University of California. 
 
 G-It'T OF 
 
 

 
>ii» 
 
THE 
 
 EARLY CONFLICTS OF CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 BY THE 
 
 REV. WM. INGRAHAM KIP, D.D. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "the CHRISTMAS HOLVDAYS IN ROME," "THE DOUBLE WITNESS OF 
 
 THE CHURCH," "the LENTEN FAST," "THE EARLY JESUIT MISSIONS 
 
 IN NORTH AMERICA," ETC. ETC. ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 200 BROADWAY. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 GEO. S. APPLETON, 164 CHESNUT-ST. 
 
 LONDON:— LONGMAN, BROWN & CO., PATERNOSTER-ROW. 
 
 MDCCCL. 
 
ti^ 
 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849, 
 
 By D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 
 District of New York. 
 
TO 
 
 THE RIGHT REVEREND 
 
 GEORGE BURGESS, D. D. 
 
 BISHOP OF MAINE, 
 HIS BROTHER 
 
 Xti»crfiie» tjjfs TJolume, 
 
 IN TOKEN OF 
 
 AFFECTIONATE REGARD. 
 
Digitizedby the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/earlyconflictsofOOkipwrich 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 We believe that few among tliose who profess 
 and call themselves Christians have a clear idea 
 of the difficulties to which our faith was sub- 
 jected in the earliest ages of its existence, or the 
 severity of the conflict through which it was 
 obliged to pass. And yet it was a contest sancti- 
 fied to us by deeds of heroic daring such as else- 
 where the world has never seen. It was no 
 sudden outbreak, exhausting itself in one burst 
 of enthusiasm, but a power of endurance exhibit- 
 ed through long centuries, until at last the vic- 
 tory was won, and the despised faith was throned 
 in the high places of the earth. It was a war- 
 fare, too, not against one form of evil alone, but 
 against all that the world could summon to its 
 aid, in the pride of intellect or the opposition of 
 a perverted nature. 
 
6 PEEFACE. 
 
 It is tlius, that, throwing ourselves back into 
 tliat age, we have endeavored to display the 
 faith, tracing as clearly as possible its successive 
 triumphs over every enemy. There is nothing 
 new in the following pages — no attempt at origi- 
 nality of view — for every thing which is brought 
 forward on these subjects must necessarily be 
 gleaned from the writings of those who have 
 gone before us. It is on the manner only in 
 which these truths are presented, that we must 
 rest our claim to attention. History is generally 
 too much broken up into distinct periods, and 
 the natural course of events interrupted, to mark 
 the end of particular centuries. Of this, Mo- 
 sheim's Ecclesiastical History is the most glaring 
 example. The consequence often is a confusion 
 in the mind of an ordinary reader, as turning 
 from one subject to another, he is obliged to re- 
 sume the thread of the narrative where some 
 time ago it was abandoned. It is this we have 
 endeavored to avoid, tracing — as far as is neces- 
 sary for the general reader — through successive 
 centuries, the gradual waning of a particular 
 form of opposition, until its power was broken, 
 
PEEFACE. 7 
 
 and it ceased to be numbered among tlie for- 
 midable enemies of the faitli. 
 
 This narrative leaves the Church indeed in the 
 hour of its triumph, yet still when clouds were 
 beginning to darken the horizon, and the faith 
 was declining from its early purity. But this is 
 only the first chapter in its history. There are 
 two more which should be wiitten to complete 
 the view. The second comprises the period of 
 the Middle Ages, when a feudal tyranny over- 
 spread Europe, and nothing but the influence of 
 the Church — though she was forced to prophesy 
 in sackcloth — prevented the elements of society 
 from rushing into ruinous conflict. The third 
 embraces the narrative of that awakening of in- 
 tellect which is known by the name of the Refor- 
 mation — a fearful convulsion, when the human 
 mind on the Continent, throwing off its ancient 
 chains, ran wild in the enjoyment of its liberty, 
 emancipating itself indeed from the fetters of 
 superstition, yet deserting every old landmark, 
 and in the course of three centuries passing into 
 the coldness of neology or the utter dreariness 
 of infidelity. We are left to look to England 
 > 
 
8 PREFACE. 
 
 alone for tlie picture of a true Catholic Churcli, 
 freed from Romisli errors, yet retaining all that 
 is taught by Scripture and primitive antiquity. 
 
 Whether the present writer — even if life and 
 health are spared — shall be enabled to complete 
 the task thus marked out, is doubtful. It de- 
 pends somewhat upon the reception with which 
 this volume shall meet from those for whom it 
 is intended ; and also, whether as the shadows 
 lengthen in his path of life, and the claims upon 
 his time are each year increasing, he will be able 
 to turn aside from his professional duties long 
 enough to make those investigations which the 
 importance of these subjects demands. 
 
 Albany, Dec.y 1849. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PASK 
 
 I-^UDAISM 13 
 
 II.— GRECIAN PHILOSOPHY 81 
 
 III.— THE LICENTIOUS SPIRIT OF THE AGE . . .153 
 IV.— BARBARISM 186 
 
 v.— THE PAGAN MYTHOLOGY 226 
 
THE 
 
 EARLY CONFLICTS OF CHRISTIANITY. 
 
41' 
 
JUDAISM. 
 
 Our Lord "came not to send peace but a sword on the 
 earth." The notes which angels sang at His birth, pro- 
 claiming as the effect of His advent, " on earth peace, good- 
 will toward men," seemed to die away over the hills of Judea, 
 and the lesson which they taught to be utterly forgotten. The 
 New Dispensation was welcomed only by the shout of scorn or 
 the defiance of open hostility. Its earliest Herald ended His 
 short and troubled life upon the Cross. And how fared it then 
 with the infant church — the httle flock from which the Shep- 
 herd was thus torn away? It found itself in an arena of 
 deadly strife. To whichever side it turned, it was met by 
 bitter opposition. Its situation may aptly be compared to 
 that of one of its followers, as he stood for martyrdom in a 
 Pagan amphitheatre. Around him were the wild beasts of 
 the forest ravening for his blood, and above him, circle on 
 circle, were foes more fierce than they, who had doomed him 
 to a cruel death. " He saw that there was no man, and won- 
 dered that there was no intercessor." Thus it was that Chris- 
 tianity stood amid the dominant systems of this world. » 
 «K 2 
 
14 ' JUDAISM. 
 
 But not like the early martyr did it sink and die before its 
 foes. Its path indeed was marked with blood — the noblest of 
 its champions offered up their lives upon its altar — but it 
 survived. It came forth from the conflict leaving its enemies 
 stricken and prostrate. It was " persecuted, but not forsaken : 
 cast down, but not destroyed." Realizing the classic fable of 
 Antaeus, who when stricken to the earth derived new vigor 
 from the touch of the mighty Mother, so the Church sprang 
 up from every struggle with fresh strength for the next, and 
 triumphed in every contest. The Ark of Truth floated unin- 
 jured down the stream of time amid the wrecks of the religions 
 it had crushed. 
 
 We look back to this as a history of the Church's glory. 
 We rejoice as we see her thus confronting every enemy and 
 yielding to none. We feel that the martyr's undying courage 
 is a part of our heritage, and that the glory he won in his 
 spiritual conflicts is the common property of a brotherhood 
 to which we also belong. But how seldom do we realize the 
 severity of that contest through which the faith was obliged 
 to pass ! We meet with traces of it in the Word of God, as 
 it relates the trials which gathered about the Apostles, when 
 persecuted in one city they were obhged to flee to another, and 
 found that the faith was " everywhere spoken against." But 
 to comprehend it fully we must take a wider view of the state 
 of the world, and the condition of those systems against which 
 Christianity was obliged to array itself. We must throw our- 
 selves completely back into the age when our Lord and his 
 
JUDAISM. 15 
 
 Apostles went forth as teachers of this new religion through 
 the villages of Galilee ; we must try to sympathize with the 
 Jew in those habits and feehngs which formed the national 
 character of the people ; we must understand the tone of pub- 
 lic sentiment while they were crushed by the Roman power, 
 ^nd the influence of those stirring events which quickened every 
 pulse from Idumea to Lebanon, till all at last were maddened 
 to desperation ; we must appreciate the hold which rites com- 
 ing down from a dim and distant antiquity had upon those who 
 were trained to regard them as sacred and unchangeable. And 
 the same course must be pursued, not only with the people of 
 that Holy Land which our Lord " environed with his blessed 
 feet," but with those of every other country in which we trace 
 the progress of the faith. Thus we shall be able to identify 
 ourselves with the past — to understand the nature of that war- 
 fare through which Christianity passed, as it slowly developed 
 itself into strength, and won its way among the adverse ele- 
 ments it encountered, not only in Judea, but throughout the 
 earth. 
 
 This is the task we purpose to attempt. We would gather 
 from the pages of ecclesiastical history the allusions to that 
 mighty conflict of opinions which then stirred society to its 
 very depths, to portray, as fully as our limits will allow, the 
 contest our faith waged with Judaism — with the philosophy of 
 Greece — the licentiousness of Corinth — the degrading errors 
 of barbarism — and that beautiful classical mythology which 
 was nowhere so powerful as under the protection of the domi- 
 
16 JUDAISM. 
 
 nant hierarcliy of Pagan Rome. With all these antagonists in 
 succession St. Paul found himself in conflict. Against all these 
 errors he was forced to contend. We have therefore only to 
 trace him in his progress, and the changing scenes of his min- 
 istry will bring before us the varied battle-fields on which our 
 faith was called to struggle, not only for power, but even for 
 existence. 
 
 St. Paul began his labors — as our Lord directed all his dis- 
 ciples — among " his brethren, his l^nsmen after the flesh, who 
 were Israehtes." To adopt the language of the sacred histo- 
 rian, "he preached Christ in the synagogues.'* This, then, 
 presents us with a view of Christianity in conflict with 
 Judaism. 
 
 We know that everywhere the Jew. arrayed himself against 
 the faith with the most relentless hostihty, and that thus the 
 worst foes the Apostles met, were " they of their own house- 
 hold." And we can easily discern those peculiar features of 
 Judaism which so enlisted all the feelings and prejudices of its 
 worshippers, and rendered them deaf to every argument which 
 might attack its permanency. One of these was the exclusive 
 nature of its rites. The Jews felt that they occupied a peculiar 
 position in the world — that God had selected them to be the 
 special guardians of his tnith — and that whenever they wan- 
 dered from it, retribution followed in their steps. . The Unity 
 of the Godhead was the great doctrine they were called to 
 support, and this they were to maintain single-handed against 
 all the world. Everywhere else, this cardinal truth, if not 
 
JTJDAISM. 17 
 
 utterly extinct, was but dimly recognised as " the recondite 
 treasure of a high and learned class," or a conclusion held with 
 no steady grasp by the philosophical few who had adopted it 
 in their creed. But in the popular theology it was entirely 
 unknown. The symbols which an early priesthood had devised 
 to represent the attributes of God, had become themselves the 
 deities of later generations. The Persians learned to worship 
 the pure immaterial fire which had displayed the Theism of 
 their ancestors, and the forms by which the priests of Memphis 
 ani Heliopohs shadowed forth their views of the One Supreme, 
 their mystic import forgotten, became in after ages the count- 
 less gods of Egypt. 
 
 With the Jew alone the Divine Unity was the very ground- 
 work of- his creed, and a truth distinctly recognised by every 
 class, from the learned Rabbi in the courts of the sanctuary, 
 to the humblest vine-dresser on the hills of Hebron. Alone 
 among all the nations of the earth, their temple held no 
 " graven image ;" and when the conqueror Pompey entered 
 the Holy Place, he learned with wonder, says Tacitus, that it 
 contained no emblem of the Deity whose sanctuary he had 
 violated.* Heathen writers, too, observed the fact, and some- 
 times recorded their astonishment at a spiritual worship, the 
 subhmity of which they seemed unable to appreciate. Its 
 grandeur was lost even upon the philosophical historian of 
 
 * Hist. v. 9. Nulla intus Deum eflSgie, vacuam sedem et inania ar- 
 cana. 
 
 2* 
 
18 JUDAISM. 
 
 Rome, though he recognised the fact itself, and in a single 
 sentence described their doctrine.* The poet, too, who pours 
 out his sarcasms so bitterly upon the vices of his countrymen, 
 on one occasion turns aside to give a distorted view of the 
 tenets of the Jews, and states it as a truth, that they adored 
 nothing but the clouas and the Divinity that fills the heavens — 
 
 " Nil prseter nubes et coeli nmnen adorent."f 
 
 Each prophet inculcated upon the Hebrews the truth, that 
 idolatry was to be their national peril and their national crime. 
 The Deity they worshipped was " a jealous God," and apos- 
 tacy, even in a single city, if not atoned for, was to bring upon 
 the whole land weakness and servitude, Judea was the for- 
 tress of the truth, and among its rugged heights and through 
 its deep valleys, the chosen people dwelt from age to age as 
 guardians of the honor of their Sovereign, though beleaguered 
 by unnumbered foes. Difficult indeed was the warfare com- 
 mitted to these simple and pastoral tribes, for the idolatrous 
 nations which hemmed them in on every side were " greater 
 and mightier than themselves," and the worship of their 
 " strange gods" gorgeous and seductive. With the faith they 
 were to support, Egypt, Philistia, and Sidon, — the Chaldean, 
 the Assyrian, and the Grecian, — could have no sympathy, and 
 Israel therefore stood alone. Through all the changes of so- 
 
 * Judsei mente sola, unuinque numen intelligunt — Summura illud et 
 aRternum, neque miitabile, neque interiturum. Tac. Hist. v. 5. 
 ' 'Mv. xiv. 141 
 
JUDAISM. 19 
 
 ciety — in every gradation, from the barbarism of a nomadic 
 tribe to the luxury which marked their closing years — the Jews 
 remained an unmingled people. In every step, left as they 
 were in a measure to work out their own advance in civiliza- 
 tion, and displaying ever the virtues and the vices peculiar to 
 the state through which they were passing, they retained that 
 great lesson for the preservation of which Abraham had been 
 forced to leave the home of his idolatrous fathers, lest their 
 Isabian worship should infect his children. Thus, we have 
 always the same picture before us. Under the tents of the 
 Syrian shepherds, when they wandered over the wide and open 
 plains of inland Asia — in the gorgeous temple of Solomon, — or 
 when Grecian art endeavored in vain to graft its refinements 
 on the rigid system of the Mosaic law — they preserved the 
 simplicity of their creed, or if for a time they wandered, re- 
 turned again with new devotion to cling to their belief in the 
 Unity of God. It is therefore a high compliment which Gibbon 
 pays them, when he bitterly says — " The sullen obstinacy with 
 which they maintained their peculiar rites and imsocial manners, 
 seemed to mark them out a distinct species of men, who boldly 
 professed, or who faintly disguised, their implacable hatred to 
 the rest of human kind. Neither the violence of Antiochus, nor 
 the acts of Herod, nor the example of the chcumjacent nations, 
 could ever persuade the Jews to associate with the institutions 
 of Moses the elegant mythology of the Greeks."* What the 
 
 * Decline and Fall, ch, xv. 
 
20 JUDAISM. 
 
 skeptical historian regarded as religious fanaticism, was with 
 them the result of a deep, settled, and conscientious feehng. 
 
 And this was the very object of Providence. This solitary- 
 attachment of the IsraeUtes to their sacred code was to per- 
 petuate an immutable faith. They were to be different from 
 every other people, and their system to be what no other nation 
 had imagined. They were withdrawn from the rest of their 
 fellow-beings, by isolating them amidst a multitude gf rites 
 and ceremonies, to occupy their unsteady spirits. These were 
 gorgeous, to indulge them in their sensual tastes, as far as 
 possible without violating the adoration of the Creator; and 
 the people were hostile to their neighbors, that they might 
 never be seduced to blend with them.* "A great gulf" they 
 could not pass, was to separate them from the dark and san- 
 guinary superstition of Moloch, the licentious worship of 
 Baalpeor, and the impure and flagitious rites of the Babylonian 
 Mylitta, of Chemosh and Ashtaroth. 
 
 We can imagine, then, how deeply this system must have 
 been graven on the hearts and linked to the prejudices of the 
 people. And yet against it— -so cherished and time-honored — 
 the new faith seemed to be arrayed. Christianity proclaimed 
 that Judaism was intended only for the childhood of the hu- 
 man race, but the time had now amved when they should 
 " put away childish things ;" that it was to be the conservator 
 of the truth, while, age after age, the promises of Redemption 
 
 * D' Israelis Genius of Judaism, p. '75. 
 
JUDAISM. 21 
 
 were slowly brightening ; but now, " the fulness of time" had 
 come, and its mission was fulfilled. It needed nothing else, 
 therefore, to summon up against the faith the fanaticism of 
 every sect among the Jews, for with all it was equally uncom- 
 promising. With the Pharisee, it poured contempt upon his 
 boasted learjiing, and swept away the long list of traditions, 
 which ages had been building up, until every action of the Jew 
 was feared with a grievous bondage. The lawyers — the in- 
 terpreters of the Sacred Books — were filled with dismay, while 
 they listened to one who assumed authority over the divinely 
 inspired institutes of their ancient Lawgiver, because Moses 
 was only " faithful in all his house as a servant ;" but He 
 Himself " as a son over his own house" — while the Sadducee 
 felt that the very existence of his sect depended on the defeat 
 of Christianity. The members of this increasing party in the 
 Sanhedrim had, at an early period of our Lord's ministry, been 
 brought into collision with Him, and retired from the contest 
 silenced and ashamed. And as the new faith became more 
 fully revealed, and "the rising from the dead" stood forth as 
 one of its prominent articles, it was of course committed in 
 irreconcilable hostility with those whose leading doctrine was 
 " that there is no resurrection, neither angel nor spirit."* 
 
 In addition to this, the fact that to the Gentiles the Gospel 
 was preached, gave a final blow to every thing which enabled 
 the Jews exclusively to appropriate the promises to themselves. 
 
 * Acts, xxiii 8. 
 
22 JUDAISM. 
 
 Enslaved as they were to ancient prejudices, this doctrine was 
 alone sufficient to array them against the innovating faith. It 
 was something utterly inconsistent with the privileges of the 
 chosen people, and the cherished idea from which they parted 
 most reluctantly was the belief, that for them alone were re- 
 served the promised blessings of the Messiah's reign. It clung 
 to them even after they had become the disciples of our Lord, 
 and the first Christian teachers were Jews in the inve^acy of 
 their prejudices. Of their early narrow views they could not 
 divest themselves. They had, indeed, found the Messiah — 
 they preached Him to their own countrymen — but they be- 
 lieved not that any except of the lineage of Abraham were to 
 share in these blessings. In His death and sufferings they re- 
 cognised the fulfilment of those prophecies which portrayed 
 Him as *' the man of sorrows and acquainted with grief," and 
 now they waited for the hour when He should be revealed in 
 His glory, and sitting on the throne of David, reign over a 
 Kingdom without limit and without end. Even in those fear- 
 ful days, when He still lingered on earth after His resurrection, 
 this idea was still predominant, and an Apostle could put to 
 Him the question — " Lord, wilt thou at this time restore again 
 the kingdom to Israel ?" Before that generation should pass 
 away, they expected all these things to be fulfilled — a day of 
 triumph once more dawn upon the favored people as they 
 gathered around their King — and the redeemed Jew, released 
 from his thraldom, behold the Roman crushed before him, and 
 his country's sceptre swaying a wider dominion than in the 
 
JUDAISM. 23 
 
 days of Solomon. There is, therefore, nothing more striking 
 in the whole history of our faith than the manner in which it 
 acted on the minds of the Apostles themselves, gradually 
 emancipating them from the nan^owness of their Jewish pre- 
 judices, and imparting a wider and more comprehensive view. 
 Their contracted horizon expanded as hght was poured in upon 
 their minds ; it passed the borders of the Holy Land, and, like 
 the horizon in the natural world, receding as the ministers of 
 the truth advanced, lured them on to nobler conquests. One 
 barrier after another was swept away — first the proselytes of 
 the gate were admitted within the pale — then the whole Gentile 
 world was welcomed into their bond of brotherhood, and St. 
 Paul could make the sublime announcement, as embodying the 
 spirit of his faith — " There is neither Greek nor Jew, circum- 
 cision nor uncircumcision. Barbarian, Scythian, bond nor free ; 
 but Christ is all, and in all." Thus, at last, every film of pre- 
 judice was removed, and they were prepared to go forth to 
 the work of the world's redemption. To them Jesus had 
 ceased to be only the Messiah of the Jews, and they had 
 learned to recognise Him in His loftier office of Redeemer of 
 the whole human race. Yet we perceive how slow were the 
 successive steps by which they reached this point, and freed 
 their minds from the inveterate influence of the rehgion in 
 which they had been trained. 
 
 But this was too high, too mysterious a view for the narrow 
 vision of the Jewish Rabbis. They reahzed that their contest 
 with the new faith had depending on it no trifling results. It 
 
24 JUDAISM. 
 
 was not a warfare between rival sects for supremacy over the 
 public mind. It was a struggle for the maintenance of that 
 whole existing system on which their power was built up — ^for 
 the life or death of that authority which they wielded with 
 such despotic rule over a priest-ridden people. Let all Israel 
 once acknowledge Jesus to be the Messiah, and their spiritual 
 aristocracy was gone — their hierarchy must descend from its 
 high place and be like the rest, mere learners in the school of 
 Christ. Remove that passionate jealousy with which the peo- 
 ple looked upon the ceremonial law, and it was smiting to the 
 groimd that majestic fabric which ages had been rearing into 
 symmetry and beauty. And with it, of course, fell the power 
 and influence of its teachers. What, to the Christian, was the 
 profound study of the Rabbi, which enabled him to decide on 
 the ambiguous passages of the Levitical law ? What cared he 
 for the acuteness of the scribe or the subtlety of the lawyer, 
 when he had rejected the traditions they spent their lives in 
 unfolding ? To him the ancient Cabala was invested with no 
 authority, and the learning of the older wise meft was set aside 
 for the simple teaching of Him who " spake as never man 
 spake." To his eyes the wisdom of the synagogue and the 
 school was obsolete. He had listened to nobler instructions, 
 and his spirit rejoiced in loftier hopes and more cheering con- 
 solations than the rulers of Israel could minister to him. They 
 looked, therefore, upon the Christian as an irreclaimable apos- 
 tate, and one whose influence was fatal to all that most they 
 prized. It was breaking the chains with which this hierarchy 
 
JUDAISM. 25 
 
 had so long enslaved the public mind — it was sweeping away 
 that popular reverence on which their supremacy rested — and 
 stripping them at once of that pride of superior wisdom they 
 had so long enjoyed and abused. And to whom were they to 
 yield the sceptre of their power ? Who were to fill the lofty 
 seats they were called to abandon ? A peasant of Galilee, 
 with his disciples, fishermen, and tax-gatherers — ^leaders with 
 regard to whom their own associates could ask, " Whence 
 have these men learning ?" Can we wonder, then, that every 
 feeling and passion was stirred up from its lowest depths — that 
 habit, and pride, and interest united to awaken their animosity 
 against the rising faith — and that they i-eplied to the holy pre- 
 cepts of its Teacher only with a sneer or an anathema ? 
 
 It would be impossible to find any sect among the Jews 
 which was disposed to make common cause with Christianity, 
 or rather, whose prejudices did not at once array them against 
 it. In the progress of the sacred narrative we see this de- 
 veloped, as our Lord and His disciples encountered either the 
 contemptuous scorn of the Herodian and the aristocratic Sad- 
 ducee,* or the fanatical rage of the zealot and the Pharisee. 
 But of one sect alone, the Essenes, we find no mention there, 
 nor does our Lord, in His discourses, seem ever to allude to 
 them. Yet we know, from their tenets, that in this respect 
 
 * The sect of the Sadducees was confined to the wealthy and influential 
 men, principally in the metropolis and cities. John Hircanus, the High- 
 Priest, imited himself with them, and after his death his sons continued 
 to favor them. 
 
 3 
 
26 JUDAISM. 
 
 they could have formed no exception to their countrymen. 
 They were the predecessors of the Therapeutae of Egypt, and 
 in a later day, of the monks in the Christian Church. The 
 same regions which, at the coming of our Lord, witnessed the 
 emaciated forms of these Jewish ascetics, three centuries after- 
 wards exhibited the folly of the StyHtes.* Retiring from the 
 world to the shores of the Dead Sea, the Essenes dwelt on 
 some highly cultivated oases in the desert, among groves of 
 palm-trees, of which, according to the picturesque expression 
 of Pliny, they were the companions. Amid fertile fields, won 
 from the barren wilderness, they passed their rigid and ascetic 
 lives. They neither married nor gave in marriage — they 
 neither bought nor sold, but all things were in common, and 
 they gained their support from the earth by the sweat of 
 their brow. Silent and unsocial, each one wrapped in his own 
 thoughts, a quiet reigned through their habitations like that 
 which now marks a Carthusian monastery. " Wonderful na- 
 tion!" says the Roman naturalist, "which endures for cen- 
 turies, but in which no child is ever bom !" 
 
 With the tenets of the Jewish law they seemed to have but 
 little in common, or rather, we should say, they had abandoned 
 almost every thing that made Judaism distinctive. They went 
 not up to Jerusalem, nor offered sacrifices in the temple ; and 
 the Heaven to which they looked forward was more hke the 
 fabled Elysium of the Greeks, than any thmg which revelation 
 
 * MosheinCa Eccles. Htst, v. i cap. 3, sect. 12. 
 
