most memorable events in his military history. Prodigies of valor were wrought by him and his gal- lant Paladins. The early heroic poetry of the Middle Ages has commemorated his exploits, as well as those of his nephew Roland, to whom some writers have ascribed the origin of Chivalry. But the Frankish forces were signally defeated amid the passes of the Pyrenees; and it was not until after several centuries that the Gothic princes of Spain shook off the yoke of their Saracenic conquerors, and drove them from Europe. The Lombard wars of Charlemagne are the last to which I allude. These were undertaken in defence of the Church, to rescue his ally the Pope. The Lombards belonged to the great Germanic family, but they were unfriendly to the Pope and to the Church. They stood out against the Empire, which was then the chief hope of Europe and of civilization. They would have reduced the Pope to insignificance and seized his terri- tories, without uniting Italy. So Charlemagne, like his father Pepin, lent his powerful aid to the Roman bishop, and the Lombards were easily subdued. This conquest, although the easiest which he ever made, most flattered his pride. Lombardy was not only joined to his Empire, but he received unparalleled honors from the Pope, being crowned by him Emperor of the West. It was a proud day when, in the ancient metropolis of the world, and in the fulness of his fame, Pope Leo III. placed the crown of Augustus upon Charlemagne's brow, and gave to him, amid the festivities of Christ- mas, his apostolic benediction. His dominions now extended from Catalonia to the Bohemian forests, em- bracing Germany, France, the Netherlands, Italy, and the Spanish main,——the largest empire which any one man had possessed since the fall of the Roman Empire. What more natural than for Charlemagne to feel that he had restored the Western Empire? What more natural than that he should have taken the title, still claimed by the Austrian emperor, in one sense his legitimate successor,——Kaiser, or Cæsar? In the pos- session of such enormous power, he naturally dreamed of establishing a new universal military monarchy like that of the Romans,——as Charles V. dreamed, and Napo- leon after him. But this is a dream that Providence has rebuked among all successive conquerors. There may have been need of the universal monarchy of the Cæsars, that Christianity might spread in peace, and be protected by a reign of law and order. This at least is one of the platitudes of historians. Froude himself harps on it in his life of Cæsar. Historians are fond of exalt- ing the glories of imperialism, and everybody is dazzled by the splendor and power of ancient Roman emperors. They do not, I think, sufficiently consider the blasting influence of imperialism on the life of nations,——how it dries up the sources of renovation, how it necessarily withers literature and philosophy, how nothing can thrive under it but pomp and material glories, how it paralyzes all virtuous impulses, how it kills all enthusiasm, how it crushes out all hope and lofty aspirations, how it makes slaves of its best subjects, how it fills the earth with fear, how it drains national resources to support standing armies, how it mocks all enterprises which do not receive imperial approbation, how everything is concentrated to reflect the glory of one man or family; how impossible, under its withering shade, is manly independence, or the free expression of opinions or healthy growth; how it buries up, under its armies, discontents and aspirations alike, and creates nothing but machinery which must ultimately wear out and leave a world in ruins, with nothing stable to take its place. Law and order are good things, the preservation of property is desirable, the punishment of crime is necessary; but there are other things which are valuable also. Nothing is so valuable as the pres- ervation of national life; nothing is so healthy as scope for energies; nothing is so contemptible and degrading as universal sycophancy to official rule. There are no tyrants more oppressive than the tools of absolute power. See in what a state imperialism left the Roman Empire when it fell. There were no rallying forces; there was no resurrection of heroes. Vitality had fled. Where would Turkey be to-day without the European powers, if the Sultan's authority were to fall? It would be in the state of ancient Babylon or Persia when those empires fell. There is another side to imperialism besides dreaded anarchies. Moreover, the whole progress of civilization has been counter to it. The fiats of eternal justice have pronounced against it, because it is antagonistic to the dignity of man and the triumphs of reason. I would not fall in with the cant of he dignity of man, because there is no dignity to man without aid from God Al- mighty through His spirit and the message he has sent in Christianity. But there is dignity in man with the aid of a regenerating gospel. Some people talk of the triumphs of Christianity under the Roman emperors; but see how rapidly it was corrupted by them when they sought the aid of its institutions to bolster up their power. The power of Christianity is in its truths; in its religion, and not in its forms and institutions, in its