JUDAISM. 2T 
 
 holds out as our future rest. Still less would their creed ac- 
 cord with the free and lofty spirit of Christianity. It might 
 agree with the faith in its abolition of the ceremonial law and 
 the substitution of a more spiritual worship in its place, but 
 beyond this every thing would be repugnant to that system in 
 which the Essene had embodied his faith. He was as much 
 the slave to forms and minute observances as the strictest 
 Pharisee, who prayed at the comer of the streets, or tithed 
 out, with scrupulous accuracy, his "anise, mint, and cummin." 
 But, unhke the Pharisee, he never attempted to disseminate 
 his principles. He sought no proselytes, and could never have 
 sympathized with that aggressive spirit of the Gospel, which 
 bid its followers inculcate the truth wherever sinning, suffering 
 man could be found to hsten. Essenism was, indeed, a form 
 of that wide-spread Oriental philosophy which, in after ages, 
 under the name of Manihaeism, infected for a time the 
 Cluirches of Asia. Its main principle was, that all matter is 
 the creation of an Evil Being ; and, therefore, life must be 
 spent in the most severe mortification of this material body 
 which interfered with the purity of the immaterial spirit. . Its 
 appetites and propensities of every kind were, in themselves, 
 evil. Every pleasure was forbidden as sin, and the entire ex- 
 tinction of the passions of the body was inculcated as the only 
 real virtue. In this they agreed with the stem teaching of the 
 Grecian Stoic, but not with the lessons of Him who dignified 
 our mortal nature by Himself assuming it, and who hath de- 
 clared that the body is " the temple of the Holy Ghost," and 
 
28 JUDAISM. 
 
 is to be again lifted up from the dust of dissolution and made 
 fit forever to be the tabernacle of its spiritual and glorified 
 partner. Is there not, too, something significant in the fact, 
 that our Lord seems never to have brought His Gospel before 
 the members of this monastic fraternity ? He appears never 
 to have encountered them, though he mixed with men of every 
 class, and every shade of opinion — the self-righteous Pharisees 
 and the despised publicans and sinners — and in His repeated 
 journeys, we can trace Him through every district of the Holy 
 Land, except that near the Dead Sea, in which the agricul- 
 tural settlements of the Essenes were situated.* 
 
 These then were the different sects of Judaism. Upon all 
 of them the exclusive spirit of its rites was acting, creating 
 that narrowness of view which was sufficient to array them 
 against a faith whose gentle lessons and expanded charity were 
 a reproach to all. 
 
 But another consideration — the people were attached to the 
 rites of their law from their venerable antiquity. It is a strange 
 coincidence that the language of the Hebrews contains no 
 present tense. How singularly adapted to the state of a peo- 
 
 * MilmarCs Hist, of Christianity, v. i. p. 158. Philo divides the Es- 
 senes into two classes, the practical and the contemplative, the former 
 dwelt in Palestine and the latter chiefly in Egypt. It is to these, called 
 the Therapeutae, that many learned men suppose St. Paul refers, when 
 he warns the Colossians against "volimtary humility," and "worshipping 
 of angels," and where he censures that kind of " will worship, and hu- 
 mility, and neglecting of the body," which distinguished these Egyptian 
 ascetics. 
 
JUDAISM. 29 
 
 pie who had themselves no present — who, deep in the shadows 
 of the past, seemed to have flitted on the scene from some pre- 
 existerit state, and whose gaze was either backward to the 
 glories of an earlier day, or forward to the nobler revelations 
 which the future promised ! Yet hving thus with the past, 
 how must the institutions of their faith have become entwined 
 with every feeling of reverence and aflfection ! With them, every 
 thing was ancient — nothing obsolete. They felt that these 
 rites were inculcated on their fathers, while " the earth shook 
 and the heavens also dropped at the presence of God." The 
 fires of Sinai proclaimed the deliverance of this law to Moses. 
 The appearance of the Deity — an appearance without simili- 
 tude — rested before the eye of mortal man, and millions of 
 human witnesses attested and trembled. From amidst the 
 dense cloud resting on the awful mountain, "the voice of 
 words" sanctified and established Judaism to them forever; 
 and when their leader returned from the lofty peak where he 
 had been alone with God, the awe-struck people beheld his 
 face so radiant with the reflected glory before which he had 
 been standing, that they could not gaze upon it, and he was 
 obliged to cover it with a veil. Thus they received their 
 system of behef and worship, and it is to this that the Law- 
 giver sublimely refers when he says — " He is thy God, that 
 hath done for thee these great and terrible things, which thine 
 eyes have seen." These wonders formed the legends of the 
 people which they rehearsed to each other as they sat in 
 their homes, or met together on their holy festivals, and it was 
 
 3* 
 
30 JUDAISM. 
 
 on these awful revelations that they rested the foundation of 
 their faith. It was to these, too, that the Pharisees exultingly 
 appealed, when as an answer to the miracles of Jesus, they 
 replied, "We know that God spake unto Moses." 
 
 They saw also that the laws of other legislators had passed 
 away, for their views were transient as the glory of the people 
 to whom they administered. Mysterious Egypt, with her les- 
 sons of wisdom which were ancient when Greece was young — 
 Media and Persia, with their laws pronounced unchangeable — 
 Assyria with her mighty power, and Babylon with her magnifi- 
 cence — all the nations with whom through the lapse of centu- 
 ries the chosen people had been brought into contact, had in 
 succession lost the sceptre which once they wielded, and their 
 codes become only records on the page of history. And over 
 each mighty empire, as its greatness sank in ruin, the Hebrew 
 prophets had uttered their sublime funeral anthem, like the 
 tragic chorus of the Greeks, as they calmly watched the pro- 
 gress of some awful drama.* But " the fewest of all people" 
 were still a nation hving among these wrecks of the past, and 
 surviving the spoilers who had formerly trampled them be- 
 neath their feet. And the laws of Moses — unaltered as they 
 were once delivered to their race, breathing the inspiration in 
 which they originated — after countless ages, were still guiding 
 their unchangeable tribes, and were thus commended to their 
 affections by claims which each year was strengthening. 
 
 * Milman's Hist, of Jews, I 243. 
 
JUDAISM. 31 
 
 And how much was there to enlist the attachment of the 
 worshippers ! Solemn as were the sanctions of their faith, 
 there was much in its festivals which was joyous and calculated 
 to brighten the chain of brotherhood which linked together 
 their distant tribes. See them in the autumn, when, the vin- 
 tage over, the Feast of Tabernacles called them to rejoice. 
 When the gardens and fields had begun to assume the sear 
 and yellow hue of the declining year, the environs of their vil- 
 lages were again covered with a sudden verdure. The palm, 
 the fir, the myrtle, and the pomegranate, were compelled to 
 yield their more durable fohage ; and while the fields were 
 parched by the heat of the sun, and the vineyards had been 
 already stripped, at once Spring appeared to return with all 
 its variety of colors. 
 
 " The thickly woven boughs they wreathe, 
 A soft reviving odor breathe 
 
 Of summer's gentle reign." 
 
 The citrons and apples of Paradise glowed amidst the dark 
 green of the bowers, and when the evening star appeared in 
 heaven above the western sea, every family, after the customa- 
 ry ablutions, left its dweUing to occupy its tabernacle, thus 
 commemorating the years their fathers dwelt in tents during 
 their passage through the wilderness. The inhabitants of Je- 
 rusalem beheld at once thousands of lamps sparkhng forth on 
 the Mount of Olives, in the vale of Kedron, and on the roofs 
 of the houses in their city, seeming like stars of the earth, an- 
 swering to those by which the heavens were already over- 
 
32 JUDAISM. 
 
 spread.* And the gentle breeze which stirred the leaves of 
 their bowers brought on its wings the sounds of festivity and 
 pautual congratulations, as they echoed on every side amidst 
 the music of the harp and cymbals. It was indeed a season 
 of rejoicing ; and each year, as the sacred festival came round, 
 was renewed that scene witnessed at its first celebration after 
 the captivity, when Ndhemiah declared, "there was very 
 great gladness. "f Then the song and dance were heard in 
 the vineyards of Heshbon and Esdraelon, while loftier recollec- 
 tions cheered their hearts than any which could gladden those 
 who on the banks of the Ilissus rejoiced at the gathering of 
 the grapes. No laughter of mad votaries echoed through 
 their tabernacles, no frantic bacchanals degraded their week 
 of festivity, no dances of the satyrs spoke of the rites of 
 heathenism^ — but the daughters of Israel, as they moved in 
 graceful measures, thought of Miriam by the Red Sea, and 
 their hearts responded, 
 
 " I will sing unto the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously." 
 
 Still more striking was the yearly gathering of their people 
 at Jerusalem at the feast of the Passover. To the hill of God, 
 the habitation of their Heavenly King, they turned with glad- 
 
 * HelorCs Pilgrimage, ii. 230, \ Neh. viii. V]. 
 
 X Under the persecution of Antiochus, as a last insult, the feasts of the 
 BacchanaHa were substituted for the national festival of Tabernacles, and 
 the reluctant Jews were forced to join in these riotous orgies, and carry 
 the ivy, the insignia of the go A 
 
JUDAISM. 33 
 
 ness as tliis solemn festival drew nigh. " Thither the tribes 
 went up." It was not the simultaneous moving of the popula- 
 tion of a single country — not even the gathered worshippers 
 from each district and village of Palestine — but the confluence 
 of countless midtitudes of pilgrims from every quarter of the 
 world ; for the dispersed Jews had planted their law in its 
 remotest extremities, and all its proselytes, at least once in 
 their lives, presented themselves to pay their homage at that 
 temple which was to them the only earthly shrine of their 
 faith. From their homes on the Euphrates came the descend- 
 ants of those who had remained in Babylonia after the captivi- 
 ty, where they had grown to be a powerful community ; yet 
 still they "remembered Zion," and taught their children to 
 "smg the Lord's song in a strange land." The tribes of 
 Arabia — ^the thousands who in Egypt hved where once their 
 fathers dwelt as slaves — ^the varied races of Asia Minor, Da- 
 mascus, Greece, Italy, and even the distant West, as far as 
 Spain and Gaul — all sent their representatives to mingle with 
 that mighty concourse which then thronged the streets of Je- 
 rusalem. St. Luke thus enumerates some of those who listen- 
 ed to the first preaching of the Gospel after the crucifixion of 
 our Lord :* — " Parthians and Medes, and Elamites, and the 
 
 * " Every race of mankind, in its most marked peculiarities, there 
 passed beneath the eye. There came the long train of swarthy slaves 
 and menials roxmd the chariot of the Indian prince, clothed in the silks 
 and jewels of the regions beyond the Ganges. Upon them pressed the 
 troop of African lion-hunters,, half naked, but with their black limbs 
 
34 JUDAISM. 
 
 dwellers in Mesopotamia and in Judea, and Cappadocia, in Pon- 
 tus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, in Egypt, and in the 
 parts of Libya about Cyrene, and strangers of Rome, Jews and 
 proselytes, Cretes and Arabians." As the feast drew nigh, 
 the highways which led to the Holy City were filled as by 
 one living torrent ; and Josephus, from the number of paschal 
 lambs sacrificed on one of these solemn occasions, has estimated 
 the pilgrims and residents at Jerusalem at nearly three mil- 
 lions. " It is difficult for those who are ignorant of the extra- 
 ordinary power which local religious reverence holds over 
 Southern and Asiatic nations, to imagine .the state of Judea 
 and Jerusalem at the time of this great periodical festival. 
 The rolhng onward of countless and gathering masses of popu- 
 lation to some of the temples in India ; the caravans from all 
 
 wreathed with pearl and fragments of unwrought gold. Behind them 
 moved on their camels a patriarchal group, the Arab Sheik, a venerable 
 figure with his white locks flowing from beneath his turban, leading his 
 sons, like our father Abraham, from the wilderness to the Moimt of Vis- 
 ion, Then rolled on the ghttering chariot of the Assyrian chieftain, a 
 regal show of purple and gems, and convoyed by horsemen covered with 
 armor. The Scythian Jews, wrapped in the furs of the wolf and bear, 
 iron men of the north ; the noble Greek, the perfection of the human 
 form, with his countenance beaming the genius and beauty of his coim- 
 try ; the broad and yellow features of the Chinese rabbins ; the fair skins 
 and gigantic forms of the German tribes ; strange clusters of men un- 
 known to the limits of Europe or Asia, with their black locks, complex- 
 ions of the color of gold, and slight yet sinewy Umbs, marked with figures 
 of suns and stars struck into the flesh — marched crowd on crowd. The 
 representative world was before me." — Chroh/s Salathiel, L 10. 
 
JUDAISM. 35 
 
 quarters of the Eastern world, which assemble at Mecca during 
 the holy season ; the multitudes which formerly flowed to 
 Loretto or Rome at the great ceremonies, when the Roman 
 Cathohc religion held its unenfeebled sway over the mind of 
 Europe — do not surpass, perhaps scarcely equal, the sudden, 
 simultaneous confluence towards the capital of Judea at the 
 time of the Passover."* It was indeed a magnificent spec- 
 tacle, well calculated to awaken in the breast of the Jew 
 every feeling of national pride, both for his country and his 
 faith. 
 
 "We must remember, too, the deep religious spirit, amounting 
 even to a high-wrought enthusiasm, which pervaded all these 
 gathered thousands, and invested every step of their pilgrimage 
 with a surpassing interest. "They went from strength to 
 strength, until every one of them in Zion appeared before 
 God." We can imagine some features of this scene, as it was 
 witnessed among those who went up from the land of Judea. 
 The sun is rising over Hebron, its earhest beams lighting up 
 the lofty palm-trees at the gates, when every family is in mo- 
 tion, for the procession is about to set forth to Jerusalem. 
 The priests and elders head the train — the people follow, in- 
 terspersed with their camels and beasts of burden — while the 
 Levites, with their instruments of music, are distributed among 
 the multitude. At length the signal is given, and as they set 
 forward together, they raise the Psalm — 
 
 * Milman's Hist, of Christianity^ L 152. 
 
36 JUDAISM. 
 
 I was glad when they said unto me, 
 
 We will go into the house of the Lord ! 
 
 Our feet shall stand in thy gates, Jerusalem l 
 
 Jerusalem is built as a city, 
 
 That is at unity in itself ! 
 
 Thither the tribes go up, 
 
 Even the tribes of the Lord to testify unto Israel, 
 
 To give thanks unto the name of the Lord. 
 
 There is the seat of judgment, 
 
 Even the seat of the house of David. 
 
 pray for the peace of Jerusalem I 
 They shall prosper that love thee. 
 Peace be within thy walls, 
 Plenteousness within thy palaces ! 
 For my brethren and companions' sake, 
 
 1 wish thee prosperity ! 
 Because of the temple of our God, 
 
 I will seek to do thee good. — Ps, cxxiL 
 
 It rises like " the noise of many waters," for a soul-felt ex- 
 ultation animates the voices of old and young. Sweetly must 
 the sounds have been borne to one who from a distance could 
 have watched their march, as now their holy song rose from 
 the summit of some hill, and then again sank into the depths 
 of the valley. It was on such occasions only that the true 
 sublimity and beauty of the Jewish poetry could be felt, when 
 the harp and the viol were heard — the tabret, the cymbal, and 
 the stringed instruments — mingled with the voices of the living 
 multitude. They were a people indeed who imbibed a love of 
 music with the air they breathed, and whose very climate 
 seemed to dispose them to harmony. The glorious anthems, 
 too, which they chanted — anthems which taught as much as 
 
JUDAISM. 37 
 
 they elevated — were those composed by their warrior king, 
 when a shepherd-boy he watched his father's flock in Bethle- 
 hem, or which had cheered his sohtude in the desert caves of 
 Engeddi. And now — fresh and vivid for a thousand years — 
 they had become "familiar in their mouths as household 
 words." 
 
 Every scene through which the procession passed was le- 
 gendary, and served for a theme on which the old addressed 
 their children. The region around was smiling with all the 
 luxuriance of Nature — its lovely valleys filled with vineyards 
 and oHve-groves — yet it had a higher interest from the fact, 
 that there the patriarchs had pitched their tents and tended 
 their flocks, and in the morning of the world held high com- 
 munion with Jehovah. They passed through the grove of 
 Mamre, and looked with veneration upon the gigantic oaks 
 and terebinths, beneath which Abraham dwelt and angels ap- 
 peared to him ; and not far distant was the Cave of Macpelah, 
 where, said Jacob, as he gave directions that his remains 
 should be placed — "they buried Abraham and Sarah his wife; 
 there they buried Isaac and Rebecca his wife ; and there I 
 buried Leah." Thp same feelings seemed to animate all. The 
 youths and maidens bounded for joy, and tears of pleasure 
 stood in the eyes of the aged. Those who were going up for 
 the first time to the festival, looked and listened to those who 
 had already been there, as if to hear from them an explanation 
 of what they sung. The old heard, in these festive acclama- 
 tions, the echo of their own youthful joys, and while their 
 
38 JUDAISM. 
 
 hearts swelled with the remembrance of the feelings of their 
 earliest pilgrimage, they beat yet higher with gratitude to Je- 
 hovah, who had permitted them, in their gray hairs, to go up 
 once more to His Holy Place. 
 
 In every town and village to which they came, they were 
 received with shouts of joy. With the proverbial hospitality 
 of the East, before the doors of every house tables were 
 standing, with dates and honey and bread, to refresh the pil- 
 grims. At the jimction of the roads, in the fields, and at the 
 entrance of each town, new crowds of persons were waiting to 
 join themselves to the long procession. Here and there, before 
 the houses, or in the vineyards, stood an unclean person, or a 
 woman, or a child, who had been compelled to remain at home, 
 and now replied with tears to the salutations of the passing 
 multitudes. It seemed as if the people carried all joy with 
 them from the country to Jerusalem, and only sorrow was left 
 for those who remained behind. It was with such a procession 
 that we remember our Lord, when twelve years old, went up 
 to the feast. And this will explain, too, the apparent careless- 
 ness of His parents, when they set out to return without Him. 
 " They, supposing Him to have been in the company, went a 
 day's journey." They took it for granted that He was with 
 some of their friends in the long train, and not until night, 
 therefore, did they " seek Him among their kinsfolk and ac- , 
 quaintance, and when they found Him not, turn back again to 
 Jerusalem." 
 
 And thus the pilgrims from Hebron journeyed on, their 
 
JUDAISM. 39 
 
 trains sometimes covering both the ascent and descent of the 
 hill, spreading o^er the plain, and winding like a wreath aromid 
 the hill beyond. At length, descending a lofty elevation, whose 
 sides were covered with vines, they beheld before them in the 
 valley, the Pools of Solomon. Then they halted their pace, 
 and the following Psalm was smig : — 
 
 How lovely are Thy tabernacles, Lord of Hosts ! 
 
 My soul longeth and fjainteth for the courts of the Lord, 
 
 My heart and my flesh cry out for the Uving God. 
 
 As the sparrow that findeth her house, 
 
 As the swallow, a nest for her young, 
 
 *So I Thine altars, Lord of Hosts, 
 
 My Eling and my God 1 
 
 Blessed are they that dwell in Thy house ; 
 
 They are still praising Thee ; 
 
 Blessed is the man who placeth his confidence in Thee, 
 
 And thinketh of the way ia Jerusalem 1 
 
 Who, gohig through the Vale of Misery, 
 
 Find therein a well. 
 
 And the pools are filled with water. 
 
 They increase in strength as they go on, 
 
 Till they appear before God in Zion. 
 
 Lord God of Hosts, hear my prayer 1 
 Hearken, O God of Jacob ! 
 
 Behold, God, our Defender, 
 
 Look upon the fe,ce of Thine anointed ! 
 
 One day in Thy courts is better than a thousand. 
 
 1 had rather be a doorkeeper in the house of God, 
 Than to dwell in the tents of ungodhness. 
 
 For Jehovah, our God, is a sun and shield ; 
 
 Jehovah giveth grace and glory ; 
 
 No good tiling will He withhold from them that walk uprightly. 
 
 Lord of Hosts, 
 
 Blessed is the man that trusteth in Thee. — Ps. Ixxxiv. 
 
40 JUDAISM. 
 
 Here they halted during the heats of mid-day beneath the 
 shade of the double row of palms, which h^d been planted 
 around the pools, and as they drank the refreshing draught of 
 the cool rock-water, they blessed the memory of the King. 
 Under every palm-tree groups were gathered, absorbed in the 
 prospect before them. Here the young were eagerly inquiring 
 concerning Jerusalem and the festival — ^there a group was lis- 
 tening to a description of the magnificence of the Temple ser- 
 vice — and there a company of men were speaking of the 
 heroic deeds of Hyrcanus and the Maccabees, imtil their hearts 
 burned within them, and they would have rejoiced once- more 
 to unfurl the banner of their tribes, and rush into deadly con- 
 flict with their new oppressors. 
 
 But the timbrels of the Levites once more* struck up their 
 music, and the procession again was formed. From the Pools 
 of Solomon they took their way through the hills to Bethle- 
 hem, continual accessions swelling their number, until it 
 amounted to thousands. Beautiful, indeed, was the view 
 from the rocky ridge on which stands this City of David ! 
 The amphitheatre which stretches around embraces the region 
 about Jericho, the Dead Sea, and the plain of the Valley of 
 Rephaim. The Kedron flows through its fields, fruitful as 
 the garden of the Lord, and all are thickly set with ohve and 
 fig trees, with vines and corn. In those luxuriant pastures Jacob 
 fed his flocks — in its fertile fields Boaz was reaping when he 
 found his kinswoman Ruth — and here grew up the son of Jesse, 
 till the day when he came forth to avenge the honor of his people 
 
 t * 
 
 4 > 
 
JUDAISM. 41 
 
 on the boastful heathen. All who could, went through Beth- 
 lehem on their way to the feast at Jerusalem. The road passed 
 by the grave of Rachel, and the city itself was invested with 
 a hallowed interest in their eyes, because to it the greatest of 
 all promises had been given. Here, then, in his birthplace, the 
 warrior-bard was commemorated, as the one whose heart first 
 conceived the wish to build that Temple to which they were 
 now gomg up, and together they sang the Psalm : — 
 
 Lord, remember David ! 
 
 And all his afflictions. 
 
 How he sware unto the Lord, 
 
 And vowed imto the Mighty Ope of Jacob ; 
 
 Surely I will uot coine into mine house, 
 
 ISTor go up into my bed ; 
 
 I will not give sleep to mine eyes, 
 
 Nor slumber to mine eyelids, 
 
 UntU I find out a place for the Lord, 
 
 A habitation for the Mighty One of Jacob. 
 
 Lo, we heard of it at Epliratah, 
 
 We found it in the fields of Jaar : 
 
 Let us go into his tabernacle. 
 
 Let us worship at his footstool ! — Ps. cxxxii. 
 
 The last strophe seemed to embody the feelings of the peo- 
 ple, so that they hngered over it and repeated it again and 
 again, as if they could not leave it. Then the instruments of 
 the Levites rang forth with still a louder tone, and the multi- 
 tude lifted up their voice, as they repeated the glorious prom- 
 ises of Jehovah with regard to this Temple : — 
 
 This is my rest forever : 
 Here will I dwell ; for I have chosen it. 
 4* 
 
42 JUDAISM. 
 
 I will abundantly bless her provision, 
 I will satisfy her poor with bread ; 
 I will clothe her priests with salvation, 
 Her holy ones shall shout aloud for joy. 
 There will I exalt the might of David 
 And prepare a lamp for mine anointed. 
 His enemies will I clothe with shame, 
 But on his head shall the crown flourish. 
 
 A short distance only now separated them from Jerusalem, 
 and as their eager haste increased at every step, their impa- 
 tience fomid utterance in the Psalm : — 
 
 Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised 
 
 In the City of our God, even upon His Holy HilL 
 
 Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole land, 
 
 Is Moimt Zion, on the north of the city of the great King. 
 
 God is known in her palaces for a refuge. 
 
 "We think of Thy loving-kindness, God, 
 
 In the midst of Thy temple. 
 
 As Thy name, so Thy praise reacheth to the ends of the earth. 
 
 Thy right hand is full of righteousness. 
 
 Let the Hill of Zion rejoice, 
 
 Let the daughters of Judah be glad 
 
 Because of Thy judgments ! 
 
 Walk about Zion, go round about her ! 
 
 Tell her towers ! 
 
 Mark well her bulwarks ! 
 
 Consider her palaces 1 
 
 That ye may tell it to the generation following. 
 
 For this God is our God, forever and ever. 
 
 He will be our guide, as in our youtL — Ps. xlviiL 
 
 Expectation had now reached its height. It was too great 
 even to allow its expression in words, but all were silently 
 watching for the first sight of Jerusalem. A faint murmur 
 
JUDAISM. 43 
 
 spread from rank to rank as they were pressing eagerly for- 
 ward. All at once the foremost exclaimed — " Jerusalem" — 
 and through the valley of Rephaim resounded the shout — 
 " Jerusalem ! Jerusalem !" All rushed onward to the brow of 
 the hill, the children dragging their parents forward — every 
 hand was raised to bless the place of Zion's solemnities — and 
 from every heart and tongue uprose the anthem : — 
 
 Jerusalem, thou city bmit on high, 
 We wish thee peace I* 
 
 There rose the Holy City, and above it the dazzling glory of 
 that Temple which once covered the heights of the Mount of 
 Vision. Its walls, of the purest marble, cast a gleam through 
 the valley. Court above court it circled round the mount like 
 a succession of diadems — its alabaster porticoes — ^its porphyry 
 pillars and richly- sculptured walls — and above all, that shrine 
 which contained the Holy of Holies — the very palace of the 
 
 * How similar to this is the description given by Tasso of the Cru- 
 saders, as from the overhanging hills they gained their first view of the 
 city they came to rescue from the infidel : — 
 
 " Wing'd is each heart, and winged every heel ; 
 They fly, yet notice not how fast they fly ; 
 Lo, tower'd Jerusalem salutes the eye ! 
 A thousand pointing fingers tell the tale ; 
 
 * Jerusalem !' a thousand voices cry, 
 
 * All hail, Jerusalem !' hill, down, and dale, 
 
 Catch the glad soirnds, and shout, ' Jerusalem, all hail 1' " 
 
 Gerus. Lib. Cant iii 3. 
 
44 JUDAISM. 
 
 King of Rings. Built of the most precious marbles, it glittered 
 in the light, and as the setting sun sank beneath the western 
 hills, his rays flashed back from the pinnacles of gold and bur- 
 nished plates which cased its roof. Such was Mount Moriah, 
 " a mountain of snow studded with jewels."* 
 
 It was the hour of the evening sacrifice, the trumpet had 
 already sounded, and slowly the smoke of the sacrifice rose up 
 to heaven, till, spreadhig out above, it seemed hke some gigan- 
 tic palm in the clearness of that Eastern sky. A few moments 
 and the assembled multitudes had recovered from their sur- 
 prise, when thus they paid their salutation to the temple and 
 its priests : — 
 
 Bless ye the Lord, all ye servants of the Lord, 
 
 Who stand by night in the house of the Lord ! 
 
 Lift up your hands towards the sanctuary, 
 
 And bless the Lord. 
 
 So will Jehovah bless thee out of Zion ; 
 
 He who made Heaven and Earth. — Fs. cxxxiv. 
 
 We have dwelt — perhaps to a disproportionate length — 
 upon this pilgrimage,! ^^^ ^® know no better way of show- 
 ing the spirit of Judaism and the manner in which the rites of 
 their faith were calculated to arouse the imagination and enlist 
 the aflfections of an excitable people. And was all this to be 
 given up — these journeys so endeared by the recollections of 
 
 * Rev. George Croly. 
 
 f For the main features of this sketch we are indebted to Straus' Mel- 
 on's Pilgrimage, v. i 144. 
 
JUDAISM. ' 46 
 
 "their fathers' day and the old time before them ?" So Chris- 
 tianity announced, for its system was an expansive one, stretch- 
 mg over the whole earth. 
 
 But, above all, the solemnities of the Temple itself were 
 those which most appealed to every feeling of reverence in the 
 Jew. The superb mysteries of Grecian Idolatry, splendid as 
 they were, could not so enchain the mind of the worshipper, 
 nor those costly fabrics of later days, whose remains are still 
 the wonder of the world, compare with the dazzling beauty of 
 that sanctuary, which crowned the highest point in the City of 
 the Lord. The Israelite entered through the Beautiful Gate, 
 and before him were the different courts, separated by por- 
 phyry pillars, and the many stately buildings for the priests 
 and officers of the Temple. Every material employed was 
 costly and rare. Gold and the finest marbles glittered on 
 every side. He turned, and behind him, through the open 
 colonnades, beheld the rich landscape which, like an amphi- 
 theatre, stretched around the Holy City, before it was spoiled 
 and desolate, and the very features of Nature were forced to 
 share in the devastation which the Infidel brought upon Zion. 
 There, on the one side, was Befhlehem, with its lovely slopes, 
 covered with vineyards and orange-groves, and on the other, 
 the green sides of the Mount of OHves ; and the eye wandered 
 on till, in the distance, it saw the mountains of Gilgal, which 
 overlooked the rich valley of the Jordan. But before him was 
 the Gate of Nicanor — worthy in its beauty of the royal Solo- 
 mon — and through it he beheld the Levites, standing with 
 
46 JUDAISM. 
 
 their instruments of music on the fifteen steps, which led to 
 the altar of burnt offerings — that altar, the ceasing of the 
 daily sacrifice on which, in the last hours of their siege, struck 
 a mortal blow to the heart of the people, and made them feel 
 as if all was lost indeed. 
 
 But in the Tabernacle itself the Israehte realized that he 
 stood in the presence of God. The altar was the throne, and 
 every thing around displayed the rich pomp and beautiful orna- 
 ments which deck the court of an earthly monarch — the 
 embroidered tapestry — the fine linen — the golden-branched 
 lights — ^the transparent curtains — ^the fuming incense — ^and the 
 columns on their brazen bases. There were the dedicated 
 loaves on the table of gold — the vases holding "the strong 
 wine to be poured unto the Lord" — the ewers " to wash with 
 water, that they die not" — and the. flesh, ever renewed on the 
 sacrificial altar. It seemed to be for the banquet of a monarch, 
 yet it was ever inviolable, forever renewed, yet forever un- 
 touched. The veil which was never to be lifted — the cheru- 
 bims spreading their mystical wings — the propitiatory, where 
 the cloud of glory hung over "the Holy of Holies" — every 
 object around brought "to the* mind of the Israelite the per- 
 petual recollection that the palace of his sovereign was the 
 Temple of his God.* 
 
 How numerous, too, the attendants in this court, who served 
 before the throne, and performed that ritual whose grandeur 
 
 * jy Israelis Genius of Jvdaism^ p. 39. u - 
 
JUDAISM. 47 
 
 has never been surpassed ! The Levites mmistered by turns 
 in four-and-twenty courses of a thousand each. Four thousand 
 more performed the lower offices, while four thousand singers 
 and minstrels, with the harp and trumpet, the cymbal and 
 organ, supplied that rich harmony which ever floated out from 
 the Hill of Zion's solemnities, and, borne on the wings of the 
 wind over the Holy City, was a ceaseless invitation to its 
 people to come up and worship. And with what reverence 
 did the Jews regard him who stood at the head of this conse- 
 crated band — the High Priest — when on solemn festivals he 
 came forth in the gorgeous robes which God Himself had pre- 
 scribed ! We will let one of themselves sketch the picture, as 
 it was presented to his own mind. It is in this language, 
 glowing with Oriental metaphors, that the son of Sirach de- 
 scribes Simon, the High Priest, the son of Onias : — 
 
 " He was as the morning star in the midst of a cloud, and as the moon 
 at the full ; 
 
 " As the sun shining upon the temple of the Most High, and as the 
 rainbow giving light in the bright clouds : 
 
 *' And as the flower of roses in the spring of the year, as lilies by the 
 rivers of waters, and as the branches of the frankincense-tree in the time 
 of summer: 
 
 " As fire and incense in the censer, and as a vessel of beaten gold set 
 with all manner of precious stones : 
 
 " And as a fair oUve-tree budding forth fi-uit, and as a cypress-tree 
 which groweth up to the clouds. 
 
 " When he put on the robe of honor, and was clothed with the per- 
 fection of glory, when he went up to the holy altar, he made the garment 
 of holiness honorable. 
 
 " When he took the portions out of the priests hands, he himself stood 
 by the hearth of the altar, compassed with his brethren round about, as 
 
48 JUDAISM. 
 
 a young cedar in Libanus ; and as palm-trees compassed they liira round 
 about. 
 
 " So were all the sons of Aaron in their glory, and the oblations of the 
 Lord in their hands, before all the congregation of. Israel. 
 
 " And finishing the service at the altar, that he might adorn the offer- 
 ing of the Most High Almighty, 
 
 " He stretched out his hand to the cup, and poured of the blood of the 
 grape, he poured out at the foot of the altar a sweet-smelling savor imto 
 the iMost High King of all. 
 
 " Tlien shouted the sons of Aaron, and sounded the silver trumpets, 
 and made a great noise to be heard, for a remembrance before the Most 
 High. 
 
 " Then aU the people together hasted, and fell down to the earth upon 
 their faces to worship their Lord God Almighty, the Most High. 
 
 " The singers also sang praises with their voices, with great variety of 
 sounds was there made sweet melody. 
 
 " And the people besought the Lord, the Most High, by prayer before 
 Him that is merciful, till the solemnity of the Lord was ended, and they 
 had finished His service. 
 
 " Then he went down, and Ufted up his hands over the whole congrega- 
 tion of the children of Israel, to give the blessing of the Lord with his 
 lips, and to rejoice in His name. 
 
 " And they bowed themselves down to worship the second time, that 
 they might receive a blessing from the Most High."* 
 
 Such was the gorgeous and impressive ceremonial of the 
 Jewish Temple. And should all this give way to the simple 
 and severe worship of the Christian Church ? Should Jerusa- 
 lem cease to be the glory of the whole earth and " the place 
 where men ought to worship/' but the proclamation go forth, 
 that in any place " the true worshippers might worship the 
 Father in Spirit and in truth?" Why, the very thought 
 
 * Ecclesiasticus, i. 6-21. 
 
JUDAISM. 49 
 
 awakened the deadly hostility of the Jew, and he felt that a 
 contest with Christianity was a struggle for all his nation had 
 prized through almost countless centuries. 
 
 And these sacred and venerable rites were also entwined 
 with the daily life of the Hebrews. They marked the seasons 
 of the year and the dates of events oy rehgious feasts and 
 fasts. They watched the sun set which brought the Sabbath 
 to all their habitations — the new moon, that they might hold 
 its solemn celebration — and the earliest star, which told them it 
 was lawful to break their penitential fast. Rehgion with them 
 was not a thing to be easily put off, or another system to be 
 substituted in its place, but it was a part of their very being. 
 By the miraculous interposition of Providence the laws of the 
 people constituted their religion. The world has never wit- 
 nessed the alliance between Church and State so closely ce- 
 mented as among the religious Hebrews, or any system which 
 so pressed upon every step in life as the Mosaic code. " Eve- 
 rywhere and at all hours, was. their law, or some symbol of 
 their law, hke the works of the Deity, kept in their sight. It 
 was variously worn on their persons ; it was nailed to the 
 doorposts of their habitations ; it formed their daily occupa- 
 tions in the morning, the noon, and the evening sacrifice. All 
 Nature was consecrated to Religion : for the first-fruits, a por- 
 tion of the harvests and certain animals, were dedicated to its 
 service. Judaism was in their fields, in the unmixed seed, and 
 the ungrafted fruit ; in the ablution of the stream, and in the 
 separation of the pure from the impure. Their great festivals 
 
 6 
 
50 JUDAISM. 
 
 were connected with the productions of every season. The 
 Passover could not be kept till their flocks furnished the pas- 
 chal lamb ; the Pentecost, till the wheat had ripened for the 
 fresh loaves of propitiation ; and the thick boughs and branches 
 could not cover their tabernacles till they had gathered in 
 their vineyards and their olive-grounds. The Israelites were 
 reminded of their religious festivals by the hving commemora- 
 tions of nature. The whole earth became one vast syna- 
 gogue."* 
 
 We can easily therefore imagine, how entirely the Jew must 
 have changed his nature when all this was renounced, and he 
 turned from the countless associations of his former life to be- 
 gin a new existence. Even among those who had received the 
 new faith we find the same spirit prevailing. They endeavored 
 to impose upon the Gentile converts the countless provisions 
 of the Mosaic law, and to make Christianity but a wider form 
 of Judaism. The conflict went on during the whole Apostolic 
 age, nor ceased until by the gj'adual extension of the Church, 
 the converts from the Synagogue became an insignificant 
 minority. We trace this contest through all the Epistles, 
 particularly those to the churches in Rome and Galatia, for 
 there were none against whom St. Paul was so often obliged 
 to warn his converts as against the Judaizing Christians. " But 
 now," he inquires, "after that ye have known God, or rather 
 are known of God, how turn ye again to the weak and beggarly 
 
 * D'lsraeUs Genius of Judaism^ p. 22. 
 
JUDAISM. 51 
 
 elements, whereunto ye desire to be agam in bondage ? Ye 
 observe days and months, and times and years. I am afraid 
 of you, lest I have bestowed upon you labor in vain."* They 
 could not divest themselves of feelings which they had imbibed 
 with the very air they breathed. They could not learn to 
 sympathize with the expanded spirit of a faith, which scorned 
 to be narrowed down to a single temple for its worship, but 
 claimecT as its sanctuary, the wide earth and Heaven. And if 
 such continued often to be the feeling of the Jewish converts, 
 we can imagine how stem must have been the spirit of hos- 
 tility with which the unchanged Israehte met the claims of our 
 religion, and how unyielding the prejudice with which he drew 
 around him the narrow hne of demarcation, and restricted the 
 divine blessings to his own visible pale. 
 
 There was one more consideration which, more than any 
 thing else, tended to array the Jews against the reception of 
 Jesus of Nazareth. We refer to the preconceived notions of 
 the Messiah which they had adopted. A kingly government, 
 which is perceived and felt, alone suits the genius of the East. 
 The climate which dissolves the energy of the heart, and the 
 indolence which loves to gaze on the pageantry of a show, have 
 rendered the Orientals prone to look on an earthly king with 
 a sort of idolatry. Their vanity is gratified by his pomp, and 
 then- pride by his power.f 
 
 And this was peculiarly the case with the Jews. Even in 
 
 * Oal. iv. 9. t ly Israeli's Genius of Judaism, p. 44. 
 
52 JUDAISM. 
 
 the days of their theocracy they were sighing for a king. 
 Their inspired Lawgiver perceived that this Avould be the case — 
 that even his perfect government would weary their incon- 
 stancy, and their passions corrupt its divine institution — and, 
 with prescient wisdom, therefore, he hmited the power to be 
 intrusted to the hands of royalty. And the same feelings col- 
 ored all their hopes when they looked forward to the promised 
 Messiah. They were too earthly and sensual to conceive of 
 that mysterious Being as only a spiritual reformer. The bright- 
 est pictures the Greek poets have drawn of their golden age, 
 fade into dimness before the incoherent and dazzling images 
 which teemed in the imagination of the Jew, when he thought 
 of the monarch who was expected to sit on the throne of Da- 
 vid. To this the gorgeous visions of Isaiah had contributed to 
 form their minds. There, He was arrayed before them as a 
 mighty conqueror, travelling in the greatness of His strength, 
 treading down His enemies in His anger, and trampling them 
 in His fury — their blood sprinkled upon His garments, and 
 staining all His raiment. And this harmonized too well with 
 that brooding hope of vengeance on their oppressors which 
 was moulded up in the heart of every Jew, and quickened into 
 life by their religious fanaticism, to render them able to think of 
 their Dehverer in any more peaceful character. We trace in the 
 history of Josephus the existence of this feeling in his country- 
 men. Though writing when Judea had been crushed to the 
 earth, and the futility of these visions shown, he endeavors to 
 prove the fulfilment of these prophecies in the regal govern- 
 
JUDAISM. 53 
 
 ment of his master Vespasian. In the whole current, too, of 
 Jewish tradition — and in the later ages of their existence as a 
 state, they listened to its voice as reverently as to the written 
 word — every thing about the Great Deliverer was national and 
 exclusive. The Holy City was to be the centre of His govern- 
 ment, and there He was to reassemble all the scattered de- 
 scendants of the tribes, and expel their barbarous and foreign ru- 
 lers. From the shores of the Nile — from the cities of Greece — 
 from the crowded streets of Imperial Rome — from the banks of 
 the Euphrates, where their fathers left them in exile — the 
 spoiled and despised Israelites, everywhere the victims of infi- 
 del insult, were to come forth, and gathering around the City 
 of Holiness, behold at their head a king who should proclaim, 
 that " the day of vengeance was in His heart, and the year of 
 His redeemed had come." 
 
 It is curious, indeed, to take each rank and sect which 
 existed among the Jews in the first age of the Christian era, 
 and see how, from the tenets of each, we can gather the at- 
 tributes in which it naturally arrayed the Messiah. Their en- 
 thusiasm was colored by their peculiar temperament, and while 
 all looked to the gorgeous language of ancient prophecy, each 
 dwelt only upon that particular portion which was most in ac- 
 cordance with its tastes, and therefore the view of each was 
 equally partial and erroneous. The Herodians regarded Herod 
 Antipas as the anointed saviour of his country — the one destined 
 to drive the Gentile from her borders, and raise Jerusalem from 
 her sackcloth and ashes to her ancient pinnacle of renown. 
 
 6* 
 
54 JUDAISM. 
 
 They felt that "the set time had come" and the times of 
 prophecy been fulfilled, but they needed a prince to accom- 
 pUsh all that had been foretold. Where then, they inquired, 
 can we find him but in Herod, powerful and wise, connected 
 with the blood of our ancient kings,* and already wielding a 
 formidable power? To political views they had sacrificed 
 many of the inveterate prejudices of their nation, and even 
 admitted some of those Grecian habits which the stricter por- 
 tion of their people most religiously avoided. They, therefore, 
 could recognise no lineament of the Messiah in the peasant 
 prophet of Nazareth. 
 
 With the Pharisee, He was to be "a prophet like imto 
 Moses," to restore, with greater strictness, the ceremonial code 
 of their great Lawgiver, and bring all mankind under " a yoke 
 which neither their fathers nor they were able to bear." The 
 pure and spiritual glimpses, too, of the future state, which we 
 can gather from the discourses of our Lord, must, in that day, 
 have been at utter variance with the sensual views of the Rab- 
 binical writers, which more resembled the Elysium of the 
 Greeks than the Paradise of Revelation. Josephus was a 
 Pharisee, and if he is to be taken as a type of his sect, we can 
 readily see how one who could address to his countrymen the 
 unspiritual view of the life to come which he has given — a 
 
 * The father of Herod had married Mariamne, daughter of Hircanus, 
 the last of the family of the Asmoneans or Maccabees. Herod himself 
 was at this time married to Herodias, of the same family. 
 
JUDAISM. 65 
 
 view incorporating even the doctrine of a Metempsychosis* — 
 must have shrunk from a faith so unearthly as that announced 
 by Him who claimed to be the promised Dehverer. The Sad- 
 ducee, on the contrary, abandoning as innovations much to 
 which the Pharisee clung, looked upon the notion of a spiritual 
 Messiah as a mere delusion, while he agreed as httle as his 
 antagonist in our Lord's view of the future state. He had 
 
 * " Their souls are pure and obedient, and obtain a most holy place in 
 heaven, from whence, in the revolution of ages, they are again sent into 
 pure bodies," — Wars, lib. iii. ck ix, 5. The Pharisees had undoubtedly 
 imbibed many notions which had their origin on the banks of the Wile. 
 They despised, indeed, the learning of Greece, but had not the same an- 
 tipathy to that of Egypt, for they had the example of Moses, who was 
 " learned in all the wisdom of the Egyptians." They had adopted the 
 Pythagorean doctrine, that when the soul had left the body, it did not 
 die, but transmigrating to some other body, through a succession of re- 
 movals, lived to infinity. Even the disciples of our Lord were infected 
 with this error, as they showed by their question with regard to the blind 
 man, " Master, who did sin, this man or his parents, that he was bom 
 blind ?" (John, ix. 2.) This question supposes a state of pre-existence — 
 that it was possible for a man to sin before he was bom ; that is, that his 
 soul had sinned in some other body, and this blindness was an expiatiog 
 pimishment, which must be endured for the soul's sake. 
 
 Basnage thus truly traces the origin of these views : — " La Religion 
 Judaique commen9a de s'alt^rer par le commerce qu'on eut avec les 
 etrangers ; ce commerce fut beaucoup plus frequent depuis les conqu^tes 
 d' Alexandre qu'il n'etoit auparavant, et ce fut particuliferement avec les 
 Egyptiens qu'on se lia, surtout pendant que les Rois d'Egypte fiu-ent 
 maltres de la Judee, qu'ils y firent des voyages et des expeditions, et 
 qu'ils en transportferent les habitans. On n'emprunta pas des Egyptiens 
 leurs idoles, mais leur m^thode de traiter la theologie et la religion ; les 
 docteurs Juifs, transportes ou n6s en ce pays-Ik se jett^rent dans les in- 
 terpretations allegoriques," &c. — Hist, des Juifs, L il c. ix. 
 
56 JUDAISM. 
 
 shunned the fanaticism of the bigot, only to fall into the 
 dreary coldness of the skeptic. 
 
 The nature of the Samaritan belief in the Messiah is more 
 obscure to us, and but once in Scripture— in the conversation of 
 our Lord with the woman at the well — do we find any allusion 
 to it. While, by the Jews, they were scorned as " the foolish 
 people that dwell at Sichem,"* and utterly excluded from all 
 interest in this Dehverer, they themselves clung to the belief, 
 ** We know that the Messiah cometh, which is called Christ : 
 when He is come. He will tell us all things. "f We should 
 suppose, therefore, that when He Himself offered this redemp- 
 tion for their acceptance, they would gladly have responded 
 to His call. Yet their views on this subject were "adulterated 
 with profane mixtures of Pagan errors;" J and the success of 
 Simon Magus, § Menander, and other later teachers, who incul- 
 cated the Oriental heresies, shows that their conceptions of the 
 Messiah were tinged with the Magian errors they had brought 
 with them from Babylon. 
 
 A single other sect sums up the number of those among 
 the Palestinian Jews. We refer to the Zealots, who perhaps 
 were most violent of all in their opposition to the reign of a 
 
 * " There be two manner of nations which my heart abhorreth, and the 
 third is no nation. They that sit upon the mountain of Samaria, and 
 they that dwell among the Philistines, and that foolish people that dwell 
 at Sichem." — Ecclesiast. i 25, 26. 
 
 f John, iv. 25. 
 
 X Mosheim's Ecclesiast. Hist. v. i. p. 46. § Acts, viii. 9. 
 
JUDAISM. 57 
 
 peaceful Deliverer, and whose influence was most deeply felt 
 as clouds darkly gathered around the closing days of Judea. 
 The principles they avowed had been inherited from Judas, the 
 Galilean, who, in bold yet eloquent language, had proclaimed 
 the doctrine, that submission to a foreign yoke was treason 
 against the Jewish theocracy. They refused, therefore, the 
 payment of tribute to Caesar, and rejected as impiety every 
 other badge of subordination to Rome.* It was an attempt to 
 revive that war-cry, " No other Lord and Master but God 1" 
 which once had rallied the whole nation under the banner of 
 the Maccabees against their Syro- Grecian kings, and trium- 
 phantly wrested from them the independence of Judea. The 
 same spirit had hved on in secret, and fomented the resistance 
 which at times was arrayed against the Idumean dynasty. 
 And now, when the sceptre seemed entirely departing from 
 Judah, and, in desperation, the more violent of the people 
 looked around for some weapon with which to meet their foe, 
 they eagerly rushed forward to enroll themselves among the 
 followers of Judas, and to swell the ranks of the Zealots. In 
 the days of our Lord this feeling seemed to infuse a degree of 
 religious enthusiasm into every struggle against then* invaders. 
 The robber chieftain joined in each desperate foray against the 
 Roman legionaries in the same spirit with which, in later ages, 
 the Crusaders warred against the Infidel. He looked out daily 
 for that resistless Conqueror whom he literally expected to see 
 
 * Basnage, Histoire des Juifs, b. L c. 1*7. 
 
58 JUDAISM. 
 
 " coming from Edom with dyed garments from Bozrah," the 
 leader of innumerable hosts, His arm nerved with the power of 
 the Omnipotent, unfurling His blood-red banner to repeat, on a 
 nobler scale, those triumphs which were still sung through 
 every household in the land. These doctrines accorded with 
 that wild fanaticism of Jewish character, which was nurtured 
 by the remembrance of Ehud and Gideon, Deborah and Barak 
 the son of Abinoam ; and thus was propagated that fiery 
 spirit of resistance which at last arrayed them in deadly con- 
 flict with the crushing power of Rome, and ended in the utter 
 subversion of their state. 
 
 Such were the sects which divided among themselves the 
 Jewish populace. These were the lessons taught in the syna- 
 gogue and the schools, or preached by zealous emissaries 
 through the retired villages of Judea, till an intense expecta- 
 tion seemed to have absorbed the minds of all men. Each sect 
 had its system, but the people gathered from each what was 
 most striking, and often most violent, and thus was moulded up 
 the popular creed with regard to the Messiah. Yet how fatal 
 was all this to the training of meek and peaceful hearts to re- 
 ceive Him who was to come as the Prince of Peace ! 
 
 But this sketch would be incomplete, did it not include some 
 notice of those extensive communities of Jews in Babylon and 
 Egypt, who had each their separate schools of doctrine, so 
 plainly colored by the faith of the land in which their lot was 
 cast. The termination of the seventy years captivity had not 
 found all the banished Jews ready to return to their own land. 
 
JUDAISM. 59 
 
 There were many to whom the rivers of Babylon were pleas- 
 ant, and they would not accept the invitations of Ezra and 
 Nehemiah to build up again the fallen cities of Judea. There 
 they remained in the land to which then- fathers came in 
 sorrow ; and, in after ages, when a crowded population in- 
 duced the Jews of Palestine once more to emigrate, many 
 joined their brethren on the Euphrates, so that the Meso- 
 potamian colony swelled into strength and importance. Here 
 was devised the Mystic Cabala — here, when Jerusalem was 
 destroyed, the Prince of the Captivity held the seat of his 
 power — and here arose those famous schools whose wisdom 
 has been handed down to us embodied in the Babylonian 
 Talmud. But with them, many pecuharities of the faith of 
 Zoroaster had become incorporated with the doctrines of Ju- 
 daism. While they looked forward to the coming of the 
 Messiah, they did so in the spirit with which the Magian waited 
 the final triumph of Ormusd. In the same worldly sph-it, too, 
 of their countrymen in Judea, they expected One who should 
 spread the bounds of His empire wider than the sway of Solo- 
 mon, so that even they in the far East, no longer regarded as 
 exiles, should be as much His subjects as they who dwelt at 
 the foot of Mount Moriah. 
 