inventions to uphold the arms of despotism and the tools of despo- tism. It is, and it was, and it will be through all the ages the great power of the world, against which it is vain to rebel. And that government is really the best which unfetters its spiritual influence, and encourages it; and not that government which seeks to perpetuate its corrupt and worldly institutions. The Roman em- perors made Christianity an institution, and obscured its truths. And perhaps that is one reason why Provi- dence permitted their despotism to pass away,˘——pre- ferring the rude anarchy of the Germanic nations to the dead mechanism of a lifeless Church and imperial rottenness. Imperialism must ever end in rottenness. And that is one reason why the heart of Christendom—— I mean the people of Europe, in its enlightened and virtuous sections——has ever opposed imperialism. The progress has been slow, but marked, towards represen- tative governments,——not the reign of the people di- rectly, but of those whom they select to represent them. The victory has been nearly gained in England. In France the progress has been uniform since the Revolu- tion. Napoleon revived, or sought to revive, the impe- rialism of Rome. He failed. There is nothing which the French now so cordially detest, since their eyes have been opened to the character and ends of that usurper, as his imperialism. It cannot be revived any more easily than the oracles of Dodona. Even in Germany there are dreadful discontents in view of the imperialism which Bismarck, by the force of successful wars, has seemingly revived. The awful standing armies are a menace to all liberty and progress and national develop- ment. In Italy itself there is the commencement of a constitutional authority, although it is united under a king. The great standing warfare of modern times is constitutional authority against the absolute power of kings and emperors. And the progress has been on the side of liberty everywhere, with occasional drawbacks, such as when Louis Napoleon revived the accursed despotism of his uncle, and by the same means,——a standing army and promises of military glory. Hence, in the order of Providence, the dream of Char- lemagne as to unbounded military aggrandizement could not be realized. He could not revive the imperialism of Rome or Persia. No man will ever arise in Europe who can re-establish it, except for a brief period. It will be rebuked by the superintending Power, because it is fatal to the highest development of nations, be- cause all its glories are delusory, because it sows the seeds of ruin. It produces that very egotism, material- ism, and sensuality, that inglorious rest and pleasure, which, as everybody concedes, prepared the way for violence. And hence Charlemagne's empire went to pieces as soon as he was dead. There was nothing permanent in his conquests, except those made against barbarism. He was raised up to erect barriers against fresh inroads of barbarians. His whole empire was finally split up into petty sovereignties. In one sense he founded States, "since he founded the States which sprang up from the dismemberment of his empire. The kingdoms of Germany, Italy, France, Burgundy, Lorraine, Navarre, all date to his memorable reign." But these mediæval kingdoms were feudal; the power of the kings was nominal. Governments passed from imperialism into the hands of nobles. The government of Europe in the Middle Ages was a military aristocracy, only pow- erful as the interests of the people were considered. Kings and princes did not make much show, except in the trappings of royalty,——in gorgeous dresses of purple and gold, to suit a barbaric taste,——in the in- signia of power without its reality. The power was among the aristocracy, who, it must be confessed, ground down the people by hard feudal rule, but who did not grind the souls out of them, like the imperial- ism of absolute monarchies, with their standing armies. Under them the feudal nobles of Europe at length recu- perated. Virtues were born everywhere,——in England, in France, in Germany, in Holland,——which were a savor of life unto life: loyalty, self-respect, fidelity to covenants, chivalry, sympathy with human misery, love of home, rural sports, a glorious rural life, which gave stamina to character,——a material which Christianity could work upon, and kindle the latent fires of freedom, and the impulses of a generous enthusiasm. It was under the fostering influence of small, independent chieftains that manly strength and organized social institutions arose once more,——the reserved power of unconquerable nations. Nobody hates feudalism——in its corruptions, in its oppressions——more than I do. But it was the transition stage from the anarchy which the collapse of imperialism produced to the constitu- tional governments of our times, if we could forget the absolute monarchies which flourished on the breaking up of feudalism, when it became a tyranny and a mock- ery, but which absolute monarchies flourished only one or two hundred years,——a sort of necessity in the de- velopment of nations to check the insolence and over- grown power of nobles, but after all essentially different from the imperialism of Cæsar or Napoleon, since they relied on the support of nobles and municipalities more than on a standing army; yea, on votes and grants from parliaments to raise money to support the army,—— certainly in England, as in the time of Elizabeth. The Bourbons, indeed, reigned without grants from the people or the nobility, and what was the logical result? ——a French Revolution! Would a French Revolution have been possible under the Roman Cæsars? But I will not pursue this gradual development of constitutional government from the anarchies which arose out of the fall of the Roman Empire,——just the reverse of what happened in the history of Rome; I say no more of the imperialism which Charlemagne sought to restore, but was not permitted by Providence, and which, after all, was the dream of his latter days, when, like Napoleon, he was intoxicated by power and brilliant conquests; and I turn to consider briefly his direct effects in civilization, which showed his great and enlightened mind, and on which his fame in no small degree rests.
2019.10.18 16:13 MarleyEngvall filius has been created
By John Lord, LL. D. IGNATIUS LOYOLA. A. D, 1491—1556. RISE AND INFLUENCE OF THE JESUITS. (i.) NEXT to the Protestant Reformation itself, the most memorable moral movement in the history of modern times was the counter-reformation in the Roman Catholic Church, finally effected, in no slight degree, by the Jesuits. But it has not the grandeur or historical significance of the great insurrection of human intelligence which was headed by Luther. It was a revival of the pietism of the Middle Ages, with an external reform of manners. It was not revolution- ary; it did not cast off the authority of the popes, nor disband the monasteries, nor reform religious worship: it rather tended to strengthen the power of the popes, to revive monastic life, and to perpetuate the forms of worship which the Middle Ages had established. No doubt a new religious life was kindled, and many of the flagrant abuses of the papal empire were redressed, and the lives of the clergy made more decent, in ac- cordance with the revival of intelligence. Nor did it disdain literature or art, or any form of modern civili- zation, but sought to combine progress with old ideas; it was an effort to adapt the Roman theocracy to changing circumstances, and was marked by expedi- ency rather than right, by zeal rather than a profound philosophy. This movement took place among the Latin races,—— the Italians, French, and Spaniard,——having no hold on the Teutonic races except in Austria, as much Sla- vonic as German. It worked on a poor material, mor- ally considered; among peoples who have not been distinguished for stamina of character, earnestness, contemplative habits, and moral elevation,——peoples long enslaved, frivolous in their pleasures, superstitious, indolent, fond of fêtes, spectacles, pictures, and Pagan reminiscences. The doctrine of justification by faith was not un- known, even in Italy. It was embraced by many dis- tinguished men. Contarini, an illustrious Venetian, wrote a treatise on it, which Cardinal Pole admired. Folengo ascribed justification to grace alone; and Vit- toria Colonna, the friend of Michael Angelo, took a deep interest in these theological inquiries. But the doctrine did not spread; it was not understood by the people,——it was a speculation among scholars and doc- tors, which gave no alarm to the Pope. There was even an attempt at internal reform under Paul III. of the illustrious family of the Farnese, successor of Leo X. and Clement VII., the two renowned Medicean popes. He made cardinals of Contarini, Caraffa, Sado- leto, Pole, Giberto,——all imbued with reformative doctrines, and very religious; and these good men pre- pared a plan of reform and submitted it to the Pope, which ended, however, only in new monastic orders. It was the that Ignatius Loyola appeared upon the stage, when Luther was in the midst of his victories, and when new ideas were shaking the pontifical throne. The desponding successor of the Gregorys and the Clements knew not where to look for aid in that crisis of peril and revolution. The monastic orders composed his regular army, but they had become so corrupted that they had lost the reverence of the people. The venerable Benedictines had ceased to be men of prayer and contemplation as in the times of Bernard and Anselm, and were revelling in their enormous wealth. The cloisters of Cluniacs and Cistercians——branches of the Benedictines——were filled with idle and dissolute monks. The famous Dominicans and Franciscans, who had rallied to the defence of the Papacy three centuries before,——those missionary orders that had filled the best pulpits and the highest chairs of philosophy in the scholastic age,——had become inexhaustible subjects of sarcasm and mockery, for they were peddling relics and indulgences, and quarrelling among themselves. They were hated as inquisitors, despised as scholastics, and deserted as preachers; the roads and taverns were filled with them. Erasmus laughed at them, Luther abused them, and the Pope reproached them. No hope from such men as these, although they had once been re- nowned for their missions, their zeal, their learning, and their preaching. At this crisis Loyola and his companions volunteered their