 Far different from this had been the training of the Western 
 Jews, who, under the favor of Ptolemy, had settled at Alex- 
 andria, and whose temple in Leontopohs was intended to be an 
 exact copy of that on Mount Zion. Instead of the fantastic 
 yet poetical dreams of Orientalism, they had been subjected to 
 
60 JUDAISM. 
 
 the more intellectual influence of Grecian philosophy. It was 
 a form of Platonism, tinged, perhaps, with a more mystic 
 character than it displayed in its home at Athens, but which 
 left ample room for the imagination, and accorded well 
 with that spirit of Egypto-Jewish theology which reduced the 
 history of the chosen people to a mere moral allegory. Its 
 tendency, therefore, was rationalistic, and the Pharisee of Jeru- 
 salem looked upon the Aramaean Jew of Alexandria with as 
 little favor as he did upon the Sadducee. Yet amid all their 
 errors, we find substantially the same views of the Messiah 
 which were held by their brethren in Asia. They can be 
 gathered from the mysticism of Philo, when, amid his philo- 
 sophical flights, we find ever floating before his imagination the 
 picture of a golden period, when the Jews were to be the 
 great teachers of the world, and all submit to the Mosaic in- 
 stitutes. Then the Deliverer, "a more than human being, 
 unseen to all eyes but those of the favored nation," was to 
 reign, and all the blessings predicted in prophecy were to be 
 poured out upon the chosen people as they were united once 
 more in their own land.* Something of this also may be 
 traced in "the Wisdom of Solomon," a book, from its allusions 
 to Grecian writers and the acquaintance with the works of 
 Plato which its author evinces, evidently the production of an 
 Alexandrian Jew. There the most glorious promises are re- 
 peated to the faithful Jews. Their lot it should be to "judge 
 
 * MilmarCs Hist, of Christianity, v. 1. p. 42. 
 
JUDAISM. 
 
 the nations," and "have dominion over the 
 reward should be to ** receive a glorious kingdom."* It is 
 evidently the conception of a temporal sovereignty to which 
 he is looking forward. And we can see the same idea strug- 
 gling in the mind of every Jew — whether the Palestinian, the 
 Alexandrian, or the Hellenist. Whatever may have been the 
 peculiar tenets of each, in some form we can detect his belief 
 in the coming of a conquering Messiah. 
 
 We think, indeed, that the prevalence of this popular feeling 
 pervades even the Magnificat — ^that song of thanksgiving which 
 the Virgin uttered when visited by her cousin Elizabeth. We 
 find no allusion to the spiritual nature of the Messiah's king- 
 dom — ^nothing which partakes of a Christian tone, or looks 
 forward with joy to the redemption to be wrought out. It is 
 the proud triumph of a Jewish woman that the time of dehver- 
 ance to her land had come, and the fallen family of David was 
 once more to be raised above the mighty who had usurped 
 their place. " He hath showed strength with His arm ; He 
 hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. 
 He hath put down the mighty from their seats, and ex- 
 alted them of low degree. He hath filled the hungry with' 
 good things ; and the rich He hath sent empty away. He 
 hath holpen His servant Israel, in remembrance of His 
 mercy. "f Every thing here is national and exclusive, partaking 
 more of the spirit of the old Dispensation than of the new. 
 
 * Wisdom, ill. 8. v. 16. f Luke, i. 51-54. 
 
62 JUDAISM. 
 
 It is an anthem which Miriam or Deborah might have uttered, 
 in the hour of Israel's victory over their enemies. And so, too, 
 it was, when Zacharias spake at the cu*cumcision of his son. 
 If at the conclusion his song rises to higher spiritual views, 
 and he speaks of " remission of sins," and " a light to them 
 which sit in darkness and the shadow of death," yet his first 
 thought is of Israel — " Blessed be the Lord God of Israel : for 
 He hath visited and redeemed His people, and hath raised up 
 a horn of salvation for us in the house of His servant David." 
 The first object he states of the Messiah's coming is, " That 
 we should be saved from our enemies, and from the hand of all 
 that hate us. That He would grant unto us that we being 
 delivered out of the hand of our enemies, might serve Him 
 without fear."* We cannot but feel how strongly this con- 
 trasts with the expanded and beautiful character of our faith, 
 as first proclaimed in the angel's song, " Glory to God, Peace 
 on earth and good-will towards men." 
 
 There may, indeed, among the many thousands of Israel, 
 have been, here and there, a more spiritual mind, which looked 
 beyond the veil of types, and could recognise, in the imagery 
 of the prophets, the delineation of One, whose glory it should 
 be " to preach good tidings unto the meek, and to bind up the 
 broken-hearted, "f but they were too few to act on the tone of 
 public sentiment. No considerable body — except it may have 
 been the Essenes — seem ever to have dwelt on the peaceful 
 
 * LiiTce, i. 68, 69, '71, '74, f Isaiah, bd. 1. 
 
JUDAISM. 63 
 
 images of the prophets, or to have expected the accomplish- 
 ment of any thing but their own visions of conquest and glory. 
 The very depression under which they were at this time groan- 
 ing, made them look with greater certainty for the commg of 
 that mysterious Deliverer, who was to restore all things. 
 " The sceptre had departed from Judah," and it was therefore 
 time that " Shiloh shojdd come." That, too, was to be " the 
 great and terrible day of the Lord,"* and tradition declared, 
 that dark and fearful should be the trials which gathered 
 around Israel, and severe the ordeal through which they were 
 to pass, before the time of their deliverance came, and their 
 foot was to be placed upon the neck of their enemies. And now, 
 when the beaten slave of the heathen, and convulsed by the 
 very impotency of his rage, the Jew asked, whether these 
 were not the dark sorrows which were to precede the hght, 
 and strained his eyes forward, chiding the tardiness with 
 which the future glory came. 
 
 On the shores of the Jordan, too, a prophet had already 
 distinctly announced, that " the Kingdom of Heaven was at 
 hand," and there was often much in the language of the Bap- 
 tist which admitted of an interpretation confirming their view 
 of the Messiah's character. " His fan is in His hand, and He 
 will thoroughly purge His floor, and gather His wheat into the 
 gamer; but He will burn up the chaff with unquenchable 
 fire."f And who were the precious " wheat" to be " ga- 
 ^ ^ 
 
 Joel, ii. 11. f Matt. iii. 12. 
 
64 JUDAISM. 
 
 thered into the garner," but Israel — the elect people — the 
 sons of God by the very prerogative of their birth ? And 
 who were " the chaff" destined to " unquenchable fire," but 
 the hated Gentiles, who were to be thrust down to hell ? 
 They were to share the fate of the Amorite, the Hittite, and 
 the Perizzite. The Roman and the Greek were to be to the 
 Jews what the idolatrous Canaanite^was to their fathers. 
 They were to be driven from the land where their presence 
 was as blasting and mildew. All, therefore, however they 
 might differ in other respects, anticipated the coming of a 
 Deliverer, who should make Israel inheritor of a kingdom, and 
 sit in solemn judgment upon their mighty enemies. And as 
 the time drew nigh, it seemed as if the exactions of their 
 foreign enemies became more frequent and intolerable, and their 
 tyranny maddened the people beyond endurance. Is it wonder- 
 ful, then, that they writhed under that chain which had bound 
 them down to the earth — that each lip muttered conspiracy — 
 that each eye was turned, as the only hope, to a temporal 
 Deliverer — while every peaceful image and every spiritual view 
 of His character was lost in their intense desire for that ven- 
 geance which they thought the future held out ? Never, prob- 
 ably, during the existence of the Jewish state, were its people 
 so httle prepared to welcome a peaceful Messiah as in the very 
 age of His advent. 
 
 At length He came, and how were these high-raised hopes 
 fulfilled ? No visih|p glory heralded His approach — no king 
 arrived "to reign in Mount Zion, and in Jerusalem, and 
 
JUDAISM. 65 
 
 before his ancients gloriously."* The true-hearted were sum- 
 moned to a stable, and in a feeble wailing infant in a manger, 
 they were to recognise the long-expected Messiah. We look 
 back, indeed, through the vista of eighteen centuries, and it 
 seems to us as if wonders waited on His birth. Yet the 
 angel's song was only uttered among the silent pastures, and 
 before the lowlyshepherds, who watched their flocks by night — 
 the wise men of the East departed as suddenly and as mys- 
 teriously as they had come — and few probably listened to the 
 prophetic words of Simeon and Anna, while fewer still under- 
 stood their solemn import. ** The Eongdom of God came not 
 with observation." 
 
 •^ " Thou didst come, 
 
 Holiest ! to this world of sin and gloom, 
 Not in Thy dread omnipotent array ; 
 
 And not by thunder streVd 
 
 Was Thy tempestuous road ; 
 Not indignation burn'd before Thee on Thy way. 
 But Thee a soft and naked child, 
 Thy mother imdefiled, 
 In the rude manger laid to rest. 
 From off her virgin breast. 
 
 The heavens were not commanded to prepare 
 
 A gorgeous canopy of golden air, 
 
 Nor stoop'd their lamps th' enthroned fires on high ; 
 
 A single silent star 
 
 Came wandering from afar, 
 Ghding imcheck'd and calm along the Uquid sky ; 
 
 * Isaiah, xxiv. 23. 
 6* 
 
66 JUDAISM. 
 
 The Eastern sages leading on 
 As at a kingly throne, 
 To lay their gold and odors sweet 
 Before Thy infant feet. 
 
 The earth and ocean were not hush'd to hear 
 Bright harmony from every starry sphere ; 
 Nor at Thy presence brake the voice of song 
 
 From all the cherub choirs, 
 
 And seraphs' burning lyres, 
 Pour'd through the host of Heaven the charmed clouds along ; 
 One angel troop the strain began, 
 Of all the race of man, 
 By simple shepherds heard alone 
 That soft Hosanna's tone."* 
 
 It was, too, in a season of intense national excitement — ^in 
 the very agony of that crisis on which their fiiture destiny 
 seemed to be resting. The days of Herod the Great were 
 drawing to their close, and the clouds which had gathered 
 around his stormy path appeared now to have deepened, until 
 even his mind was darkened into savage insanity. All ties of 
 natural affection were obliterated. His own children were 
 condemned to the scaffold — the noblest blood in Judea was 
 recklessly shed — and as the last fragments of life were slipping 
 from his grasp, the heads of all the influential families in Jeru- 
 salem were assembled in the Hippodrome, that the hour of his 
 death might witness their execution, and thus no leaders be at 
 hand to oppose the succession of his son. Amid such unpar- 
 
 * Milman's " Fall of Jerusalem." 
 
JUDAISM. 6T 
 
 alleled horrors every individual trembled for his own personal 
 safety. Fanaticism, too, had risen to its height, and the great 
 parties which divided the people were standing ready at the 
 slightest signal to meet in deadly conflict. Every mind, there- 
 fore, was wrought up to the most feverish anxiety. What im- 
 pression, then, could be produced by the birth of an humble 
 infant ? The strange story of the Magians' visit, imperfectly 
 known, would soon be forgotten — the narrative of the simple 
 sheplierds, if heard in the courts of the temple, would be re- 
 garded as an illusion — and the predictions of Simeon and Anna 
 be pronounced the mere drivelhng of age. In addition to this, 
 the immediate disappearance of our Lord, and the obscurity in 
 which He lived for thirty years, must have quenched th"e hopes 
 of any of the more sanguine or better informed. 
 
 And when the years of His retirement were over, and He 
 came forth to act as the Herald of His own Gospel, who was 
 the Messiah offered to their worship ? A peasant of Galilee — 
 the companion of fishermen, publicans, and sinners — " a man 
 of sorrows and acquainted with grief" — without being invested 
 with a single attribute of that pomp in which they had been 
 accustomed to array Him. And not even the beauty of His 
 precepts — the holiness which pervaded all He uttered— or even 
 the mu-aculous power which He wielded — could reconcile them 
 to His lowly station. He came, too, in a spirit of philanthropy 
 which offered the most striking contrast to the bitterness of 
 Jewish prejudice. Every word He spoke must have jarred 
 with the harshest discord on the popular ear. Imagine Him 
 
 I 
 
68 JUDAISM. 
 
 preaching to His infuriated countrymen the doctrine of for- 
 giveness, and as the train of their hated conquerors swept by, 
 proclaiming the duty, "love your enemies." How deeply 
 would it sink into the hearts of His audience ? The answer 
 would be a scowl of undying hate, and every quivering lip 
 would utter forth the national curse, " Gehenna." They had 
 no sympathy with a universal Saviour whose beneficence was 
 to embrace the whole human race. They were startled, when 
 in opposition to the violent antipathy of the Jews, our Lord 
 talked with the woman of Samaria at the well, and still more 
 so, when He healed the daughter of the Canaanite mother — 
 the member of a race which bore upon them the seal of con- 
 demnation. There was nothing about Him of the warlike signs 
 which they expected — nothing which spoke of the condemna- 
 tion of Gentile nations, or flattered the exclusiveness of Jewish 
 pride. 
 
 His kingdom, too, was not of this world ; and a community 
 united by spiritual ties — held together by the bond of a com- 
 mon faith — was to them something utterly unintelligible. It 
 had nothing about it local — nothing distinctive of a single race 
 or nation — but embraced within the grasp of its influence, man 
 wherever he could be found. The despised Samaritan was in- 
 vited to be " a king and priest unto God ;" and in the contest 
 for eternal rewards, his might be a nobler prize than any which 
 could fall to the lot of the proudest Jew. It utterly set at de- 
 fiance all the grades and honors of earthly life. In the awards 
 of the coming world, the despised and down-trodden Helot 
 
JUDAISM. 69 
 
 might inherit a brighter crown than that assigned to the master 
 of Imperial Rome. There was no place for any spiritual aris- 
 tocracy — no reservation for those who gloried in the lineage of 
 Abraham. This faith, too, was equally adapted to every coun- 
 try and clime. It was to spread its cheering rays over the 
 snows of the North, and hold its cup of blessing to the panting 
 savage beneath the tropic beats. Nothing could be conceived 
 more utterly opposed to the narrow spirit of Jewish preju- 
 dices. It was a long time, indeed, before the Apostles them- 
 selves could learn to look beyond the barriers which education 
 had built up around them. They were continually startled 
 by our Lord's revelations — ^wavering and fluctuating in their 
 faith — and attempting in vain to reconcile His declarations with 
 their own deeply-seated erroneous views. We see in every 
 action their exclusive Jewish feelings. 
 
 This, then, was the field of labor before our Lord when He 
 went forth to inculcate the gentle and peaceful doctrines of His 
 faith, and these were the discordant elements which would be 
 arrayed against Him. And so the result proved. He encoun- 
 tered at once a fierce and turbulent national spirit wrought up 
 to the highest pitch of fanaticism, and every word He uttered 
 clashed with the strongest prejudices of His audience. For 
 once, the proud Pharisee, the lordly Sadducee, the zealot, the 
 hypocrite, the bigot, and the skeptic were united. He spoke 
 to them of a day bright beyond human splendor — magnificent 
 beyond the loftiest conceptions of human thought — but they 
 had no sympathy with any thing that the distant future should 
 
'TO JUDAISM. 
 
 unfold. Now was the time of Judea's degradation, and they 
 demanded that now the glory should dawn upon them. He 
 displayed before them the Divine Goodness in human form, 
 but they, in their inward wrath and despair, cared only for a 
 demonstration of the terrible and destructive attributes of the 
 Almighty. They wished a Deliverer who should embody all 
 the fierce yearnings and national prejudices of Judaism. It 
 was with such revelations that the Old Testament had rendered 
 them familiar, and they looked for one, before whom — to adopt 
 the terrible imagery of the older prophets — their enemies, the 
 micircumcised and the accursed, should be broken, and scat- 
 tered, and destroyed, as the chaff before the whirlwind, as the 
 stubble beneath the flail of the thresher, as the fine dust be- 
 neath the hoofs of the horses and the wheel of the chariot. 
 
 We see how careful our Lord was Himself to correct this 
 impression, when the mother of James and John, dazzled by 
 the prospect of a temporal empire, which she expected soon 
 to be established, requested, that " her two sons might sit, the 
 one on His right hand and the other on His^ left, in His king- 
 dom." He points her, in reply, to the cup of sufifering of 
 which they were to drink, and the baptism of blood which 
 was to be their portion. And then, addressing the twelve. He 
 inculcates the lesson, " Whosoever will be chief among you, let 
 him be your servant."* Such, too, was the unvarying tenor 
 of His preaching to the people. He spread before them no 
 
 * Matt. XX. 21. 
 
JUDAISM. 71 
 
 glowing vision of Judea's greatness. He spoke of good ti- 
 dings to the poor, of consolation in sorrow and deliverance from 
 affliction. In the synagogue at Nazareth, He took for His text 
 the passage, " The spirit of the Lord is upon me, because He 
 hath anointed me to preach the Gospel to the poor ; He hath 
 sent me to heal the broken-hearted, to preach dehverance to 
 the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind ; to set at 
 liberty them that are bruised ; to preach the acceptable year 
 of the Lord." He then proceeded to declare, that these days 
 of peace and comfort were now dawning upon them. And it 
 is to be noticed, that before He came to the next clause, which 
 harmonized ill with the character of the new faith and spoke 
 of " the day of vengeance," He broke oflf and closed the 
 book.* But the effect of this pacific tone, which characterized 
 all His teaching, was, that " many of His disciples went back, 
 and walked no more with Him." It was an entire disappoint- 
 ment of all the expectations which had been raised by the evi- 
 dences He gave of miraculous power. He held out nothing in 
 accordance with their excited hopes — ^nothing which could 
 
 * This is the idea of Milman, {Hist, i 100.) This passage was prob- 
 ably the lesson for the day, and we cannot tell how far it extended, as 
 these verses are not included in any of the lists of lessons used among 
 the modern Jews, and wliich they assert have been imaltered since the 
 days of the Maccabees. The 51st Haphtoroth now commences with the 
 tenth verse of this chapter instead of thr. first. " Have the Jews," asks 
 an eminent commentator, " altered this haphtoroth, knowing the use 
 which our Blessed Lord made of it among their ancestors ?" — Dr. A, 
 Clarice, on Deut. xxxiv. 
 
72 JUDAISM. 
 
 minister to that passionate national feeling inwrought in the 
 Jewish nature. And we learn how entire was this desertion, 
 from the mournful question which He puts to the chosen 
 twelve, "Will ye also go away ?"* 
 
 Thus the ministry of our Lord passed away. The circle of His 
 acknowledged influence was narrow, for the faithful who clung to 
 Him were few, while He had provoked the deep-rooted hostihty 
 of the rulers of the people. In the hearts of many, like Nicode- 
 mus. He may have sowed the seeds of truth, yet they shrunk 
 from taking up the Cross and becoming openly His professed 
 disciples. To the Apostles, therefore, the task of establishing 
 the faith was more difficult than ever, for the intense suspense 
 in which the public mind had been held for three years was 
 ended by His death, and the hopes of even His attached fol- 
 lowers seemed buried in the sepulchre in the garden. They 
 had, too, to meet the bitter disappointment of the people, 
 whose deliverance from their foreign yoke was apparently more 
 hopeless than ever. The power of Rome fell with crushing 
 weight wherever the least resistance was seen. Let a tumult 
 occur in a distant village, and, as if by magic, a Roman cohort 
 appeared on the spot, and the whole village was swept from 
 the earth. Let the fanatical populace of Jerusalem show signs 
 of violence, and Pilate, leaving his abode at Caesarea, appeared 
 at once among them, set up his tribunal, and even the imperi- 
 ous Sanhedrim trembled and bowed with humility before it. 
 
 * John, vi 67. 
 
JUDAISM. 73 
 
 Not even tlie sacred courts of tlie Temple were a refuge from 
 his soldiery, but at the very altar they mingled the blood of 
 the Gahleans with their sacrifices. The proud and restless 
 people had the lesson of Rome's supremacy constantly forced 
 upon them with terrible distinctness. Everywhere, too, they 
 encountered the pubhcans, oppressive in their exactions, and 
 the hving evidences of their subjection to foreign rule. For a 
 Jew to accept this office was regarded as treason against his 
 country. And yet our Lord had uttered no word of reproba- 
 tion, and so far from sanctioning the popular feehng on this 
 subject, it was one of the charges against Him, that He was 
 "a friend of pubhcans."* He had entered into their houses, 
 ate and drank with them; and even in selecting the chosen 
 twelve, who were to be the leading ministers of His faith, one 
 of the number was a member of this hated profession — an 
 agent of this foreign rule — the very mention of which mad- 
 dened the Jew with the wildest rage, and caused him to utter 
 fierce prayers against the oppressor. The natural inquiry of 
 the people, therefore, was. What has Jesus done ? and they 
 turned from one who, to their minds, bore not a single mark 
 or sign of the expected Deliverer. 
 
 We have thus endeavored to bring forward a portraiture of 
 Judaism in the first century of our faith — ^its holy festivals and 
 glorious worship, the jpride and passions, the hopes and preju- 
 dices, which swayed its fickle population. If we have suc- 
 
 * Matt. XL 19. 
 
74 JUDAISM. 
 
 ceeded, you will be able to appreciate the obstacles which, were 
 heaped up in the pathway of Christianity as it went forth from 
 its cradle to inherit the earth. Can you not imagine, therefore, 
 the situation of St. Paul, as " he preached Christ in the syna- 
 gogues?"* Can you not picture to yourself the astonishment 
 which filled the minds of his hearers, when he proclaimed to 
 them that the gorgeous rites and ceremonies their fathers 
 loved, were now to pass away, and the burst of indignant rage 
 which rang around him when at last he pointed them to a 
 crucified malefactor as their Messiah? Can you wonder at the 
 relentless hostihty with which they pursued him from city to 
 city, seeking even his life : that at Antioch *' the Jews were 
 filled with envy, and spake against those things which were 
 spoken by Paul, contradicting and blaspheming:" that they 
 " stirred up the devout and honorable women, and the chief 
 men of the city, and raised persecution against Paul and Bar- 
 nabas, and expelled them out of their coasts :"f that at 
 Iconium " there was an assault made of the Jews, with their 
 rulers, to use them despitefully and to stone them :"J; that 
 when they had fled to the heathen cities of Lystra and Derbe, 
 and the Gentiles heard them gladly, " thither came certain 
 Jews from Antioch and Iconium, who persuaded the people, 
 and having stoned Paul, drew him out of the city, supposing 
 he had been dead ?"§^ Is it strange that their resentful oppo- 
 
 * Acts, ix. 20. f Acts, xiiL 45, 50. 
 
 X Acts, xiv, 6. § Acts, xiv. 19. 
 
 ■I . 
 
JUDAISM. T5 
 
 sition even preceded the Apostle to Rome, and the Jews of the 
 Imperial City could declare, " Concerning this sect, we know 
 that it is everywhere spoken against ?"* It was a struggle 
 between the Old Faith and the New, which was for life and 
 death, and there is no warning which the Apostle reiterates 
 more frequently, in various forms, than the caution, '* Beware 
 of the concision, "f ^^ 
 
 And yet, this contest was fought and the triumph achieved. 
 The Synagogue and the Church for a time stood opposed to 
 each other in implacable hostility ; but each year beheld the 
 power of the former weakening. The fierce intolerance of the 
 Jew could not stand before the calm endurance and the martyr 
 courage of the early Christian. The offence of the Cross 
 gradually ceased, until it became the badge of honor. At last, 
 Jerusalem itself was spoiled and desolate — the tombs of her 
 kings, consecrated by the ashes of the mighty, were violated — 
 and every spot sacred to the broken and scattered tribes of 
 Israel, was trampled by the insulting Infidel. Again might 
 have been uttered over her the sorrowful lamentation of the 
 prophet, *'How doth the city sit solitary, that was full of 
 people ! how has she become as a widow ! she that was great 
 among the nations, and princess among the provinces, how is 
 she become tributary!"]; Judaism could scarcely retain its 
 vitality, when its great central home, hallowed by the rever- 
 ence of ages, had ceased to exist. Tlie rush of wings which 
 
 * Acts, xxviii. 22. f Fhil. iii. 2. X -^«»^- i- 1- 
 
T6 JUDAISM. 
 
 was heard in the Temple, as the days of Judea's greatness 
 waned to their end, and the voice that uttered, "Let us depart 
 hence," were hut significant of that withdrawal of the Divine 
 favor which proclaimed the end of the existing polity. This, 
 too, with many, must have given a death-blow to the dreams 
 of an earthly monarch, and they were obliged to seek in the 
 future glories which Christianity oflfered, something to compen- 
 sate them for their present humiliation. The Roman plough- 
 share had passed over the spot on which once stood the Holy 
 of Holies ; where, therefore, could the throne of the Deliverer 
 be erected ? Sad and solemn were the memories which swept 
 back over the mind of the Jew, when he thought of the Holy 
 City, and the glorious scenes he had witnessed about the 
 Mount of Zion ! There once stood Jerusalem on its lofty hills, 
 conspicuous from afar by the lightness and beauty of its East- 
 ern architecture, while above it rose the massive tower of the 
 Antonia, the stately palace of Herod, and the still more 
 gorgeous palace of the King of Kings. How gloriously must 
 the rays of a setting sun have played upon its golden roof and 
 among its marble colonnades, lighting up all with a glittering 
 radiance, and sending through the valley below broad masses 
 of shadow which brought out the snow-white Temple into 
 bolder rehef! And at the hour when the evening sacrifice 
 was offered up, the smoke would be seen rising slowly in the 
 air, and the hymn of countless worshippers float solemnly on 
 the breeze. But now every thing was changed. For a time 
 desolation rested on Mount Moriah, until at last there grew up 
 
JUDAISM. Y7 
 
 the heathen city of ^\m, and sounds of busy hfe were once 
 more heard on that sacred spot. But an edict of the Emperor 
 prohibited the Jew from entering its walls,* and he could not 
 even come to die amidst the graves of his forefathers. And 
 if he attempted to evade the law, how could he pass through 
 the Bethlehem gate, over which was erected the image of a 
 swine, in mockery of his faith ! He would have shrunk from 
 it as his countrymen at Rome did from the arch of Titus, 
 which displayed upon its sculptured panels the last scene in 
 their countiy's shame — the triumphal procession of the cap- 
 tive Jews, bearing, as they march, the sacred utensils of the^ 
 Temple, the table of show-bread, the golden candlestick, and 
 the silver trumpets of the priests. Or how could he bear to 
 see the hill of Zion's solemnities profaned by a temple of the 
 impure idolaters — its incense reeking up from the spot on 
 which once the Shekinah rest§d, — and the wild dissonance of 
 Heathen worship, or the Bacchanalian chorus of forbidden 
 rites, making it to him the Mount of Corruption ! The Jewish 
 mind was for a time utterly stunned. It has been truly de- 
 scribed as — the bursting of the heart of the nation. The 
 people had never contemplated the possibility of such a ruin, 
 for they considered the promises of God pledged to the in- 
 violability of His Temple. They beheld, in the records of the 
 past, what the Heathen would call an avenging Nemesis, pur- 
 suing those who had profaned its shrine. The Assyrian and 
 
 * Gibbon, ch. xv. 
 1* 
 
78 JUDAISM. 
 
 the Persian in succession plundered it, and in a short time their 
 dynasty passed away, and a stranger sat upon their throne. 
 Antiochus Epiphanes trod in their footsteps, and terribly was 
 he repaid by the sad and mournful death which terminated his 
 career. Pompey followed, but from the hour of his profana- 
 tion of their Temple the Jews marked with exultation that his 
 course of conquest ended, and he poured out his life-blood 
 upon the shores of Egypt. Crassus repeated his crime, and 
 he perished with his legions on the sands of the desert, where 
 the wild Parthians were the ministers of God's retribution. 
 But now it seemed as if the vengeance of Heaven had ceased. 
 Tower and temple, wall and citadel were dust — the sword and 
 the flame had done their work — Israel was clothed in sackcloth 
 and ashes ; but still no storm gathered around her oppressors. 
 There seemed no vision of hope remaining; the scattered 
 tribes realized they were " earth's warning, scofi", and shame," 
 and instead of contending for supremacy with the rising faith, 
 were content to wrap themselves up in sullen isolation. 
 