services, and offered to go wherever the Pope should send them, as preachers, or missionaries, or teach- ers, instantly, without discussion, conditions, or rewards. So the Pope accepted them, made them a new religious Order; and they did what the Mendicant Friars had done three hundred years before,——they fanned a new spirit, and rapidly spread over Europe, over all the countries to which Catholic adventurers had pene- trated, and became the most efficient allies that the popes ever had. This was in 1540, six years after the foundation of the Society of Jesus had been laid on the Mount of Martyrs, in the vicinity of Paris, during the pontificate of Paul III. Don Iñigo Lopez de Recalde Loyola, a Spaniard of noble blood an breeding, at first a page at the court of King Ferdinand, then a brave and chival- rous soldier, was wounded at the siege of Pampeluna. During a slow convalescence, having read all the ro- mances he could find, he took up the "Lives of the Saints," and became fired with religious zeal. He im- mediately forsook the pursuit of arms, and betook him- self barefooted to a pilgrimage. He served the sick in hospitals; he dwelt alone in a cavern, practising aus- terities; he went as a beggar on foot to Rome and to the Holy Land, and returned at the age of thirty-three to begin a course of study. It was while completing his studies at Paris that he conceived and formed the "Society of Jesus." From that time we date the counter-reformation. In fifty years more a wonderful change took place in the Catholic Church, wrought chiefly by the Jesuits. Yea, in sixteen years from that eventful night——when far above the star-lit city the enthusiastic Loyola had bound his six companions with irrevocable vows——he had established his Society in the confidence and affec- tion of Catholic Europe, against the voice of universities, the fears of monarchs, and the jealousy of the other monastic orders. In sixteen years, this ridiculed and wandering Spanish zealot had risen to a condition of great influence and dignity, second only in power to the Pope himself; animating the councils of the Vati- can, moving the minds of kings, controlling the souls of a numerous fraternity, and making his influence felt in every corner of the world. Before the remem- brance of his passionate eloquence, his eyes of fire, and his countenance of seraphic piety had passed away from the minds of his own generation, his disciples had planted their missionary stations among Peru- vian mines, in the marts of the African slave-trade, among the islands of the Indian Ocean, on the coasts of Hindustan, in the cities of Japan and China, in the re- cesses of Canadian forests, amid the wilds of the Rocky Mountains." They had the most important chairs in the universities; they were the confessors of mon- archs and men of rank; they had the control of the schools of Italy, France, Austria, and Spain; and they had become the most eloquent, learned, and fashionable preachers in all Catholic countries. They had grown to be a great institution,——an organization instinct with life, a mechanism endued with energy and will; form- ing a body which could outwatch Argus and his hun- dred eyes, and outwork Briareus with his hundred arms; they had twenty thousand eyes open upon every cabinet, every palace, and every private family in Catholic Europe, and twenty-thousand arms ex- tended over the necks of every sovereign and all their subjects,——a mighty moral and spiritual power, irre- sponsible, irresistible, omnipresent, connected intimately with the education, the learning, and the religion of the age; yea, the prime agents in political affairs, the prop alike of absolute monarchies and of the papal throne, whose interests they made identical. This association, instinct with one will and for one purpose, has been beautifully likened by Doctor Williams to the chariot in the Prophet's vision: "The spirit of the living creatures was in the wheels; wherever the living creatures went, the wheels went with them; wherever those stood, these stood: when the living creatures were lifted up, the wheels were lifted up over against them; and their wings were full of eyes round about, and they were so high that they were dreadful. So of the institution of Ignatius,——one soul swayed the vast mass; and every pin and every cog in the machinery consented with its whole power to every movement of the one central conscience." Luther moved Europe by ideas which emancipated the millions, and set in motion a progress which is the glory of our age; Loyola invented an agency which arrested this progress, and led the Catholic world back again into the subjections and despotisms of the Middle Ages, retaining however the fear of God and of Hell, which are the extremes of human motive. What is the secret of such a wonderful success? Two things: first, the extraordinary virtues, abilities, and zeal of the early Jesuits; and, secondly, their wonderful machinery in adapting means to an end. The history of society shows that no body of men ever obtained a wide-spread ascendancy, never secured general respect, unless they deserved it. Industry pro- duces its fruits; learning and piety have their natural results. Even in the moral world natural law asserts its