 A century more went by, and the tone of the Christian 
 writers shows how entire was the downfall of the ancient faith. 
 The fiery TertulHan, from the shores of Africa, utters the sen- 
 timents which prevailed through all ranks of the Church.* 
 His tone of triumph is mingled with no sympathy for the de- 
 graded Jews. He seems rather to rejoice that they are " a 
 people scattered and peeled, a nation meted out and trodden 
 
 * Lib. contra Judoeos. 
 
JUDAISM. 79 
 
 under foot."* He exults as they are trampled into the dust 
 by their Heathen persecutors. There is something almost un- 
 christian in the bitter mockery which he heaps upon their 
 prostrate foes, but he regarded them as those on whom rested 
 the hereditary guilt of their Lord's crucifixion — a guilt which 
 had been bequeathed to them by the fearful prayer, " His 
 blood be upon us and upon our children !" and therefore no 
 punishment could be too severe — no sufferings could too deeply 
 abase them. 
 
 And since then, what has been the history of the once 
 chosen people ? It has realized the legend of the wandering 
 Jew — ever hving, yet in pain and sorrow — gifted with an im- 
 mortality, yet roaming restlessly through the earth — never at 
 ease, weary and desolate — followed, as it wei^, by some an- 
 cient curse ever cleaving to their garments. Thus bearing the 
 sorrows of eighteen centuries on their brow, their path has 
 been over the brier and the thorn, and they have merited the 
 title— 
 
 " Tribes of the wandering foot and weary bre^t." 
 
 * Isaiah, xviii T. 
 
II. 
 
 GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 The warfare which Christianity waged with Judaism was a 
 contest with those of the same household. It was the struggle 
 of the infant Hercules in his cradle before he began to accom- 
 plish his mighty works. But the new faith grew and ex- 
 panded, until it overpassed the bounds of Judea, published its 
 mission to nations which long had sat in darkness and the 
 shadow of death, and began to vindicate its claim to the con- 
 trol of the human mind. Everywhere that man was found its 
 appeal was made, without regard to the narrow distinctions of 
 race or caste. In tracing, therefore, its progress, as it went 
 forth to endure the warfare and win the conquest, we must 
 follow it from its sacred home in Asia to another continent, 
 and hear its voice amid the groves of Athens, as it oflfered to 
 solve those problems which for ages had baffled the efforts of 
 human learning. The subject, therefore, which it brings 
 before us is, Christianity in conflict with Grecian Phi- . 
 
 LOSOPHY. ^ 
 
 We confine our view to Greece, because there only did the 
 faith encounter philosophy m its strength. The Romans con- 
 
82 aRECIA]^ PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 fessedly had none of their own, and did but feebly imitate that 
 which they imported from Athens. It was " Roman plagiar- 
 ism worshipping the echo of Grecian wisdom." After the 
 subjugation of Greece, when the conquered had woven their 
 intellectual chains about' the conquerors, the study of their 
 literature became the fashion at Rome. To speak and write 
 the language was an indispensable accomplishment. A Greek 
 slave to instruct the children was the necessary appendage to 
 every family, ajid Greek professors taught philosophy and 
 rhetoric to those who aspired to a liberal education. The 
 youth of the Imperial City visited Athens and returned with 
 that refinement which was requisite to throw a grace around 
 the sternness of the Roman character. We trace this influence 
 in the Dialogues of Cicero, and still more in that light and 
 careless philosophy enshrined by Horace in those verses which 
 are now as sparkling as when they won for their author the 
 favor of Augustus. Amid the schools of Athens — adopting 
 the system of none, yet culling from all what gratified his 
 taste — a student by turns in the Academy, the Portico, and the 
 Grove — ^he seems to have been imbued with that graceful 
 Epicureanism which imparts a tone of pensive skepticism to his 
 poems. And this was the only kind of effect which philosophy 
 seems to have produced at Rome. It tinged, in some degree, 
 the intellectual firmament, and softened and refined the litera- 
 ture, but it did not sink into the hearts of men. It was not 
 elevated into a belief, moulding the whole life, and becoming a 
 guide not only to the intellect but to the conscience. It was 
 
GRECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 83 
 
 not a great system involving moral obligations, and for which, 
 like Socrates, men would die. It took no root in the national 
 existence, produced no great thinkers, and therefore exercised 
 no abidmg influence.* At Rome, then, philosophy could 
 scarcely be numbered among the antagonists of the faith. 
 
 But at Athens it was far different. There Christianity had 
 to measure strength with the pride of earthly wisdom — that 
 insidious spirit which, more than any thing else, could array its 
 possessor against the humiUty of the Gospel, and which gave 
 St. Paul occasion to declare, that " not many wise men after 
 the flesh are called" to be numbered with its followers. To 
 this, too, he refers, when, comparing the national characteristic 
 of the Jews and Greeks, he says, " The Jews require a sign, 
 (i. e. a miracle,) and the Greeks seek after wisdom, (i. e. phi- 
 losophy.)! And when he stood upon Mars Hill, and by the 
 simple weapons of the Gospel struck a deadly blow at the 
 loftiest dreams to which human learning has ever given birth, 
 he was the first combatant in that struggle which went on for 
 centuries. The task, therefore, to hun, was one of pecuHar 
 difficulty. He came to the seat- of Grecian learning uncalled 
 and unexpected. He knew not that any spirit there was 
 yearning for his tidings, or any heart prepared for the revela- 
 tions he was to unfold. The cry, " Come over and help us," 
 was heard from a region which the enhghtened philosophers of 
 Greece looked down upon as barbarous, and from a province 
 
 * Lewes' Hist, of Philosophy, ii. 184. f 1 Cor. i. 22. 
 
84 ORECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 which they were reluctant to acknowledge as a part of the 
 Hellenic nation.* It was not an inhabitant of refined Corinth 
 or intellectual Athens, but " a man of Macedonia," who, in a 
 vision, stood by St. Paul, and called him from Asia into 
 Greece. 
 
 We would endeavor, therefore, to portray the nature of 
 those obstacles which the character of the Athenians and their 
 intellectual training placed in the Apostle's way, for we believe 
 they are seldom realized. We are content to rejoice in the 
 glory which was won — in the possession of the truth which 
 has made us free ; but we think too little of the pains and 
 sufferings of those who passed through the conflict and 
 achieved the triumph. And in performing this task, we shall 
 regard the philosophy of Greece, which the Apostle here en- 
 countered, as an antagonist entirely distinct from that ancient 
 mythology, which, if it had not its birth on the same spot, 
 was at least here shaped into those forms of beauty in which 
 it has come down to us. The two are often so mingled as to 
 render it impossible to separate them ; yet, as far as prac- 
 ticable, we shall pass by the consideration of the latter until 
 we meet it in all its wide-spread influence, when beholding the 
 establishment of the faith in the Imperial City. 
 
 We must begin by considering the character of the Greeks 
 at this time. We seldom appreciate the habits of thought on 
 the intellectual character of a people who are removed from 
 
 * WordswwtKs Qreecey p. 8. 
 
GKECIAiq^ PHILOSOPHY. • 85 
 
 US by the distance of centuries. It is a point not brought 
 before us. " History is rarely more than the biography of 
 great men. Through a succession of individuals we trace the 
 character and destiny of nations. The People glide away 
 from us, a sublime but intangible abstraction, and the voice of 
 the mighty Agora reaches us only through the medium of its 
 representatives to posterity."* But these often give no true 
 idea of the nation from which they come, and thus we are led 
 to form false conclusions. Dazzled by the eloquence of a few 
 imperishable names, we dwell upon these alone, and suffer the 
 character of a departed people to rest in silence. 
 
 The world has never witnessed a national character like that 
 of the Greeks at the advent of Christianity. These were their 
 most Grecian days, when they had reached their highest cul- 
 minating point. The vast and colossal features of the Iron 
 Age, stamped as they were with the heroic and sublime — 
 rugged yet grand — had given place to forms of grace and 
 beauty. Nature itself acted on the Greek to give a higher 
 tone to his character. The transparent atmosphere — the cloud- 
 less sky — the balmy winds, all so pure that they rendered mere 
 animal existence a luxury — lightened the heart and acted on 
 the whole system with an exhilarating power. His imagina- 
 tive faculties, too, were kept in constant exercise by the scenes 
 on which he gazed. They partook both of the sublime and 
 the calm and beautiful. Here, he beheld the traces of volcanic 
 
 * Bulwer's Athens, ii. 9. 
 8 
 
86 * aEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 fires which had desolated the soil, or of earthquakes, which, as 
 at Sparta, had overthrown cities and convulsed the lofty moun- 
 tains, so that when they passed away, the dark wide chasms 
 were their footsteps, and their impress remained stamped upon 
 the enduring rock. There, his eye met only forms of softness 
 and repose — glittering shores resting in the calmness of a vivid 
 sunlight, such as is seen but in those Eastern lands — and 
 countless islands floating in a sea which appeared to be ruffled 
 only by a summer breeze. Nor was nature left to produce 
 this influence alone. When the Greek looked to some distant 
 hill, he beheld, perhaps, the Doric columns of a stately temple 
 rising on its brow ; while in the retired grove — ^in the open 
 spaces of the Agoras — and in the crowded avenues of the 
 streets — he encountered breathing statues wrought from the ra- 
 diant marbles of Paros or Pentelicus. And the love of these 
 creations of art became a part of his very existence. They 
 appealed to his imagination like the trophies of Miltiades to 
 the mind of Themistocles, haunting him by day and mingling 
 with his dreams by night, until the outward world acted like 
 inspiration to his spirit and moulded his whole nature into an 
 intense love of the ideal and the beautiful. 
 
 The Greek, therefore, in this age, had attained the very 
 height of intellectual culture. Never before had mind been so 
 active, and at Athens was collected all that human wisdom had 
 ever devised. The heritage of traditions they had received 
 from their Pelasgian ancestors, the dim track of whose exis- 
 tence we find it so difficult to trace — the discoveries of Egyp- 
 
GRECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 87 
 
 tian hierophants, enshrined in their dark and mystic creed — 
 the rehcs of old Chaldean learning, when its sages looked out 
 from their towers on the hosts of heaven, or calculated that 
 mystery of numbers which they supposed to enclose the secrets 
 of prophecy — all, in truth, that the world had known from the 
 distant West to the antique temples of India, had become the 
 property of these briUiant children of the South. The pride 
 of human intellect was throned in Gree^ and from thence her 
 philosophers ruled the mind of many nations. And this exer- 
 tion of thought and energy of genius was not confined to the 
 favored few. It pervaded the mass of the whole people. 
 Each Athenian was esteemed competent to decide on all 
 matters, from the most venerable to the least important, and 
 all in succession came before him and claimed his attention in 
 those great assemblies which were the nurseries of Grecian 
 eloquence. There they met the jewelled heralds of Persia, and 
 sent back their taunting defiance to the power which seemed 
 ready to crush them. Thither came the ambassadors of Sparta 
 with their complaints, when they would prevent the rebuilding 
 the demolished walls of Athens, and the acuteness of Attica 
 was called into exercise to defeat by diplomacy the dishonor- 
 able craft of their more wai'like neighbor. There were dis- 
 cussed the measures of Miltiades and Themistocles, and each 
 citizen watched with jealous care the movements of these 
 popular leaders, ever anxious lest the state should be injured 
 by their ambition. There each expedition was publicly dis- 
 cussed, and the whole people decided how many war-ships 
 
88 GEECIA]^ PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 should sail against Paros, and how many troops should march 
 to succor Lacedemon, when the earthquake had rent asunder 
 the chains of her Helots, and amidst the very convulsions of 
 Nature, the wild and desperate slaves had risen on their 
 masters. There, too, were settled all that concerned the 
 gorgeous rites of their faith — the recognition of a new deity — 
 the erection of another temple — or the remodelling those forms 
 of ancient worship, t^which each age was adding a higher 
 poetical beauty. To the people, too, was submitted every thing 
 that concerned literature and art — the numbers of a tragic 
 chorus — the material of that statue of the champion deity 
 which Phidias was to execute for the Acropolis — the meed of 
 praise to be awarded to the successful painter — and the judg- 
 ment to be passed upon the poet, who stood trembling for 
 their decision. If, therefore, the genius of an Athenian was 
 unnaturally forced, it was most prodigal in its luxuriance. 
 And the same training necessarily produced in him a most 
 thorough cultivation of the taste. Everywhere we trace the 
 existence of " the vision and the faculty divine." He was at 
 home in every department of life, for every thing was referred 
 to him, and he learned to judge of every thing. From his 
 earhest years he was brought into contact with all that could 
 refine the mind and elevate the imagination. This was his 
 education. His academe was the public Agora — ^his books 
 were those productions of art, before the unequalled glory of 
 which the world even now bows in reverence — ^his teachers 
 were the noblest orators of antiquity, and the writers of those 
 
 ' J 
 
GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 89 
 
 lofty tragedies whose sublimity modem genius has never yet 
 surpassed. An Athenian, therefore, was born a statesman — 
 thought was his natural heritage — ^he felt from the earhest 
 dawn of reason that he was himself a part of the state — and 
 hence arose that idolatrous love of country which in him con- 
 trasted so well with the fanatical patriotism of Sparta.* For 
 him were erected those lofty temples — those noble porticoes — 
 and those schools of learning. For him were those sumptu- 
 ous baths — those groves and gardens which sheltered him from 
 the noonday sun — and that noble theatre, where the in- 
 habitants of a city could range themselves on its benches. 
 And never again shall the world see such an audience ! What 
 other assemblage could have appreciated the lofty dramas of 
 
 * Tliis love of the Greek for his native city is beautifully set forth by 
 Metastasio, in his drama of Temistocle. In the later view between 
 Theniistocles and Xerxes, the latter, endeavoring to show that a 
 banished man can have no love for an ungrateful country, receives from 
 the Athenian eidle an answer whose very brevity is sublime, — 
 
 Nacqui in Atene. 
 
 " Born in Athens." And then most beautifully does the Itahan poet 
 express the reverential reply of the exile to the haughty question, 
 *' What he loves there so well?" In a few lines he enimierates the 
 objects of his love and regret — the ashes of the ancestral dead, the 
 sacred laws, the protecting gods, the speech, the mamiers — yes, the 
 sweat it has cost him, the splendor he has thence derived — the air, the 
 trees, the soil, the walls, the very stones ; and thus he gieems to have 
 exhausted every feeling, for liis voice sinks into silence, and he closes 
 abruptly, as if overwhelmed by the details of his patriotic love.- 
 Fraser^s Mag. 
 
 8* 
 
90 GRECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 <^schylus, or the plays of Aristophanes, as he holds up before 
 them a satire on themselves — boldly ridicules the humors of a 
 democracy — and recklessly lampoons all the interests of the 
 Agora and the Piraeus ! What audience but an Athenian 
 would have responded to his sparkling wit with an applause, 
 which, while it testified to the genius of the author, proved 
 also the refinement of those for whom his plays were written ! 
 In what other natron, indeed, could we recognise as a truth 
 what the Stagyrite has laid down as a general proposition — 
 that the common people are the most exquisite judges of 
 whatever in art is graceful, harmonious, or sublime !* 
 
 Such was the intellectual training of the Athenians. They 
 passed their days in an atmosphere of intelligence which else- 
 where has never had its parallel in the annals of the world. 
 Incited to perpetual emulation, life with them was crowded 
 with action, and that action was conceived and executed in the 
 spirit of poetry. With the brightest rewards held out to the 
 efforts of successful genius, they were ever struggling to pro- 
 duce some dazzling result which should win for them the ap- 
 plause of assembled Greece. And the fruits of these efforts 
 are even now with us. They are witnessed in that p?oud phi- 
 losophy, whose influence is still felt on the intellect of the 
 world, and that lofty poetry which, long as the generations of 
 men remain, shall furnish their models and master-pieces. We 
 cannot, indeed, begin to trace the progress of the human mind, 
 
 * Btdwer's Athens, ii. 235. 
 
GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 91 
 
 without turning at once to the history of Greece. And now, 
 when more than two thousand years have passed away, we 
 find ourselves surrounded by the trophies of Athenian genius, 
 and swayed by the spirit they impart. Her creations of beauty 
 mingle in the dreams of the artist, and are reproduced in 
 many a varied form — the student in his closet turns with 
 reverent awe to commune with her mighty dead — and even the 
 legislator gathers wisdom from the experience of those who 
 essayed to rule that fickle and brilliant people. We cannot 
 define her influence, but we feel that it has ever been to aid the 
 triumph of the Intellectual over the Material and the Physical ; 
 and now, after the lapse of so many ages, we realize even 
 more fully than did he who wrote the sentence, " that the 
 power of ancient Greece was not an idle legend."* 
 
 A blighting change has passed over that fair city which 
 once claimed to be the EXXaj iiWaSoi — " the Greece of Greece." 
 The Propylsea and the Parthenon are in ruins — the olive-groves 
 of Academe, which Cimon planted, and which were conse- 
 crated by the bright remembrance of Plato's presence, have 
 been swept away — and silence and desolation have settled on 
 the spou where once stood the tumultuous Agora. But the 
 spirit of Athens is felt throughout the world. It gave birth 
 to an imperishable language, and then to insure its universahty, 
 enshrined in it the rarest treasures. Every land over the wide 
 earth has been breathed on by the air of Attica, and every 
 
 * Plut. in vit Per. 
 
92 GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 civilized nation has done reverence to the genius of her people. 
 Glorious, indeed, must have been that nation whom Miltiades 
 led against the Mede at Marathon, and Aristides at Platsea — 
 over whom the brilliant Pericles ruled — who hstened to the 
 burning eloquence of Demosthenes — whose code was written 
 by Solon — and to whom Plato unfolded those glowing visions 
 which even now float in beauty before the eyes of the scholar 
 and the philosopher ! 
 
 But we must turn to the social life of the Greeks, thoroughly 
 to understand their character. They were not a reading, but a 
 hearing and a talking people. With them the mind was 
 reached through the eye and the ear. The imaginative faculty 
 was perpetually called forth, and these impulsive children of 
 the East, with every power expanded into the very fulness of 
 life, were the very audience to be swayed by an orator who 
 could play upon the impulses and passions of those he ad- 
 dressed. There was no press through which the philosopher 
 could appeal to his countrymen; and therefore, instead of 
 writing for their benefit, he mingled with them in their daily 
 walks, and by the living voice inculcated his doctrines. He 
 established a school, and its benches were crowded oy those 
 who loved to seek in any form the excitement of intellectual 
 activity. No cares of business occupied their time, for they 
 lived on the tribute of subject-nations, or on the industry of their 
 slaves. The Romans spent their leisure hours in reading — we 
 find their poets alluding to the " midnight oil" — and Homer 
 and the Greek writers were their constant study. But the 
 
GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 93 
 
 Athenian listened to these authors recited in the open air. 
 The charms of domestic Hfe were comparatively unknown, and 
 home conveyed not to the Greek the idea with which we in 
 modem times invest it. His social hours were spent abroad — 
 in the groves and gardens — and in those noble colonnades 
 which Simon erected, that beneath their shade, sheltered from 
 the western sun, his countrymen might assemble and converse. 
 There they reviewed the operations of their generals, canvassed 
 the merits of o pposing orators, or hstened to the reasoning of 
 philosophers upon subjects the most abstruse, such as the soul, 
 the creation of the universe, its sustaining causes, its duration, 
 and the purposes of its various parts. For one library, the 
 Greeks had a hundred theatres for plays, music and spectacles — 
 groves and academies for disputation — forums for orators — and 
 gymnasia and palaestrae for exercise and conversation.* 
 
 With us, indeed, in the cold regions of the north, it is diffi- 
 cult to understand the attachment of these impassioned chil- 
 dren of a warmer latitude, to the mere physical enjoyment of 
 climate. Yet without taking into account this element of 
 Greek character, we can scarcely comprehend them aright. 
 They display an ardent love for the sun, as if he were a 
 familiar friend. It was the practice of the Grecian children, 
 when his rays were obscured by a cloud, to exclaim, " E^e;^* 
 w (piV 'fiXit !" — " Come forth, beloved sun !"f He was to them 
 an emblem of glory and fertility. In the gladness of their 
 
 * Metros. Rev. Introd. f St. John's Hellenes, v. i. p. 149. 
 
94 aRECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 !;emperament they asked only that the skies should shine 
 above them, and the seas sparkle at their feet. They basked 
 in the sunny air while life continued, and when they were 
 obliged to depart from this world, the chief terror of "the 
 gloomy Hades" is, that its fields are un visited by those bright 
 beams which had shed such cheerful beauty about their 
 earthly homes. To the god of day, therefore, they turned to 
 utter their last farewell ; and the personages of Grecian poetry 
 seem to linger with the same reluctance, as if they were part- 
 ing from those who claimed them as earthly kindred.* We 
 hear this in the mournful tones of Antigone, when she ex- 
 claims, — 
 
 " Farewell, my friends ! my countrymen, farewell 1 
 Here on her last sad jomney you behold 
 The poor Antigone : for never more 
 Shall I return, or view the light of day. 
 The hand of death conducts me to the shore 
 • Of dreary Acheron."f 
 
 And to contrast with the womanly tenderness of Antigone 
 the more manly language of Ajax, it is thus that the hero con- 
 cludes his apostrophe to the objects he was leaving, before he 
 dies by his own sword, — 
 
 " And thou, Sun ! who drivest the flaming car 
 Along the vaulted sky : when thou shalt see 
 My native soil, O ! stop thy golden reins ; 
 
 * BtUwer's Athens, ii. 314. f Sophocles, Antig. 750. 
 
GEEOIAN PHILOSOPHY. 95 
 
 Tell the sad story to my hapless sire, 
 And my afflicted mother ; when she hears 
 The mournful tale, her grief will fill the land 
 With dreadful lamentations ; but 'tis vain 
 To weep my fate : the business must be done. 
 Death ! look on me. Death ! I come to thee ; 
 Soon shall we meet : but thee, glorious Day, 
 Present and breathing round me, and the car 
 Of the sweet Sim, thou never shalt again 
 Receive my greeting ! henceforth time is sunless, 
 And day a thing that is not ! Beautiful light."* 
 
 Such were the characteristics of the Greeks. And now, to 
 bring this vividly before us — to enable us to realize more fully 
 the nature of that hfe they passed, crowned by all that could 
 elevate and refine — let us endeavor to summon up a picture of 
 the glorious city in her palmy days, and see her children in 
 some of those occupations which formed their characters, and 
 made them what they have come down to us — restless, bril- 
 liant, and intellectual. We pass the gates of Athens, and 
 everywhere meet her gay and graceful population, thronging 
 the streets or wandering through the olive-groves, whose leaves 
 rustle with the gentle breezes from the sea. We behold on 
 every side the very triumph of Grecian art — the works of 
 Praxiteles and Myron, of Phidias and Scopas — not concealed 
 within the enclosure of halls, but everywhere, on the lofty 
 pediments of temples, by the wayside, and in the open air, 
 whose purity preserved those beautiful creations unchanged 
 
 * Sophocles, Ajax, 790. 
 
96 GEECIAN PinLOSOPHY. 
 
 from year to year. Later times have seen them only in their 
 broken remains, mutilated and defaced ; yet each generation 
 gazed on them with reverent wonder, and they have ever been 
 the world's immortal models. But in the age to which we are 
 referring, they were in the freshness of youth, and we can 
 mingle with the crowds who gather around the Olympian Jove 
 of Phidias, awed by his Homeric majesty, as they behold him 
 seated in his lofty car. Architecture, too, lends her aid. 
 Those glorious fabrics are before us, which, Plutarch says, 
 " seem endowed with the bloom of a perpetual youth." As far 
 back as the days of Homer, the palaces of Greece, even 
 making some allowance for poetical embellishment, must have 
 displayed a beauty in the array of precious metals, and the 
 harmonious blending of azure and gold, beyond what we are 
 accustomed to ascribe to that early age.* We may imagine, 
 then, in later generations, with the greater rej&nement of taste, 
 the Queen of Attica had lost none of her glory. The quarries of 
 Paros and Pentelicus had given up their treasures, and entabla- 
 ture and column, of snow-white marble, meet the eye wherever 
 
 * " Walls plated bright with brass, on either side 
 Stretch'd from the portal to the interior house, 
 With azure cornice crown'd ; the doors were gold 
 Which shut the palace fast ; silver the posts 
 Rear'd on a brazen threshold, and above, 
 Tlie lintels, silver, architraved with gold. 
 Mastiffs, in gold and silver, lined the approach 
 On either side." — Odyssey, 1. vii. 103. 
 
GRECIA:f^r PHILOSOPHY. 97 
 
 we turn. The sister art, too, of painting, had been invoked to 
 impart her charms, and the marble of frieze and pediment are 
 covered with a brilliancy of colors which could long be pre- 
 served in no atmosphere but that of Greece. Thus they 
 stand, palaces and temples — beautiful in their fair proportions, 
 dazzling in their hues — and, rising far above them all, as if to 
 consecrate the whole, the sacred Acropolis, " the City of the 
 Gods." Such is the glory of this fair city, giving occasion to 
 the bitter reproach of the alhes, that she is ** as a vain woman 
 decked out with jewels."* 
 
 But a crowd obstructs the way. Two rival sopMsts are 
 disputing, and as the intellectual warfare grows warmer, the 
 delighted circle gathers closer around them. They reason by 
 the strictest rules of logic, and the enjoyment of the spectators 
 reaches its height as one is forced into a position where he is 
 obliged to acknowledge his defeat. "We pass on, and a rhap- 
 sodist is reciting to his audience. The poem he declaims with 
 such impassioned gestures, embraces the most vivid and ani- 
 mating subjects of interest, and his hearers catch the excitement. 
 It is the combat between Hector and Achilles, and the story, 
 heard a thousand times before, is to them ever fresh and new. 
 They share in the sorrows of the aged Priam, as he prays his 
 son to avoid a combat with him, who had already " unchilded 
 him of many a son" — ^tears flow as they hsten to his mother's 
 weeping entreaties — with clenched hands and flashing eyes 
 
 * Plut. in vit. Per. 
 9 
 
98 GRECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 they trace the progress of the fight ; and when at last the 
 mighty Hector falls, pierced by his foeman's spear, one heart- 
 felt groan is heard from all the rapt Usteners. It is a scene, 
 the copy of which we may see at this day upon the Mole in 
 Naples, except that there the lazzaroni listen to the strains of 
 Tasso, instead of the lofty verse of Homer. 
 
 But the people are thronging to the Pnyx, the place of their 
 public assembly. We find it on the sloping side of a hill, 
 where a semicircular space has been hewn out of the lime- 
 stone rock, with no roof above it, and no wall enclosing it. Six 
 thousand citizens have filled this area, and in the presence of 
 this multitude Themistocles rises and stands upon the Bema, a 
 solid pedestal cut from the rock. There is a hushed attention, 
 for he is to address them on the forming of the port of Piraeus, 
 a scheme which his far-reaching wisdom saw, would secure to 
 Athens the sovereignty of the seas. He is to appeal, not to 
 these six thousand alone, but through them to all his country- 
 men. He pauses for a moment and looks abroad upon the 
 scene. Below him is the Agora, filled with statues, and altars, 
 and temples, memorials of the great of other days, for Greece 
 ever honored the dead more than the living. Beyond it is the 
 Areopagus, the most venerable tribunal of the ancient world ; 
 above it the Acropolis ; and, towering high in the air, the co- 
 lossal statue of Minerva Promachus, armed with helmet, shield, 
 and spear, and seeming to challenge the world in defence of 
 Athens. To the right is the Parthenon, rising in severe and 
 stately beauty, dazzling the eye with its statues, its paintmg, 
 
GRECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 99 
 
 and gold. To the north are the plains and vineyards, the 
 olive-grounds and villages of Attica, lying in peaceful quiet 
 away from this stirring scene. Beyond are the poetical heights 
 of Phyle, and in the distant horizon the mountain-ridges of 
 Fames and Pentelicus. He turns to the left, and traces with 
 his eye the road to Eleusis — the Sacred Way — which passes by 
 the groves of the Academy, and over the classical stream of 
 Cephissus ; and in the distance is the now neglected Piraeus, to 
 which his eloquence to-day is to direct the attention of his 
 countrymen, so that the vacant spot will soon be filled with 
 vessels from distant lands — from the islands of the JEgean, the 
 peninsula of Thrace, and the coast of the Euxine — and his na- 
 tive city become the empress of the seas. And if other objects 
 were wanting to fire his mind, there was the gulf of Salamis, 
 where he himself, as leader of the Greeks, had won imperisha- 
 ble glory — with on the one side, the eminence of Mount ^ga- 
 leos, where Xerxes sat upon his throne of precious metals to 
 watch the progress of the fight, and on the other the Cape on 
 which stands the trophy of Themistocles himself.* Is it 
 strange, then, that he can stir the hearts of his countrymen 
 with a resistless power, or that the Pnyx became the school of 
 Athenian oratory ? 
 
 But it is time to pass to another arena of Grecian glory, and 
 one from which a spirit has gone forth for two thousand years 
 to influence the literature of the world. It is the great Theatre 
 
 * Wordsworth's Greece, p. 160. 
 
100 GEECIAT^ PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 of Athens, like tlie Pnyx, hewn from the hving rock of the 
 Acropohs, beneath the Parthenon of Minerva and the majestic 
 statue of Jupiter. From its sloping seats the wide prospect of 
 both sea and land stretches out before the eye like some vast 
 amphitheatre, till sky and earth mingle in the dim distance. 
 Open above to the heavens, the actors were hemmed in by no 
 painted scenes, but they turned to the skies and the lofty 
 mountains, and the shores so rich in historical associations. No 
 artificial lights were there, but the glorious sun of Greece was 
 above them, and the breezes which swept by were filled with 
 odors from the purple hills of Hymettus. On the lower 
 benches of the semicircle are the archons and magistrates — the 
 senators and priests — while rising above them are tier upon tier 
 of seats crowded with eighteen thousand spectators. " Ath- 
 ens," says Plutarch, "spent more in dramatic representations 
 than in all her wars." But we are to remember that the drama 
 of Greece was the loftiest portion of her literature, and when 
 Aristotle ranked the tragic higher than even the epic muse,* 
 he was but echoing the voice of all his countrymen. It dealt 
 with the highest interests of men — it was hallowed by the so- 
 lemnities of religious faith — its subjects were those legends of 
 the elder times in which the gods themselves were actors — and 
 it was brought before the audience heightened by all the pomp 
 of spectacle and the charms of the loftiest music. It was no 
 pastime of an hour, but the assembled multitude listened with 
 
 * Be Poet. c. 26. 
 
GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 101 
 
 reverent ear as the plot unfolded, and it came to them with 
 somewhat of sanctity from its connection with the spiritual world. 
 We see this in the noblest drama of them all — the Prome- 
 theus of Eschylus — where an awful interest invests the suffer- 
 ings of the hero, as, an elder and a better Deity, he sinks before 
 the power of his Olympian successor. Yet he himself feels, 
 that " the dark course of the grim Necessity" is pressing him 
 down, and " unawed by the wrath of gods," he submits to what 
 he regards as an inevitable fatality. But physical anguish 
 cannot crush him, and when the Oceanides rise around his 
 couch of pain, and in their notes of pity impart the sympathy 
 he had excited — that "the wide earth waileth him," and 
 through all its dwelling-places, " fall for a godhead's wrongs, 
 the mortals' murmuring tears" — ^the Titan answers in the voice 
 of prophecy, bids defiance to his oppressor, and predicts the 
 time when the son of Saturn shall be " hurled from his realm, 
 a forgotten king." We see the solemn grandeur of the sub- 
 ject, and the learned have supposed that the drama shadowed 
 forth some old-forgotten creed which had given place to the 
 more cheerful mythology of Greece — ^that the poet was array- 
 ing before the imagination of his cotemporaries gigantic phan- 
 toms, summoned from the wreck of a vanished ethical system, 
 in which such greatness found congeniality and sympathy. But 
 if so, with what added interest must the dark sublimity and 
 the vast conceptions of the poet have appealed to those who in 
 an age of faith listened to scenes which we only admire for 
 their lofty intellectual tone ! 
 
 9* 
 
102 GEECIAI^^ PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 But it is impossible for us in this day to enter into the feel- 
 ings of an Athenian as he attended the representation of his 
 national tragedies. The life-giving spirit which animated them 
 is gone. They derived their freshness and beauty from the 
 place in which they were performed, and the natural associa- 
 tion they had with the scenes around — the earth and sparkling 
 sea — ^the air and cloudless skies of Athens. We may imagine 
 what impression it gave to the delivery, when the subject was 
 the woes of the House of Atreus, and the spectator saw in the 
 distance the hills of the Peloponnesus, beneath which the hero 
 of the tragedy dwelt ; or when the acts of Media were un- 
 folded before them, they beheld the lofty summit of Acrocor- 
 inth, beneath which they were performed ; or when in " the 
 Persians" of Eschylus they listened to the description of the 
 battle of Salamis, with the bay spread out before them in 
 which these deeds were achieved, and the trophies on the 
 shore which were reared to commemorate their triumph.* 
 
 But perhaps nowhere is this more evident than in the noble 
 opening of the " Agamemnon." On his solitary tower the 
 watchman has been stationed to discern the beacon-fires which 
 were to be the signal of the fall of Troy. But ten years pass 
 away, and no light is seen. At length, it comes — the an- 
 nouncement of victory — and thus Clytemnestra gives the pro- 
 gress of the beacon flame from Troy to Argos : — 
 
 * WordswortNs Greece, p. 151. 
 
GEECIAI^ PHILOSOPHY. 103 
 
 ** A gleam — a gleam — from Ida's height, 
 
 By the fire-god sent, it came ; 
 From watch to watch it leap'd that light, 
 As a rider rode the flame ! 
 
 It shot through the startled sky, 
 
 And the torch of that blazing glory 
 Old Lemnos caught on high, 
 
 On its holy promontory, 
 And sent it on, the jocund sign. 
 To Athens, mount of Jove divine. 
 
 Wildly the while it rose from the isle, 
 So that the might of the journeying light 
 
 Skimm'd over the back of the gleaming brine I 
 
 Farther and faster speeds it on, 
 Till the watch that keep Macistus' steep — 
 See it burst like a blazing sun ! 
 Doth Macistus sleep 
 On his tower-clad steep ? 
 No ! rapid and red doth the wildfire sweep, 
 It flashes afar, on the wayward stream 
 Of the wild Em-ipus, the rushing beam ! 
 It rouses the Ught on Messapion's height, 
 And they feed its breath with the withered heath. 
 But it may not stay 1 
 And away — away — 
 It bounds in its freshening might. 
 Silent and soon, 
 like a broadened moon. 
 It passes in sheen, Asopus green. 
 And bursts on Cithaeron gray. 
 The warder wakes to the signal rays. 
 And it swoops from tlie hiU with a broader blaze 
 On — on the fiery glory rode — 
 Thy lonely lake, Gorgopis, glowed — 
 To Megara's Mount it came ; 
 
104 GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 They feed it again, 
 
 And it streams amain — 
 A giant beard of flame 1 
 The headland cliffs that darkly down 
 O'er the Saronic waters frown, 
 Are pass'd with the swift one's lurid stride, 
 And the huge rock glares on the glaring tide ; 
 With mightier march and fiercer power. 
 It gain'd Arachne's neighboring tow&r — 
 Thence on our Argive roof its rest it won, 
 Of Ida's fire the long-descended son ! 
 
 Bright harbinger of glory and of joy ! 
 So first and last with equal honor crown'd. 
 In solemn feasts the race-torch circles round. 
 And these my heralds ! this my Sign of Peace 1 
 Lo ! while we breathe, the victor lords of Greece, 
 
 Stalk in stem tumult, through the Ifalls of Troy !"* 
 
 We read this splendid passage, but to us it is a mere collec- 
 tion of names — most of them invested with but little association 
 to our minds. But how different was it to those who hstened 
 with the landscape of Greece spread out before their eyes, and 
 to whom all these were sacred and familiar spots ! And as 
 the trilogy goes on, the scenes assume even more of a local 
 interest. Orestes comes to Athens to plead his cause in the 
 temple of Minerva — ^that very temple on which now they are 
 gazing — the trial by the gods takes place — he is absolved — and 
 the enraged Eumenides, soothed by Minerva, conclude to dwell 
 at Athens, and be the benefactors of the city where now this 
 
 story is represented. 
 i 
 
 * Translated by Sir E. B. Lyttoa 
 
GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 105 
 
 We may be permitted, perhaps, to summon up one more 
 picture of Grecian life. It is a wider scene — the gathering of 
 the people to the Olympic Games. Thither the Greeks came 
 up — as the Jews to their Passover — for a national festival of 
 all their tribes. From their home upon the continent — from 
 the shores of Asiatic Ionia — ^from the colonies which luxurious 
 Corinth had spread through the Mediterranean — and from the 
 islands of the broad -^gean, they have assembled — ^their jeal- 
 ousies forgotten — their petty differences laid aside — every feel- 
 ing merged in the thought of their common origin. But what 
 emotions sway the multitude, as they gather around that soU- 
 tary individual, who, worn with toil and travel, stands up 
 among them, and reads passage after passage, holding them in 
 breathless attention ? They are hstening to Heroditus, who 
 has returned from his long sojourning in the East and among 
 the antique temples of Egypt, and he holds in his hand that 
 picturesque, narrative which has made him immortal. He has 
 struck the chord of national feeling, and Hstening thousands 
 shout their rapturous applause. The young Thucydides is 
 there — the tears which fall from his eyes are a proud homage 
 to the writer's genius — and perhaps the remembrance of that 
 hour induced him in after years himself to frame the tragic 
 story of his country's fall — a history which in its commence- 
 ment he declares to be "an everlastmg heirloom for the fu- 
 ture."* No cold or critical skepticism is found in that vast 
 
 * KTYifta es aei. lib. 1. 
 
106 GEEOIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 audience. Inquisitive and credulous as children, they listen 
 with unwavering faith to fictions, whose only foundation is tra- 
 dition, or some ancient ballad. With them there is no ques- 
 tioning or doubt with regard to the marvels of which he tells. 
 They shudder at the description of each strange beast — each 
 tribe of dwarfs or giants. Of the monuments of those ancient 
 dynasties which had passed away — the colossal temples of Ip- 
 sambul and Thebes — the Babylonian gardens — -and the myste- 
 rious pyramids of Egypt — they conceive as vividly as if their 
 own eyes had seen these stupendous wonders. They hear 
 with superstitious awe of the solemn rites of the Magi on their 
 mountain -tops — of deities whose very name no lip must utter — 
 and of the dread secrets of Egyptian priests, which they had 
 graven with a pen of iron on their own antique monuments. 
 All — ^the romantic legend — the wild adventure — the popular 
 superstition which now excites the laughter of the world — ^had 
 to them a living and truthful reality. 
 
 But he comes to scenes which awaken an interest even more 
 intense. It is the glowing narrative of their country's glory. 
 They trace the progress of the Persian host as it spreads over 
 the land, and its fleet, in all the luxury of Asiatic pomp, sails 
 slowly along the deserted shores. Nature seems to yield to 
 their sway — the mountains are cut through — the seas are 
 bridged — the rivers of the plain are drained to quench the 
 thirst of these countless thousands — while desolation and fam- 
 ine follow in their path. But the hour of retribution is at 
 hand. He leads his hearers to the pass of Thermopylae, and 
 
GKECIAN PHILOSOPHY. lOT 
 
 with stormy brow and flashing eye they hear the story of its 
 gallant deeds. He pictures to them the plain of Marathon — 
 the gay armor of the Medes, " whose very pame in Greece had 
 hitherto excited terror" — the solemn hush for vows, and sacri- 
 fice, and prayer — the loud clang of the trumpets — the desper- 
 ate onset — the millions of Asia scattered like dust before the 
 wind — when suddenly his voice is drowned by the deafening 
 response of excited thousands. The children of those who won 
 that fight cannot restrain their shouts of patriotic enthusiasm. 
 Again the scene has changed, and he points them to the Bay 
 of Salamis — the serried order of the Grecian fleet — ^the furious 
 attack — the fljdng Persians — and the grief and indignation of 
 Xerxes, as, from his lofty throne upon the shore, far off and 
 impotent, he saw his power buried beneath the waters. Look 
 at the strong contortions of countenance with which they hear 
 the tale, and the impassioned gestures in which they give vent 
 to their emotions. Do you wonder ? Those wild hands, now 
 flung upward in delight, grasped spear and sword on that 
 memorable day. See the multitude turn from the historian 
 with one spontaneous move, to hail a majestic personage who 
 sits among the audience. Can they withhold their praise ? 
 That is Themistocles, the leader of their fleet, when, in the 
 words of a warrior-poet who fought that day — 
 
 '^frorn every Greek with glad acclaim 
 
 Burst forth the song of war, whose lofty notes 
 
108 GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 The echo of the rocks of Salamis retiirn'd, 
 Spreading dismay through Persia's hosts."* 
 
 Such was life at Athens, and you can perceive how necessa- 
 rily such a training must have made its inhabitants a people 
 different from any thing else the world has ever seen. They 
 were restless, active, and audacious — turbulent when any ex- 
 citing cause aroused them — yet most cultivated in repose. 
 Biilliant of wit, versatile, disputatious, and talkative — ^they had 
 the very characteristics to produce arrogance and pride. We 
 have endeavored to sketch them in one of the most brilliant 
 periods of their history, when the Persian war had closed, and 
 that refinement and elegance been imported, which perhaps 
 reached its height in the later age of Pericles. Yet we know 
 not that at the advent of Christianity they had altered in any 
 of those marked traits of character which would affect their 
 reception of the faith. Their nationality, it is true, was gone, 
 and, hke the rest of the world, they were crushed beneath the 
 Roman yoke. The Greek realized it, and feeling that no new 
 day of Marathon was to dawn upon him, he Hved on the recol- 
 lections of his ancient glory. The spirit of poetry still hngered 
 in his land — ^its venerable mountains, its legendary streams, and 
 its sacred groves were there — and he turned with as much 
 reverence as ever to the heights of Phyle and the unfading 
 glories of the Ilyssus. Perhaps, too, sorrow for his departed 
 
 * jEschylus, Pence, ^Qh. 
 
 *t 
 
GRECIAIS^ PHILOSOPHY. 109 
 
 greatness induced him to cling with a firmer grasp to all that 
 remained to speak of the past and its hallowed associations. 
 If the Athenians had lost any traits of character, they were 
 those which were most lofty and high-minded — those which 
 belonged to freemen, and had trained the heroes of Salamis 
 and Platsea. The closer intimacy with the East, particularly 
 with their Ionian colonies, introduced a higher style of luxury 
 and a greater degree of Asiatic effeminacy. The light of the 
 heroic age glimmered more feebly on the banks of the Cephis- 
 sus, and the dwellers there were losing in each generation more 
 of the stern features of their Homeric ancestors. We can trace 
 the progress of this feeling even in their Drama, as they grad- 
 ually turned from the lofty sublimity of jEschylus, divorced as 
 it is from all the softer erpotions of our nature, and popular 
 taste began to incline to the passionate display and more earth- 
 ly sentiments which marked the tragedies of Euripides. 
 
 We believe, then, that when the Apostle entered Athens, 
 life there was as vivid and intellectual as of old, but even more 
 graceful, and certainly more voluptuous. And we can see, 
 from what has already been said, the force of that single sen- 
 tence in which St. Luke sums up the occupation of its inhabit- 
 ants : — " All the Athenians and strangers which were there, 
 spent their time in nothing else, but either to tell, or to hear 
 some new thing."* But was it easy to preach to such the 
 humblins: truths of our faith ? And did it not seem to be a 
 
 * Acts, xviL 21. 
 10 
 
110 GEECIAIT PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 mighty conflict into which Christianity was entering, to attempt 
 to gain the mastery over this versatile intellect, and to impart 
 to it an entirely new direction ? 
 
 We proceed, then, to the consideration of that philosophy 
 which Christianity encountered at Athens, and which had 
 there, if not its origin, at least its firmest seat. And in at- 
 tempting it, even so far as to show its influence on the rising 
 faith, we feel how utterly inadequate must be any account 
 which can be compressed into the narrow hmits of this chap- 
 ter. "We can but give its outline most briefly sketched. Its 
 history, if faithfully written, would be the history of the hu- 
 man mind — its mighty struggle — and often its sad defeat, as 
 centuries went by, and the goal which gigantic minds aimed to 
 reach, seemed equally distant after their long journeying over 
 the arid desert. It would be a picture of man's sublime at- 
 tempts, yet fearful failures — 
 
 ** Of poor Humanity's afflicted will 
 Struggling in vain with ruthless destiny." 
 
 It is impossible to discover the first beginnings of Philoso- 
 phy. Its fountain is like that of the mysterious Nile, springing 
 up in a distant and unknown region, the theme of visionary 
 story and the subject of curious speculation. We naturally, 
 however, turn to the East when we attempt to trace the germ 
 of that wisdom which in a fairer form at last came forth from 
 the shores of Greece, to challenge the admiration of the world. 
 Meditation is as peculiarly the characteristic of Asia as action 
 
GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. Ill 
 
 is of Western Europe. It is a trait increased by the lassitude 
 produced by climate, and that inert abstraction which is the 
 peculiar temperament of the inhabitants. It is a taste as dis- 
 tinctive of the fervent suns of tropical regions as are the aro- 
 matics of Arabia or the spices of India. To withdraw the soul 
 from the senses — to divorce the exterior from the inner man — 
 to repose during lengthened periods upon a single idea, with- 
 out a wish for progression or change — to break entirely away 
 from the visible world — these are the pleasures of the Orien- 
 tals.* It was this craving after speculation which led in later 
 ages to the dreams of Gnosticism, and the fatal heresy of the 
 Manichseans. It was this which sent men forth to " the dead 
 and voiceless wilderness," that they might commune with their 
 own hearts and be still — which peopled with monks the deserts 
 of Egypt and the dreary wastes which border the Dead Sea. The 
 East, therefore, from the earliest period of recorded time, was 
 the home of thought, and, of course, the cradle of contempla- 
 tive philosophy. 
 
 And with the same feeling which declares that no man is a 
 prophet in his own country, the imaginative Greeks were ac- 
 customed to turn for what was grand and striking to those 
 dim and shadowy lands, which their very ignorance invested 
 with influence. They hstened with awe to those dark and 
 early oracles, which contained the first deductions of human 
 wisdom. There seemed to be in the Athenian character a 
 
 * NcU. Hist of ErUhusiasm, p. 20*7. 
 
112 GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 sympathy for the speculative genius of the East. The mysti- 
 cism, born on the banks of the Ganges, or among the fire- 
 worshippers of Persia, reappeared in a new form on the banks 
 of the Nile, and tinged the dreamy Platonism of Greece. 
 There was something, indeed, from the very contrast, fascina- 
 ting to this restless and reasoning people, in the tranquil ab- 
 straction of the East. They looked to Chaldea as the fountain 
 of human wisdom — and the dim speculations of her priests, as 
 from their towers they watched the hosts of heaven, and 
 sought to learn their influence on the destinies of this lower 
 world, or selected corporeal tokens as the types of their phil- 
 osophical creed, were received by them with reverence, as the 
 very inspirations of the Divinity. The first movings, indeed, 
 of the human reason — its first gropings in the misty twilight — 
 were to form some system of philosophy. Its first effort was 
 to solve the enigmas of human life. The creative breath of 
 philosophy is the spirit of inquiry, and this turns most naturally 
 to those solemn mysteries which concern man's spiritual in- 
 terests. Thus arose these speculations of an elder wisdom, 
 which passed through the channel of the Ionian colonies to 
 the schools of Athens, and were there reproduced in a new and 
 more luxuriant form. The dreams of these Eastern sages were 
 shaped into systems of poetic beauty, and the Ideal was 
 changed into the Practical. 
 