supremacy. Hypocrisy and fraud ultimately will be detected; no enduring reputation is built upon a lie; sincerity and earnestness will call out respect, even from foes; learning and virtue are lights which are not hid under a bushel. Enthusiasm creates enthusiasm; a lofty life will be seen and honored. Nor do people intrust their dearest interests except to those whom they venerate,——and venerate because their virtues shine like the face of a goddess. We yield to those only whom we esteem wiser than ourselves. Moses controlled the Israelites because they venerated his wisdom and courage; Paul had the confidence of the infant churches because they saw his labors; Bernard swayed his darkened age by the moral power of learn- ing and sanctity. The mature judgments of centuries never have reversed the judgments which past ages gave in reference to their master minds. All the pedants and sophists of Europe cannot whitewash Frederic II. or Henry VIII. No man in Athens was more truly venerated than Socrates when he mocked his judges. Cicero, Augustine, Aquinas, appeared to contemporaries as they appear to us. Even Hildebrand did not juggle himself into his theocratic chair. Washington deserved all the reverence he enjoyed; and Bonaparte himself was worthy of the honors he received, so long as he was true to the interests of France. So of the Jesuits,——there is no mystery in their suc- cess; the same causes would produce the same results again. When Catholic Europe saw men born to wealth and rank voluntarily parting with their goods and honors; devoting themselves to religious duties, often in a humble sphere; spending their days in schools and hospitals; wandering as preachers and mission- aries amid privations and in fatigue; encountering perils and dangers and hardships with fresh and ever- sustained enthusiasm; and finally yielding up their lives as martyrs, to proclaim salvation to idolatrous savages,—— it knew them to be heroic, and believed them to be sin- cere, and honored them in consequence. When parents saw that the Jesuits entered heart and soul into the work of education, winning their pupils' hearts by kindness, watching their moods, directing their minds into congenial studies, and inspiring them with generous sentiments, they did not stop to pry into their motives; and universities, when they discovered the superior culture of educated Jesuits, outstripping all their as- sociates in learning, and shedding a light by their genius and erudition, very naturally appointed them to the highest chairs; and even the people, when they saw that the Jesuits were not stained by vulgar vices, but were hard-working, devoted to their labors, earnest, and eloquent, put themselves under their teachings; and especially when they added gentlemanly manners, good taste, and agreeable conversation to their unim- peachable morality and religious fervor, they made these men their confessors as well as preachers. Their lives stood out in glorious contrast with those of the old monks and the regular clergy, in an age of infidel levities, when the Italian renaissance was bearing its worst fruits, and men were going back to Pagan an- tiquity for their pleasures and opinions. That the early Jesuits blazed with virtues and learn- ing and piety has never been denied, although these things have been poetically exaggerated. The world was astonished at their intrepidity, zeal, and devotion. They were not at first intriguing, or ambitious, or covetous. They loved their Society; but they loved still more what they thought was the glory of God. Ad majoram Dei gloriam was the motto which was emblazoned on their standard when they went forth as Christian warriors to overcome the heresies of Christen- dom and the superstitions of idolaters. "The Jesuit missionary," says Stephen, "with his breviary under his arm, his beads at his girdle, and his crucifix in his hands, went forth without fear, to encounter the most dreadful dangers. Martyrdom was nothing to him; he knew that the altar which might stream with his blood, and the mound which might be raised over his remains, would become a cherished object of his fame and an expressive emblem of the power of his religion." "If I die," said Xavier, when about to visit the cannibal Island of Del Moro, "who knows but what all may receive the Gospel, since it is most certain it has ever fructified more abundantly in the field of Paganism by the blood of martyrs than by the labors of mission- aries,"——a sublime truth, revealed to him in his whole course of protracted martyrdom and active philan- thropy, especially in those last hours when, on the Island of Sanshan, he expired, exclaiming, as his fading eyes rested on the crucifix, In te Domine speravi, non con- fundar in eternum. "In perils, in fastings, in fatigues, was the life of this remarkable man passed, in order to convert the heathen world; and in ten years he had traversed a tract of more than twice the circumference of the earth, preaching, disputing, and baptizing, until seventy thousand converts, it is said, were the fruits of his mission." "My companion," said the fearless Marquette, when exploring the prairies of the Western wilderness, "is an envoy of France to discover new countries, and I am an ambassador of