 But, above all, Egypt was to them the land of wonders. 
 There was something in the venerable antiquity which marked 
 her colossal temples, her mysterious pyramids, and the won- 
 

 GEECIAJSr PHILOSOPHY. (|TJUIWl3 
 -J^-_- 
 
 derful sepulchral palaces of her departed kings, wsi&n seemed 
 to impress the lively Greeks. All there was rigid and antique, 
 and they were even awed by the dark symbolism which cha- 
 racterized the teaching of her priests. Pythagoras spent 
 many years in Egypt, and there he learned that doctrine of a 
 Metempsychosis which marks his system. Plato, too, in the 
 words of Valerius Maximus, " wandered along the winding 
 banks of the Nile, himself a disciple to the old men of Egypt." 
 And it is curious to mark how the dreamy mysticism of that 
 land was changed, when incorporated with the elements of 
 Grecian character — how much more practical it became — how, 
 \v^ithout losing any thing of its lofty spiritual tone, it abandoned 
 the region of mere meditation and mingled itself up with the 
 common interests of mankind. Heroditus tells us, as the 
 result of his researches, that Greece even imported from the 
 Nile the names of almost all her deities ;* and interwoven as 
 were the philosophy and theology of Egypt — the priests being 
 instructors in both — this could not have happened without a 
 sensible influence being exercised over the intellectual character 
 of the Greeks. Through all ages, indeed, the lore of Egypt 
 stamped its impress upon the systems of the Academy, the 
 Porch, and the Garden. The dark enigmas of Eleusis, in 
 which religion and philosophy imited, had been celebrated 
 for a thousand years in the colossal temples of Thebes before 
 they were transported to the shores of Attica; and from 
 
 * Herod, ii. c. 1. 
 10* 
 
114 GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 thence also came the mystery of the Anaglyph — that secret 
 writmg known only to the priesthood.* Thus Egypt was the 
 mother of Athens. From her came those dread rites which 
 embodied the maxims of early wisdom — maxims derived from 
 elder dynasties — but whose antiquity was claimed for Isis, 
 when the priesthood made for her the boast — " None among 
 mortals hath taken off my veil !" These dark and mystic 
 creeds in Greece expanded into the graces of intellectual hfe, 
 and those many systems of philosophy which marked the pro- 
 gress of the human mind. 
 
 Thus it was that the spirit of conjecture was first awakened 
 m the schools of Athens. Henceforth, could we trace its pro- 
 gress, we should find it to be one series of struggles as men 
 groped their way on through the darkness — each age working 
 out some hard-wrought conclusion — and this serving as a 
 position from which its successors were to set forth on their 
 journey, or else as a problem which the next generation was 
 to overthrow. It is a picture of 
 
 " Spirits yearning in desire 
 To follow knowledge, like a sinking star, 
 Beyond the utmost bound of human thought."f 
 
 We may begin with the teaching of Pythagoras. His own 
 history is enshrined in legends, which impart to it a romantic 
 
 * This was a different system from the Hieroglyph, which could be 
 read generally by the educated classes. 
 t 
 
• GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 115 
 
 interest. Returning to his own countrymen after long study 
 in the venerated yet mysterious learning of Egypt, and affect- 
 ing to receive instruction from the inspired ministrants of 
 Delphi, ho was prepared to wield an influence over the minds 
 of his hearers which no one else had enjoyed. The very 
 wonders which tradition related of his life — the fabulous glory 
 which, in after ages, rested upon it — show that his career was 
 that of no ordinary man. His generation must have listened 
 with no little reverence to one, to whom they ascribed authority 
 over the powers of Nature, and to whom it was said, " the 
 harmony of the spheres was audible music." He stirred up, 
 indeed, the intellect of Greece and Italy, and, rising from the 
 preceptor to the legislator, overturned the government of the 
 country in which he had made his home. It must have been 
 an august philosophy which could implant the principles thus 
 to convulse entire nations ; yet he taught only in secret, for he 
 could not be led to beheve in the fitness of the multitude to 
 receive the truth. Immense, therefore, as was his personal 
 influence over those who knew him, we are now obliged to 
 learn his doctrines from the general tendency of his disciples* 
 speculations. We feel that we cannot grasp his theory of the 
 occult properties of numbers, and the language in which his 
 followers reveal it, sounds to us like the dreamy speculations 
 by the alchemists of the middle ages. But apart from this, 
 his mild and simple rules — the doctrine of self-command being 
 the centre of all his instructions — form a system of ethics ad- 
 mirable in itself. Yet as time passed on, all this became cor- 
 
116 aREOIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 rupted or obscure — ^men, as usual, lost in the symbol a view of 
 the truth it was intended to shadow forth — and the influence 
 of his great name was borrowed to sanction perversions which 
 he himself would have condemned. Thus, at the dawn of 
 Christianity, the philosophical school of Pythagoras was 
 arrayed against it, and among those works which the heathen- 
 ism of that age produced to combat the influence of the 
 rising faith, was the life of its founder by Jamblicus, portray- 
 ing to his readers the Pagan philosopher as a nobler example 
 than Jesus of Nazareth. 
 
 Among the other schools of Greece the spirit of poetry long 
 exercised its influence over the reasonings of philosophy. Xen- 
 ophanes was the first who arrayed himself against " the sunny 
 legends" of Homer. Yet he did so, not because he was dead 
 to their poetic beauty, but because of the false theology they 
 contained. He had looked abroad over nature and learned the 
 lesson of God's Unity, and in the deep sincerity and boundless 
 reverence of his nature, he could not believe in a divinity gifted 
 with human attributes. He seemed to have imagined to him- 
 self a Deity whom graven images could not represent ; and 
 Aristotle, in a single sentence, has given his argument and 
 conclusion : — " Casting his eyes upward at the immensity of 
 heaven, he declared that The One is God." And the attri- 
 butes in which he arrays Him are — all hearing, all sight, 
 ALL THOUGHT. But, Unlike Pythagoras, he had faith in Hu- 
 manity. He labored for the many. He had looked upon ex- 
 istence with infinite sadness — he had seen the primal error 
 
GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 117 
 
 which most of all degraded it — and he went forth through his 
 whole hfe to wrestle with it. A poet himself, and a rhapso- 
 dist, for three quarters of a century he wandered through many- 
 lands — ^like the Jongleurs and Troubadours of the middle ages, 
 though with a higher aim — uttering his voice to raise up within 
 • men a recognition of the Divine. 
 
 This was a great advance, and hence arose the Eleatic school, 
 and its disciples, Parmenides, Melissus, Zeno, and Heraclitus. 
 Parmenides seems to have trodden in the steps of Xenophanes ; 
 but believing from his reason that there is naught existing but 
 the One, while his sense taught him that there are many thmgs, 
 he was led to the conviction of the Duality of human thought 
 — ^the two principles, one to satisfy the reason, and the other 
 to accord with the explanations of sense.* This was the foun- 
 dation of idealism. It was a metaphysical doctrine, however, 
 which in other hands soon passed into mysticism and error. 
 
 Then came the lofty spirituahsm of the Ionian school, and 
 Anaxagoras, living in the most brilliant period of Grecian his- 
 tory — that which followed the battle of Thermopylae — was 
 enabled to appeal to intellects which were afterwards to rule 
 the destinies of Athens. His doctrines struck at the root of 
 the Hellenic worship, substituting in place of the multitude of 
 gods. One IntelUgence, and reducing every thing else to mate- 
 rial and physical causes. The philosopher shared the usual 
 fate of reformers, and, driven into exile by those whose preju- 
 
 * Lewe^ Hist, of Philos. I 89. 
 
118 aKECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 dices he had assailed, died in a foreign land. But his influence 
 survived his departure, and he who had formed the minds ot 
 Pericles, Euripides, and Socrates, had done enough to stamp 
 his influence on the world. 
 
 We pass by the brilliant yet dangerous school of the Soph- 
 ists, about whom, indeed, all information is unsatisfactory. We 
 learn their tenets only from their opponents — even Plato's ac- 
 count is evidently a caricature — and the combatants in an in- 
 tellectual warfare seldom do justice to those arrayed against 
 them. Yet the disputatious, quibbling nature of the Greeks 
 was one to which their arts would readily commend themselves. 
 They were brilhant and showy rhetoricians, but their teaching 
 was the preference of expression to truth — the power of achiev- 
 ing a victory, no matter on which side the truth might be. 
 They seemed, indeed, to deny that there was any Eternal and 
 Immutable Truth, or that there were any such things as Right 
 and Wrong, otherwise than by convention. It was a shallow 
 skepticism, which passed away when the deeper philosophy of 
 Socrates asserted its claims. 
 
 But of him — the martyr for Truth — ^the world has heard 
 more, perhaps, than of any other who taught at Athens. Yet 
 is it not more a name to point the moral of a schoolboy essay, 
 than an intelligent understanding of what he beheved and why 
 he suffered ? He was the patient searcher after Truth. To 
 her, as to his soul's mistress, he dedicated all the powers of 
 his expanded mind, and worshipped her with a true devotion. 
 And if the results he reached are now famihar to the children 
 
GRECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 119 
 
 in our schools, the philosopher no less deserves immortal 
 honor. It is because such men as he labored in the fields of 
 intellect, that the great truths, so strange to his generation, 
 have become the common-places of to-day. Look at him — 
 rude and ungainly in appearance — compared by his cotempo- 
 raries to Silenus — wandering through the streets absorbed in 
 meditation, or disputing in the market-place. Yet he who 
 lingers to hear " the old man eloquent," is caught by the 
 witchery of his conversation, and even the brilliant Alcibiades 
 declared — " I stop my ears, as from the Syrens, and flee away 
 as fast as possible, that I may not sit down beside him and 
 grow old in hstening to his talk." 
 
 We will not speak of the method of Inductive reasoning on 
 which his intellectual fame is based,* but rather turn to the 
 'subhme truths he held which concern man's moral interests. 
 He taught that God is One — perfect in Himself — immutable — ' 
 the Author of the existence and welfare of every creature ;f 
 that this Being, not chance, made the world and all that it 
 contains. J; And yet what darkness shrouded even his mind, 
 when he came to the borders of the Unseen world ! " It is 
 now," he said, " time that we depart, I to die, you to live ; but 
 which has the better destiny is unknown to all except the 
 God."§ And his last words show that he had not yet entirely 
 • 
 
 * " There are two things of which Socrates must justly be regarded as 
 the author ; the Jndiictive Reasoning and Abstract JDeJinitions" Aris- 
 totle, 3fet. xiii. c. 4. 
 
 + Plato in Phasdon. \ Plato in Timceo. § Plato in Apolog. 
 
120 GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 emancipated his own mind from the errors against which he 
 argued. *' Crito !" said he, " I owe .^Esculapius a cock, pay 
 it — do not neglect it."* 
 
 From Socrates to his noblest pupil the transition is natural. 
 It would, however, require a volume to give any idea of the 
 writings of Plato — ^his ideal theory — his dialectics — and his 
 system of ethics. He was one of those whose whole soul 
 seemed pervaded with a sense of the Beautiful. We see in 
 every part of his works that he was possessed by 
 
 " A presence that disturbed him with the joy 
 Of elevated thoughts ; a sense subhme 
 Of something far more deeply interfused, 
 Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, 
 And the round ocean, and the living air, 
 And the blue sky, and in the mind of man : 
 A motion and a spirit that impels 
 All thinking things, all objects of aU thought, 
 And rolls through all things." f 
 
 It is thus that he has come down to us, and in this light the 
 world chiefly knows him. Thousands who are entirely unac- 
 quainted with his theology or his ethics,;]; regard him as having 
 
 * Plato in Phcedon. f Wordsworth, " Tintern Abbey P 
 
 \ Plato wrote also tragedies, lyrics, and epigrams. Some of tlie latter 
 only have been preserved. ^ One of them, quoted in Lewes' " Hist, of Phi- 
 losophy," is so beautiful that we cannot forbear giving it : — 
 
 aoTipag tlaaQptii dcTTijp ijidg' eWe ytvoi^r)v 
 
 " Thou gazest on the stars, my Life ! Ah ! gladly would I be 
 Yon starry skies, with thousand eyes, that I might gaze on thee !" 
 
aEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 121 
 
 conceived the idea of the rb kuUv, " the Beautiful," and the 
 mere mention of his name calls up, they scarcely know why, 
 visions of splendor before their eyes. But what did Plato 
 mean by this ? He considered Beauty as a revelation of the 
 Divinity in the things around us — not that appearance which 
 depends on symmetry of form or harmony of color — but the 
 radiant image of Truth in whatever it can be seen. And the 
 loftiness of his view can be learned from his description of those 
 whose eyes are sealed against this spiritual Beauty. "They," 
 he says, " who are not fresh from heaven, or who have been 
 corrupted, are not vehemently impelled towards that Beauty 
 which is aloft, when they see that upon earth which is called 
 by its name. They do not, therefore, venerate and worship it, 
 but give themselves up to physical pleasures."* And love, 
 with him, was the intense desire of the soul for this lofty Beau- 
 ty — the longing of the spirit for that whioh is hke unto itself. 
 Love, then, is the bond which unites the Divine and the earth- 
 ly. But the defect with Plato was, that he could see no nobler 
 end in life than that of famiharizing the mind with the Beauti- 
 ful, the Good, and the True. 
 
 And yet no writer, without the pale of the Church, that 
 has ever lived, has exercised so marked an influence on the 
 spirit of Christianity as this Greek philosopher. There was 
 something so fascinating about his elevating doctrines, that men 
 clung to them even after they had received the purer hght of 
 
 * Plato in Phced. 
 11 
 
122 aRECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 our faith ; and if St. Jerome could hear, in vision, a voice say- 
 ing to him, " Thou art no Christian, thou art a Ciceronian,"* 
 there was many an early writer of the Church to whom the 
 charge might be addressed, " Thou art no Christian, thou art 
 a Platonist." Eusebius names him, as " the only Grreek who 
 has penetrated into the antechamber of Christian truth." 
 Justin Martyr, Clement, Origen, and Augustine warmly ex- 
 press their admiration — and Celsus impiously declares, that 
 Christ has borrowed from Plato. We know not, therefore, a 
 nobler work by one who understood the spirit of Platonism, 
 than to trace its influence from the time when its followers at- 
 tempted to engraft it on the New Faith, and to show how 
 in all ages its subtle spirit has acted on the belief of the 
 world.f 
 
 But this very fascination rendered Platonism a most dan- 
 gerous antagonist 5f Christianity. It seemed to satisfy that 
 thirsting after something nobler than heathenism taught, which 
 must be a natural characteristic of the mind. Plato united in 
 his system all the conflicting tendencies of the age, selecting 
 from the works of his predecessors each portion of truth that 
 
 * Ad Eustach. Epist. xviii 
 
 f There is a work on this subject in German, which we beUeve has never 
 been translated. Das Christliche in Plato und in der Platonischen Phi- 
 losophie, entwicTcelt und hervorgehohen von D. O. Ackerm,ann, Archidia- 
 konus zu Jena, 1835. (The Christian Element in Plato, and the Platonic 
 Philosophy, developed and exhibited, by D. C. Ackerman, Archdeacon 
 at Jena, 1835.) 
 
GEECIAN PHELOSOPHY. 123 
 
 they had discovered, and reconciling these portions in one 
 general doctrine. In that vast system all skepticism and all 
 faith found acceptance ; the skepticism was corrected, and the 
 faith was strengthened by more solid arguments.* Men, 
 therefore, were willing to rest in the higher philosophy which 
 he taught — the subjugation of sense to reason, and the eman- 
 cipation of what was purely spiritual in man from the degra- 
 ding fetters of the material. They inquired, what more than 
 this could Christianity teach us ? 
 
 There was much, indeed, in the system of Plato which har- 
 monized with the doctrines of our faith. For instance, in one 
 of the most striking of his myths, he clearly declares the fact 
 of the fall. It is thus that he gives his view of human nature : — 
 " We may compare it to a chariot, with a pair of winged 
 horses and a driver. In the souls of the gods, the horses and 
 the driver are entirely good : in other souls only partially so, 
 one of the horses excellent, the other vicious. The business 
 therefore of the driver is extremely difficult and troublesome. "f 
 His views, too, of the Supreme Being are marked by sublimity. 
 '* We are wrong," he says, " in speaking of the Divine Essence, 
 to say, it was — it shall be; these forms of time do not suit 
 eternity. It is — this is its attribute."]; So it was, too, with 
 his doctrine of the Trinity. We trace in it the truth of what 
 Josephus declares, that Plato obtained much of his theological 
 
 * Lewes' Hist, of Philos. ii 81. \ Plato in Fhced. 
 
 \ Plato in Tim. 
 
124 GKECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 knowledge from the books of Moses. He must, indeed, have 
 been acquainted with the Jewish Trinity, or the ancient Cabala, 
 for his doctrine so nearly resembled that of the Christian sys- 
 tem, that his three persons, or hypostases, are never by him 
 accounted as created beings, hut are set above all creatures.* 
 He concentrated and personified Infinite Goodness, Infinite 
 Wisdom, and Infinite Vital Energy in the fountain of his 
 Divinity. These are the three Essences of his Trinity. 
 
 It is pleasant, indeed, to find oases like these in the dreary 
 wastes of Grecian Philosophy, and these were the points 
 which drew the attention of early Christian writers, and in- 
 duced them to claim Plato as almost one of themselves. Yet 
 still much is wanting, and there is "a great gulf" between 
 his theology and that taught by St. Paul. It aims nobly, but 
 reaches not the goal which it seeks. It needs — what is the 
 very heart and soul, the living pulse of Christianity — the doc- 
 trine of the Incarnation. We find this defect visible in every 
 department of heathen philosophy. Its conceptions of the 
 holiness of God were feeble, because He had not been brought 
 before them with the living distinctness of the Christian sys- 
 tem. Its loftiest view was the apotheosis of man — not the In- 
 carnation of God. The distinguishing element of the true 
 faith is the power of redemption — its healing influence — its 
 representation of the Son of God, the purest, noblest life the 
 world has ever seen — the only one pervaded by the very ful- 
 
 * See Bishop Horsley's Letters to Dr. Priestley, Let. xiii 
 
GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 125 
 
 ness of holiness. And no system Avliicli wants this, can achieve 
 the recovery of man from his fall and ruin. We read the lofty 
 thoughts of Plato, and still we are reminded of the words of 
 St. Augustine, " Apud Ciceronem et Platonem, aliosque ejus- 
 modi scriptores, multa sunt acute dicta et leniter calentia, sed 
 in iis omnibus hoc non invenio, * Yenite ad me.' " There is no 
 Cross — no true abasement of the heart — nothing to bring man 
 in humility once more into union with God. 
 
 Aristotle was for twenty years the disciple of Plato, and of 
 him his master remarked, ** Aristotle is the mind of my 
 school." Numbers resorted to his school in the Lyceum, and 
 as, in his restless temperament, he walked up and down its 
 shady paths, crowds of admiring pupils followed, and hung 
 with dehght upon his words. But Aristotle — wide as has been 
 for ages the influence he exercised over the human mind — is 
 now known for his logic and metaphysics, not for any effect he 
 produced upon the ethics of the world. The universal state- 
 ment has been, that Plato was an Ideahst, and Aristotle a Ma- 
 terialist. Later German writers, like Hegel, have denied the 
 truth of this assertion, but certainly, when we pass from the 
 writings of the former to those of the latter, there is a great 
 transition. There is not the lofty spiritual tone, nor the same 
 high aim. Perhaps, then, we may safely say, that he sac- 
 rificed ethics to metaphysics and physics. He suffered the 
 latter to usurp that attention which Plato bestowed upon the 
 former. 
 
 We come now to what may be regarded as the last Epoch 
 11* 
 
126 GRECIAN^ PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 of Grecian Philosophy, before the dawn of Christianity. The 
 skepticism of the Sophists had been refuted by the reasoning 
 of Socrates, but now the tide of doubt flowed back, and the 
 protest against faith was made with more terrible power. The 
 age of disbelief had come, and Pyrro, after his return from In- 
 dia with the expedition of Alexander, began to question the 
 origin of knowledge until doubt became irresistible. He 
 founded the School of the Skeptics, and his tenets infected the 
 Epicureans, the Stoics, and the members of the New Academy, 
 so that Grecian Philosophy closed in an utter want of faith in 
 Truth or in human endeavor. With a notice of two of these 
 schools we may conclude this sketch. 
 
 We are told by St. Luke, that when St. Paul commenced 
 his public ministry at Athens, " certain philosophers of the 
 Epicureans and of the Stoics encountered him."* The sect of 
 the former was extensively spread, and we can now read their 
 moral precepts in Catullus and Lucan, or the more widely- 
 known pages of Horace. They denied the gods, except in 
 name, acknowledging indeed their existence, but depriving 
 them of all government over the affairs of men, and all interest, 
 either in their crimes or virtues. They supposed them to re- 
 main in passionless apathy, contemplating only their own hap- 
 piness, and thus, the dwellers in this lower world were 
 deprived of all check upon their baser passions, and all those 
 incitements of hope which shed their radiance to reheve the 
 
 * Acts, xvii. 18. 
 
GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 127 
 
 dreariness of our pathway. The chief good, they taught, con- 
 sisted in pleasui'e. The founder of their sect, indeed, made 
 pleasure to consist in virtue, and the pleasures of the body, 
 though not to be despised, to be insignificant when compared 
 with those of the soul. Yet we know the necessary tendency 
 of human nature. The milder code of morals enabled men to 
 degenerate into indolence and sensuality, and the system, there- 
 fore, which his followers taught in the luxurious Gardens of 
 Epicurus, was one congenial to the growing effeminacy of Gre- 
 cian character. 
 
 Or, if there were loYtier spirits who needed something less 
 sensual — something more above the world — the teaching of 
 the Porch supplied the want. The Stoic was at hand with his 
 doctrines, which were elevated enough to captivate many of 
 the noblest minds of Greece and Rome, from Zeno to Brutus 
 and Marcus Antoninus. It was in one of those crises which 
 sometimes happen to a nation, when all that is pure and ven- 
 erable seems to have lost its sanction, and society is rushing 
 downward with reckless levity, that Zeno appeared. He be- 
 held social anarchy advancing with rapid strides. Skepticism 
 and Epicurean softness had eaten like a canker into the heart 
 of the people, and there was nothing to counteract them ex- 
 cept the magnificent but vague works of Plato, or the vast but 
 abstruse scheme of Aristotle.* And these could not act upon 
 the hfe of the people. All, therefore, for which Greece had 
 
 * Lewes' Hist of PMlos.'iL 151. 
 
128 GKECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 been most venerated, was hastening to decline, and the glory 
 which Hngered about her was that which rests ,jipon decay. 
 Zeno came, then, with the inspiration of a reformer, to correct 
 these evils. He wished to restore the stern simplicity and 
 manly energy of older times — to lay again the deep foundation of 
 a reverence for moral worth — and thus stem the sweeping tor- 
 rent of enervating pleasure. But it was a reaction, and there- 
 fore became one-sided. It was a warfare of the mind against 
 the body, intending, if possible, to produce in the latter a tote 1 
 annihilation of all those tastes which Providence had implanted. 
 It was an effort after apathy as the highest condition of our 
 nature. And yet, this was only the creed of the fatalist, 
 marked, indeed, by its mental strength and self-reliance, but 
 rooting out all human passions, and, in the attempt to rise 
 above Humanity, sinking man far below it. Well has Milton 
 summed up the character of this sect : — 
 
 " The Stoic last in philosophic pride, 
 By him called virtue ; and his virtuous man, 
 Wise, perfect in himself, and all possessing _ 
 
 Equal to God, oft shames not to prefer, 
 As fearing God nor man, contemning all 
 Wealth, pleasure, paia or torment, death and Hfe, 
 Which, when he lists, he leaves, or boasts he can, 
 For all his tedious talk is but vain boast, 
 Or subtle shifts conviction to evade. 
 Alas ! what can they teach, and not mislead, 
 Ignorant of themselves, of God much more, 
 And how the world began, and how man fell 
 Degraded by himself, on grace depending ? 
 Much of the soul they talk, but all awry, 
 
aRECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 129 
 
 And in themselves seek virtue, and to themselves 
 All glory arrogate, to God give none ; 
 Rather accuse Him under usual names. 
 Fortune and Fate, as one regardless quite 
 Of mortal things. Who, therefore, seeks in these 
 True wisdom, finds her not ; or, bj delusion, 
 Far worse, her false resemblance only meets, 
 An empty cloud."* 
 
 We have thus imperfectly sketched the successive schools 
 of Athens, that we might form some estimate of the intellectual 
 condition of the people when the dawning Gospel began to 
 shed its soft and consecrating rays upon them, and they were 
 summoned to worship at its shrine. These schools were the 
 footmarks of generations as they had toiled onward in the 
 perilous journey. They had for ages been seeking in vain to 
 reach that region where the face of Truth can be seen unveiled, 
 but all had been a miserable failure. The great problems 
 which concerned man's moral interests had not been advanced 
 one step towards their solution. The view, indeed, is a sad- 
 dening one, from the first awakenings of human inquiry with 
 Thales, to the days of the Skeptics, who denied the possibility 
 of any answer to the questions which had tasked their prede- 
 cessors. And whatever may have been the system — whatever 
 fragment of truth it may have worked out — ^it spoke without 
 authority, and the claims of conflicting sects distracted the be- 
 wildered inquirer. The picture of Grecian Pliilosophy becomes, 
 
 * Paradise Regained, L 300. 
 
130 GRECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 therefore, a picture of the vain and impotent struggles of the 
 human mind — of noble reasonings,* yet without a Star, like 
 that which led the Magi of old through the clouds of Heaven 
 and the darkness of earth, to their God at last. The desert 
 over which they passed was arid and trackless — the fountains 
 at which they drank were bitter, quenching not the insatiable 
 thirst of their souls — the horizon ever receded — and poor Hu- 
 manity pressed on until every elTort became palsied by despair. 
 The profound thinkers at last saw the insufficiency of these 
 rival systems, and turning from all, settled in a calm and con- 
 tented skepticism. It has been well remarked, that " Philoso- 
 phy began with a childlike question ; it ended with an aged 
 doubt." And what is the lesson we learn from this melan- 
 choly record ? It is the truth, that 
 
 " Wisdom is ofttimes nearer when we stoop, 
 Than when we soar." 
 
 * " But, though they erred 
 
 When all was dark, they reason'd for the truth. 
 