God to enlighten them with the Gospel." Lalemant, when pierced with the arrows of the Iroquois, rejoiced that his martyr- dom would induce others to follow his example. The missions of the early Jesuits extorted praises from Baxter and panegyric from Liebnitz. And not less remarkable than these missionaries were those who labored in other spheres. Loyola him- self, though visionary and monastic, had no higher wish than to infuse piety into the Catholic Church, and to strengthen the hands of him whom he regarded as God's viceregent. Somehow or other he succeeded in securing the absolute veneration of his companions, so much so that the sainted Xavier always wrote to him on his knees. His "Spiritual Exercises" has ever remained the great text-book of the Jesuits,——a com- pend of fasts and penances, of visions and of ecstasies; rivalling Saint Theresa herself in the rhapsodies of an exalted piety, showing the chivalric and romantic ardor of a Spanish nobleman directed into the channel of devotion to an invisible Lord. See this wounded soldier at the siege of Pampeluna, going through all the experiences of a Syriac monk in his Manresan cave, and then turning his steps to Paris to acquire a uni- versity education; associating only with the pious and the learned, drawing to him such gifted men as Faber and Xavier, Salmeron and Lainez, Borgia and Bobadilla, and inspiring them with his ideas and his fervor; living afterwards, at Venice, with Caraffa (the future Paul IV.) in the closest intimacy, preaching at Vicenza, and forming a new monastic code, as full of genius and originality as it was of practical wisdom, which became the foundation of a system of govern- ment never surpassed in the power of its mechanism to bind the minds and wills of men. Loyola was a most extraordinary man in the practical turn he gave to re- ligious rhapsodies; creating a legislation for his Society which made it the most potent religious organization in the world. All his companions were remarkable likewise for different traits and excellences, which yet were made to combine in sustaining the unity of this moral mechanism. Lainez had even a more compre- hensive mind than Loyola. It was he who matured the Jesuit Constitution, and afterwards controlled the Council of Trent,——a convocation which settled the creed of the Catholic Church, especially in regard to justification, and which extolled the merits of Christ, but attributed justification to good works in a different sense from that understood and taught by Luther. Aside from the personal gifts and qualities of the early Jesuits, they would not have so marvellously succeeded had it not been for their remarkable consti- tution,——that which bound the members of the Society together, and gave to it a peculiar unity and force. The most marked thing about it was the unbounded and unhesitating obedience required of every member to superiors, and of these superiors to the General of the Order,——so that there was but one will. This law of obedience is, as every one knows, one of the funda- mental principles of all the monastic orders from the earliest times, enforced by Benedict as well as Basil. Still there was a difference in the vow of obedience. The head of a monastery in the Middle Ages was almost supreme. The Lord Abbot was obedient only to the Pope, and he sought the interests of his monas- tery rather than those of the Pope. But Loyola exacted obedience to the General of the Order so absolutely that a Jesuit became a slave. This may seem a harsh epi- thet; there is nothing gained by using offensive words, but Protestant writers have almost universally made these charges. From their interpretation of the con- stitutions of Loyola and Lainez and Aquaviva, a mem- ber of the Society had no will of his own; he did not belong to himself, he belonged to his General,——as in the time of Abraham a child belonged to his father and a wife to her husband; nay, even still more completely. He could not write or receive a letter that was not read by his Superior. When he entered the order, he was obliged to give away his property, but could not give it to his relatives. When he made confession, he was obliged to tell his most intimate and sacred secrets. He could not aspire to any higher rank than that he held; he had no right to be ambitious, or seek his own individual interests; he was merged body and soul into the Society; he was only a pin in the machinery; he was bound to obey even his own servant, if required by his Superior; he was less than a private soldier in an army; he was a piece of wax to be moulded as the Superior directed,——and the Superior, in his turn, was a piece of wax in the hands of the Provincial, and he again in the hands of the General. "There were many gradations in rank, but every rank was a gradation in slavery." The Jesuit is accused of having no individual conscience. He was bound to do what he was told, right or wrong; nothing was right and nothing was wrong except as the Society pronounced. The General stood in the place of God. That man was the happiest who was most mechanical. Every novice had a monitor, and every monitor was a spy. So strict was the rule of Loyola, that he kept Francis Borgia, Duke of Gandia, three years out of the Society, because he re- fused to renounce all intercourse with his family. The Jesuit was obliged to make all natural ties sub- ordinate to the will of the General. And this General was a king more absolute than any worldly monarch, because he reigned over the minds of his subjects. His kingdom was an imperium in imperio; he was chosen for life and was responsible to no one, although he ruled for the benefit of the Catholic Church. In one sense a General of the Jesuits resembled the prime minister of an absolute monarch,——say such a man as Richelieu, with unfettered power in the cause of abso- lutism; and he ruled like Richelieu, through his spies, making his subordinates tools and instruments. The General appointed the presidents of colleges and of the religious houses; he admitted or dismissed, dispensed or punished, at his pleasure. There was no complaint; all obeyed his orders, and saw in him the representative of Divine Providence. Complaint was sin; resistance was ruin. It is hard for us to understand how any man could be brought voluntarily to submit to such a despot- ism. But the novice entering the order had to go through terrible discipline,——to be a servant, anything; to live according to rigid rules, so that his spirit was broken by mechanical duties. He had to learn the virtues of obedience before he could be fully enrolled in the So- ciety. He was drilled for years by spiritual sergeants more rigorously than a soldier in Napoleon's army: hence the efficiency of the body; it was a spiritual army of the highest disciplined troops. Loyola had been a soldier; he knew what military discipline could do,——how impotent an army is without it, what an awful power it is with discipline, and the severer the better. The best soldier of a modern army is he who has become an unconscious piece of machinery; and it was this unreflecting, unconditional obedience which made the Society so efficient, and the General himself, who controlled it, such an awful power for good or for evil. I am only speaking of the organization, the ma- chinery, the régime, of the Jesuits, not of their character, not of their virtues or vices. This organization is to be spoken of as we speak of the discipline of an army, ——wise or unwise, as it reached its end. The original aim of the Jesuits was the restoration of the Papal Church to its ancient power; and for one hundred years, as I think, the restoration of morals, higher education, greater zeal in preaching: in short, a refor- mation within the Church. Jesuitism was, of course, opposed to Protestantism; it hated the Protestants; it hated their religious creed and their emancipating and progressive spirit; it hated religious liberty. I need not dwell on other things which made this religious order so successful,——not merely their virtues and their mechanism, but their adaptation to the chang- ing spirit of the times. They threw away the old dresses of monastic life; they quitted the cloister and places of meditation; they were preachers as well as scholars; they accommodated themselves to the circumstances of the times; they wore the ordinary dress of gentlemen; they remained men of the world, of fine manners and cultivated speech; there was nothing ascetic or re- pulsive about them, out in the world; they were all things to all men, like politicians, in order to accom- plish their ends; they never were lazy, or profligate or luxurious. If their Order became enriched, they as individuals remained poor. The inferior members were not even ambitious; like good soldiers, they thought of nothing but the work assigned to them. Their pride and glory were the prosperity of their Order,——an in- tense esprit de corps, never equalled by any body of men. This, of course, while it gave them efficiency, made them narrow. They could see the needle on the barn-door,——they could not see the door itself. Hence there could be no agreement with them, no argument with them, except on ordinary matters; they were as zealous as Saul, seeking to make proselytes. They yielded nothing except in order to win; they never compromised their Order in their cause. Their fidelity to their head was marvellous; and so long as they con- fined themselves to the work of making people better, I think they deserved praise. I do not like their military organization, but I should have no more right to abuse it than the organization of some Protestant sects. That is a matter of government; all sects and all parties, Catholic and Protestant, have a right to choose their own government to carry out their ends, even as military generals have a right to organize their forces in their own way. The history of the Jesuits shows this,——that an organization of forces, or what we call discipline or government, is a great thing. A church without a government is a poor affair, so far as efficiency is concerned. All churches have something to learn from the Jesuits in the way of discipline. John Wesley learned something; the In- dependents learned very little.
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2018.03.30 20:43 MarleyEngvall Tractates: Cryptica Scriptura (by Philip K. Dick)
2015.11.18 02:33 Trevor_Blanchard The Jig is Up, The News is Out
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