 They sought in earth, in ocean, and the stars, 
 
 Their Maker, arguing from his works toward God ; 
 
 And from His word had not less nobly argued, 
 
 Had they beheld the Gospel sending forth 
 
 Its pure eflfulgence o'er the farthest sea, 
 
 Lighting the mountain-tops, and gUding 
 
 The banners of salvation there. These men 
 
 Ne'er slighted a Redeemer ; of His name 
 
 They never heard. Perchance their late-found harps. 
 
 Mixing with angel symphonies, may soimd 
 
 In strains more rapturous things to them so new." 
 
 Hillhouse^s " Judgment^ 
 
GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 131 
 
 Yet look at the picture. See the Greeks for ages, carpmg 
 and questioning — caviUing and doubting — taught to dispute 
 every point of ethics which could be propounded, and contin- 
 ually to change their system for something new — and then say, 
 whether a more unfavorable state of mind could be found for 
 the reception of the humbling doctiiaes of our faith. 
 
 And when this philosophy descended to the mass of the 
 people, it assumed a different character, as it became mingled 
 with the lofty poetical traditions they had received from their 
 fathers. It is, indeed, almost impossible to separate their phi- 
 losophy from their popular rehgion. We shall enter more 
 fully into the latter subject when we come to the discussion of 
 their Classical Mythology, but it is necessary to allude to it 
 here, for with many this took the place of the graver studies 
 of the Schools. They needed something in which to repose 
 faith, and when the mind ceased to dwell on abstract truths, 
 the imagination assumed its empire. It turned to the gods of 
 Olympus, and even threw an ideal grandeur and an unearthly 
 loveliness over the human form, until, by degrees, they rever- 
 enced men as deities. The mighty dead were to them more 
 than human. The patriot who fell for his country's cause, was 
 elevated by that very death to the rank of a Divinity. The 
 noblest orator of antiquity swore by those who were buried at 
 Marathon, as if they were gods, and his countrymen trod with 
 solemn awe about their sepulchre. To them it was a conse- 
 crated spot, and amid the darkness of midnight, the startled 
 traveller heard borne over that deserted plain, the neighing of 
 
132 GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 steeds, the sound of arms, and the wild shout of the onset, as 
 shadowy forms swept by him in all the pageantry of spectral 
 war.* The character of the people operated on their belief, 
 and their behef reacted on the popular character. Their faith 
 was the religion of the arts — an embodiment of all that was 
 beautiful to the senses — and therefore its hold was strong upon 
 the minds of those who worshipped all that was noble and 
 graceful. No land was so sanctified by the golden legends of 
 the past, and never was there a nation in whom a discernment 
 of the beautiful was of such universal growth — developing 
 itself in the mighty heart of the whole people — forming every 
 member of it — and pervading even the pastimes of children 
 and the athletic struggles of manhood. They had, indeed, a 
 refinement of taste and a love of imaginative beauty, which 
 rendered them impatient of the reality, when inconsistent with 
 their own conceptions. And they demanded this attribute 
 even in their religion. How far removed, then, were the tastes 
 they had formed, from those which could appreciate the self- 
 denying precepts of our faith ! 
 
 The great difficulty, indeed, of Grecian character, as shown 
 fully in their hterature, was its inability to deal with the sol- 
 emn realities of another world. Philosophy, as we have seen, 
 was dim and uncertain in its reasonings, while poetry led its 
 hearers only into a world of the imagination, where the fancy 
 could delight itself, but the faith found nothing on which to 
 
 * Fausanias, Lie. 33. 
 
GEECIAJSr PHILOSOPHY. 133 
 
 rest. They could not lift the veil which separated eternal 
 realities from their view, or pierce the clouds which rested on 
 the grave, and therefore they dreaded to look forward. In 
 most of the Greek writers there is a visible reluctance to walk 
 amid the forms of Hades. They shuddered at the darkness 
 before them, and reverted their eyes to where alone the light 
 was resting. On the present scene they could pour the flood 
 of sunshine and splendor, and see around them the freshness 
 and loveliness of the morning, and they therefore cared not to 
 look beyond it. The very clouds which hovered around the 
 horizon, by the contrast of their shadows, rendered the land- 
 scape to their view more dehghtful.* And when, as in the 
 tragedies of ^schylus, the writer turns to images of a sterner 
 grandeur, and going back to the twilight of an antique my- 
 thology, produces fragments of its forgotten creed, his hearers 
 seem gladly to have escaped from these to the more human 
 creations of Sophocles. If the former was the Michael Angelo 
 of their literature, the latter was its Raphael. His poetry, 
 sunny as the .^gean in spring, seems to be redolent of fresh- 
 ness, but yet, it is confined to this " bank and shoal of time." 
 And so it was with most of those whose writings helped to 
 form the character of their countrymen. They taught them to 
 rejoice in the glory of nature — to feel a rapture in the freshness 
 of the dawn and in the blaze of noon — to welcome the stillness 
 of evening and the solemn grandeur of night — and in all the 
 
 * St. John's Hellenes, i. 315. 
 12 
 
134 GEECIAlsr PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 workings of tliis outward life, to partake of its sympathies, 
 and share its hopes and aspirations. But the object of every 
 lesson was, that they should love the world and all that is 
 in the world — and for it alone — its joys and soitows — they 
 seemed to live. 
 
 Such were the Athenians, in the pride of their intellect, as 
 we see them in their Hterature and in the schools of philoso- 
 phy ; and in concluding this view, we cannot forbear quoting 
 the graphic description of Milton, when he represents Satan 
 from the top of Mount Niphates, as showing our Lord " all the 
 kingdoms of the world and the glory of them." In a single 
 passage he has grouped together all that made Athens famous 
 in her most palmy days. 
 
 "Behold; 
 "Where on the JEgean shore a city stands, 
 Bmlt nobly ; pure the air, and hght the soil ; 
 Athens, the eye of Greece, Mother of arts ' 
 
 And eloquence, native to famous wits, 
 Or hospitable, in her sweet recess. 
 City or suburban, studious walks and shades. 
 See there the olive-grove of Academe, 
 Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird 
 Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long ; 
 There flowery hill Hymettus, with the sound 
 Of bees' industrious murmur, oft invites 
 To studious musing ; there Ilissus rolls 
 His wliispering stream : within the walls then view 
 The schools of ancient sages ; his, who bred 
 Great Alexander to subdue the world, 
 Lyceum there, and painted Stoa next : 
 There ehalt thou hear and learn the secret power 
 
GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 135 
 
 Of harmony, in tones and numbers hit 
 
 By voice or hand ; and various-measured verse, 
 
 -^olian charms and Dorian lyric odes. 
 
 And his who gave the breath, but higher simg, 
 
 Blind Melesigenes, thence Homer call'd, 
 
 Whose poem Phoebus challenged for his own : 
 
 Thence what the lofty grave tragedians taught 
 
 In chorus or iambic, teachers best 
 
 Of moral prudence, with dehght received 
 
 In brief sententious precepts, while they treat 
 
 Of fate, and chance, and change in hiunan hfe. 
 
 High actions and liigh passions best describing : 
 
 Thence to the famous orators repair. 
 
 Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence 
 
 Wielded at will that fierce democracie. 
 
 Shook the arsenal, and fulmined over Greece 
 
 To Macedon and Artaxerxes' throne : 
 
 To sage Philosophy next lend thy ear, 
 
 From Heaven descended to the low-roof 'd house 
 
 Of Socrates ; see there his tenement. 
 
 Whom well inspired the oracle pronounced 
 
 Wisest of men ; from whose mouth issued forth 
 
 Mellifluous streams, that water'd all the schools 
 
 Of Academies old and new, with those 
 
 Sumamed Peripatetics, and the sect 
 
 Epicurean, and the Stoic severe."* 
 
 And now, if we have succeeded in conveying any idea of 
 the character of the Greeks, and the manner in which their 
 system of philosophy and hterature, which Christianity came to 
 overthrow, was interwoven with all their thoughts and feelings, 
 then you are prepared to appreciate the difficulties which gath- 
 
 * Paradise Megained, B. IV. 237. 
 
136 GRECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 ered about the Apostle when he attempted in Athens to preach 
 the faith. Look, therefore, at the scene around him, when, a 
 stranger from another land, he first entered the capital of 
 Greece. It was not to him, as it now is to us, a land whose 
 glory has faded, her songs hushed, and her sacrifices extin- 
 guished. He beheld a scene, every portion of which was con- 
 secrated by the recollections of the past and the glorious fables 
 of their faith. About him was a wilderness of statues, which 
 all the efforts of art have never since been able to equal. He 
 saw the dreams of her poets embodied in the almost speaking 
 marble, and on the frieze of every temple their radiant legends 
 were written by the sculptor's hand. It was such a gorgeous 
 city as Spenser has described in his Fairy Queen : — 
 
 " High towers, fair temples, goodly theatres, 
 Strong walls, rich porches, princely palaces, 
 Large streets, brave houses, sacred sepulchres. 
 Sure gates, sweet gardens, stately galleries, 
 Wrought with fair pillars, and fine imageries." 
 
 The lucid atmosphere seemed to give a golden lustre to the 
 stately columns of the Parthenon above him, and to color with 
 peculiar tints the mountain landscape beyond, bathing the leafy 
 sides of Cithseron in its pure and holy brightness. The breeze 
 which swept by him was fragrant with odors of the wild 
 thyme and saffron, and the thousand sweetly-scented plants 
 which still grow with such prodigality on the soil of Greece, 
 furnishing, as they did three thousand years ago, food to the 
 bees of Hymettus. 
 
GRECIAIS" PHILOSOPHY. IST 
 
 And everywhere were proofs of the activity of that restless 
 intellect, which characterized the inhabitants. St. Paul found 
 himself mingling with an energetic people — their persons 
 formed in the first mould of Nature — their minds, as we have 
 shown, filled with the noblest shapes of ideal beauty — their 
 tongues speaking the most melodious of languages — with all 
 their faculties, critical, exact, and sensitive — filled with the 
 buoyant spirits which arise from a beautiful country, a fine 
 climate, and perfect freedom.* Every other literature but 
 their own they despised. They looked with scorn and con- 
 tempt upon the rugged Scythian, the enervated Persian, the 
 depraved Egyptian, the lordly Roman, and above all, upon the 
 narrow-minded Jew. Every thing was uninteresting to them 
 which was not Greek ; what was not Greek was to them 
 beyond the pale of civilization. Even in their public games 
 this exclusive spirit was shown, and the monarchs of the East 
 were not allowed to contend for that olive-garland for which 
 the lowest peasant on the soil of Attica might be a competitor. 
 Even the son of Amytas, King of Macedon, was not admitted 
 until he had proved his Hellenic descent. Yet before this 
 audience, so keen to judge, and so prejudiced with regard to 
 any inroads on their national customs, was to take glace the 
 first public conflict between Christianity and Paganism. 
 
 And who was to begin the contest and wage the warfare for 
 our faith? A solitary stranger — a, wayworn man from the 
 
 * Retros. Review Introd. vi- 
 12* 
 
138 GEEOIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 most despised of all nations — was to proclaim a creed which 
 set at dej&ance all human learning, and sought its records only 
 in the sacred volumes of an obscure and barbarous people. 
 And the first teacher of this faith was no demi-god — not one 
 of those who, surpassing in majesty the sons of men, had 
 founded dynasties and left kings for his descendants — but a 
 crucified malefactor, who in their own times, and among a 
 despised nation, had fallen a victim, either to the malice of his 
 countrymen, or the jealousy of the Roman government. In 
 the mere fact of St. Paul's appeal there was nothing strange 
 to the Athenians. They were accustomed to listen to new 
 teachers, and it mattered not to them whether it was the priest 
 of Isis or the fire- worshipper of Persia — all were equally welcome 
 if they could furnish intellectual excitement, and aid them to 
 while away the hours of the day. The more strange, therefore, 
 the doctrine, the more acceptable would it be to the excitable 
 listeners ; but to yield to it their behef, or to make it the rule 
 of conduct through life, was a result which entered not into 
 their conceptions. We may believe, however, that there was 
 something more solemn and impressive than usual in the ad- 
 dress of St. Paul — something which arrested the attention of 
 a portio;i of his audience — for though there were those who 
 characterized him as " a babbler," and " a setter forth of 
 strange gods" — yet there were others who treated him with a 
 consideration for which he could scarcely have looked. They 
 brought him to a more pubhc place — the Hill of Areopagus — 
 and there called upon him to explain his "new doctrine." He ( 
 
GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 139 
 
 stood, therefore, in the very midst of elevating associations — 
 surrounded by every thing that was lofty and intellectual in 
 the queen of cities — on the spot where the most venerable 
 court of antiquity, whose predecessors had judged gods and 
 heroes, was still accustomed to decide the most solemn causes 
 which could aJBfect the interests of Greece. All was antique 
 and solemn, and the more so from its seclusion from the busy 
 stir by which it was surrounded. On the one side, in a dark 
 chasm of the rocks, fenced in by a grove, which cast a twilight 
 shade at noonday, stands the shrine of the Eumenides, whose 
 name an Athenian cannot utter without trembling. Thither, 
 said tradition — and ^schylus, as we have seen, made the story 
 the foundation of one of his immortal dramas — they were 
 conducted, by order of Minerva, from the Areopagus, before 
 which they had been the accusers of Orestes. To an Athe- 
 nian, therefore, the spot was invested with a surpassing sanc- 
 tity which it was sacrilege to invade, and yet there the Apostle 
 was to attack the very existence of those gods whose dread 
 influence imparted solemnity to the scene. Many a Grecian 
 orator had stood there before him, and by the power of his 
 eloquence swayed at will the same fickle audience which he 
 was now to address, yet never one on a theme like that 
 by which " his spirit was stirred in him." And St. Paul, we 
 know, could appreciate these considerations, and feel the con- 
 trast between the humbling doctrines he preached and the 
 influence which acted on his hearers from every thing around 
 them. 
 
140 aEEciAisr philosophy. 
 
 His address is framed according to the most perfect rules of 
 art, so that not even his fastidious audience could take excep- 
 tion to the method in which he brings forward his subject. 
 Repressing his ardent feelings, he arrays every thing before 
 the bar of their reason, and argues in a spirit of calmness and 
 conciliation. There is no fierce denunciation of that idolatry 
 to which " he saw the city wholly given" — no contemptuous 
 disdain of those philosophic opinions which elsewhere he pro- 
 nounces " foolishness."* He begins with nothing which can 
 awaken prejudice — -avoiding alike the sternness of the ancient 
 Jewish prophet, and the taunting defiance of the later Christian 
 polemic.f So far from this, his speech opens with a compli- 
 ment to his hearers. " Ye men of Athens, I perceive that in 
 all things ye are very devout."]; They had long paid their 
 homage ignorantly to an "unknown God," and he came but as 
 His messenger to unfold His attributes. " God that made the 
 world and all things therein, seeing that He is Lord of heaven 
 and earth, dwelleth not in temples made with hands, neither is 
 worshipped with men's hands, as though He needed any thing." 
 The first clause of this assertion, indeed, was in conflict with 
 the opinions of the Epicureans, who ascribed the formation of the 
 earth to the accidental meeting of atoms ; and also with that 
 of Aristotle, who maintained that it was not created at all, but 
 
 * 1 Cor. iii. 19. 
 
 \ MilmmTbS Hist, of Christianity, i. 251. 
 
 :j: deiaiSaiixovecTTcpovs. Not " too superstitious," as our version renders it. 
 
GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 141 
 
 had subsisted as it is from all eternity. Yet St. Paul was but 
 echoing the general belief of men, and therefore his philo- 
 sophical hearers might hesitate to take offence, particularly as 
 the remainder of the picture was one to which both Epicureans 
 and Stoics could accede. It bore some resemblance to the 
 view given by the teachers of the Garden of their lofty and 
 abstracted Deity, too far removed from this lower world to 
 share in its sympathies, and too much wrapped in the contem- 
 plation of His own happiness to attend to the degrading sor- 
 rows of these children of a day. But if they felt any self- 
 gratulation at this coincidence, the next sentence which the 
 Apostle uttered must at once have dispelled it, as he declared 
 of the Divinity, " He giveth to all, life, and breath, and all 
 things." It proclaimed an active providential care, unknown 
 in their creed, and arrayed itself against that doctrine of a 
 bhnd chance, which Epicurus taught, instead of a Supreme 
 overruhng power. Perhaps the Stoic might so far have found 
 much to applaud, nor had listened as yet to any very marked 
 condemnation of his favorite doctrines, which could awaken his 
 prejudice against the Apostle. He might even agree with his 
 bold denunciations of idolatry, for there would be something 
 in the loftiness and spiritualism of his views to please the 
 disciples of Zeno. But neither sect could subscribe to the 
 next assertion which he uttered, " He hath made of one blood 
 all nations of men to dwell on all the face of the earth." 
 It was placing them on an equality with the barbarians they 
 scorned, and striking a blow at the very foundation of Grecian 
 
142 GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 pride. It was teaching a lesson of common brotherhood, for 
 which none were less prepared than the Athenians, who bound 
 their hair with golden grasshoppers, to symbolize their belief 
 that they, too, were children of the soil, older in their creation 
 than the other tribes of the earth, and coeval with the world 
 itself. And then, he goes on to urge their submission of 
 themselves to this Divinity, from a sense of their need and 
 dependence, enforcing this truth by a quotation from one of 
 their own poets, *' That they should seek the Lord, if haply 
 they might feel after Him, and find Him, though He be not far 
 from every one of us : for in Him we live and move and have 
 our being ; as certain, also, of your own poets have said. For 
 we are also His offspring." And here, too, the Stoic would 
 object. His creed, as we have shown, was that of the Fatalist, 
 and this necessity for human effort — this humbling reliance on 
 a Higher Power — was " bringing strange things to his ears.'* 
 Still more so was the application of the Apostle, when he urges 
 the duty of repentance, and enforces it by the news of a 
 coming judgment and the resurrection of the dead. " God 
 now commandeth all men everywhere to repent ; because He 
 hath appointed a day, in the which He will judge the world in 
 righteousness by that man whom He hath ordained ; whereof He 
 hath given assurance unto all men, in that He hath raised him 
 from the dead." Priding himself on eradicating all degrading pas- 
 sions from his breast, the boast of the Stoic was the dignity to 
 which his nature could attain, and his cardinal sin was self-right- 
 eousness. How humbling, then, to him, the demand for repent- 
 
GEECIA]^ PHILOSOPHY. 143 
 
 ance ! How utterly at war witli every precept taught in the 
 philosophy of the Porch ! 
 
 You perceive then the pregnant meaning of each sentence 
 in this unrivalled address — the first blow struck by an advo- 
 cate for Christianity against the concentrated wisdom of Greece. 
 With what admirable skill does the Apostle touch the popular 
 creed of each class of his hearers, blending with his display of 
 their errors an exposition of the truth ! He took what was 
 right in their religion, infused into it a higher hfe, and ex- 
 pounded it into a nobler philosophy than they had ever ima- 
 gined. It was bringing the light of revelation to bear upon 
 what glimmerings of tradition remained among them, and giv- 
 ing certainty to what had only been doubts and questionings. 
 
 There is another point connected with this subject which it 
 is well to consider — ^the peculiar feelings of St. Paul when he 
 stood among the philosophers of Athens. It is not too much 
 to say, that it required greater moral courage for him to pro- 
 claim the Gospel before that audience, than would have been 
 needed by any other of the twelve apostles. The fishermen of 
 Galilee, who formed our Lord's household of faith, had no ap- 
 preciation of that profound philosophy and noble literature 
 with which the religion of Greece was entwined. They could 
 not in any degree sympathize with the feehngs of its followers, 
 and therefore arrayed themselves against it with a recklessness 
 and unconcern which St. Paul, with his higher cultivation, 
 could never feel. " Even by their simplicity and their want of 
 erudition, the men of Galilee were well armed to encounter 
 
144 GEECIAN^ PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 whatever they might meet with abroad in the polytheistic 
 world. All pagan nations, learned or barbarous, Avere placed 
 on one and the same level in their view. To them the Athe- 
 nian was as the Scythian — a worshipper ' of stocks.' Was the 
 difference between one idol and another, in its fashion, a matter 
 of any moment ? The Jew of that age, by his conscious pos- 
 session of the most important truths, and by his want of re- 
 finement, and taste, and philosophic sophistication, stood in the 
 most favorable position for looking down with just and undis- 
 tinguishable contempt upon all forms of idolatry. His very 
 want of taste prevented his perceptions being confused. In 
 his eyes, one sculptured folly was like another — neither more 
 nor less offensive on account of its workmanship. What was 
 the chisel of Phidias — what the pencil of Apelles — to the man 
 who had been taught to adore the living and true God? 
 Apollo was as Dagon — the temples of Greece as the pagodas 
 of India. 
 
 "It must be admitted, that on some such occasions, when the 
 most momentous truths have to be manfully asserted in oppo- 
 sition to splendid and erudite errors, there may be an advan- 
 tage in this ignorance which prevents any influence being 
 brought to bear upon the imagination. Plain and insensitive 
 vigor of mind may perhaps trample heedlessly on some things 
 which deserve a measure of respect, but it takes the right 
 course, reaches an impregnable position, and leaves a host of 
 frivolous sophisms in the rear, powerless, though unrefuted. 
 And thus it was with the men of Galilee. In their un- 
 
GRECIAI^ PHILOSOPHY. 145 
 
 blemished simplicity, they thought of nothing but the infinite 
 disparity between the true and false religions. On the banks 
 of the Tiber or of the Tigris — of the Indus or the Nile — the 
 Gospel of Christ was always then* glory, and they saw nothing 
 in the world which, by comparison, could for a moment make 
 them ashamed of it."* 
 
 But with St. Paul the case was widely diflferent. Possessed 
 of a higher order of talent, and a greater vigor of mind than 
 his associates, he could grasp a subject in all its bearings in a 
 way of which they were utterly incapable. A whole world, of 
 which they never dreamed, was open to his view. As he stood 
 on the Hill of Areopagus, a thousand thmgs were presented to 
 his mind — a thousand poetical associations — against which 
 their eyes were perfectly sealed. Forms of beauty, which, 
 on another occasion, or when charged with a less impera- 
 tive mission, would have awakened his highest admiration, 
 could hardly have won from them a second look. He appre- 
 ciated the fair fabric he was smiting to the dust — they, in 
 their blissful ignorance, would have crushed it without a pass- 
 ing regret. His wider knowledge of the world — ^his acquaint- 
 ance with human afikirs — his keener sensibility and deeper dis- 
 cernment — rendered him conscious of unnumbered influences, 
 which were lost upon less cultivated minds. 
 
 In addition to this, we must remember St. Paul's acquaint- 
 ance with that literature which was sealed to his brethren. 
 
 * Saturday Evening , p. 35. 
 13 
 
146 GRECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 For several centuries, Judea had ceased to be what it once was, 
 a secluded land. The tide of foreign invasion which more than 
 once rolled over it, had not only brought it before the view of 
 foreign nations, but opened to the Jews themselves some 
 glimpses of the outward world beyond their own boundaries. 
 Thus, the Macedonian conquest had brought them into contact 
 with Greece, and from that time there were not wanting 
 those among them who cultivated a knowledge of its literature. 
 The mass of the people, however, looked upon it as disloyalty 
 to Moses, for the effect seems generally to have been unfavora- 
 ble. While these studies widened the intellectual horizon of 
 the Jews, it diminished the single-hearted devotion with which 
 they were bound to regard their own law. If Josephus may 
 be regarded as an example of their influence, we cannot but 
 feel that in his case all national feeling was destroyed, and he 
 was prepared to be what he afterwards became — a Roman 
 renegade. 
 
 But without the bounds of Judea, the scattered colonies of 
 Jews, who were brought into more frequent intercourse with 
 foreigners, indulged themselves to a greater extent in profane 
 literature. The Jews of Alexandria were learned in the 
 popular philosophy of the day, and we may beheve that so 
 it was with those who dwelt in the Roman city of Tarsus. St. 
 Paul, we know, had been a reader of Aratus and Meander, 
 and the philosophical poets of Greece, and the influence of 
 these more hberal studies is visible in all parts of his writings. 
 Yet he had also sat at the feet of Gamaliel, and had thus 
 
GEECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 147 
 
 escaped the danger which we mentioned as besetting others of 
 his countrymen. Nothing seems to have weakened his attach- 
 ment to all that was distinctive of his nation, and he never be- 
 came so much a Grecian as to cease to be a Jew. We believe, 
 therefore, that could he have selected his own field of labor, 
 he would have delighted to argue with his " kinsmen after the 
 flesh" in behalf of the New Faith, and to unfold — as in his 
 Epistle to the Hebrews — the great truth, that Christianity was 
 but the nobler development of Judaism. For this he was 
 most eminently fitted — ^he would have had with his hearers, 
 a common ground on which to stand — and if they hated him 
 as an apostate from their faith, at least they could not scorn 
 him. 
 
 But the task which his Lord had allotted him was one far 
 more self-denying. He was " the Apostle of the Gentiles." 
 And we cannot conceive a more mortifying trial which could 
 have been devised, than for one who so fully realized his posi- 
 tion, to be obliged to preach the humbling doctrines of the 
 Cross through the cities of Greece. " He must have felt, in 
 all its force, the contempt that covered him as the promulgator 
 of such dogmas — he felt this obloquy as his colleagues could 
 not. Not only in the single instance recorded by his biogra- 
 pher, but no doubt often in his circuit through Greece and its 
 colonies, he stood surrounded by the sarcastic curiosity of 
 Stoics, Epicureans, and Academicians. He knew, on such oc- 
 casions, in what spirit he was hstened to, as a busy and bab- 
 bling zealot of the Jewish superstition. He could penetrate — 
 
148 GRECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 nay, he could feel a sympathy with the erudite scorn of his 
 auditors. He understood the sentiment with which men of 
 high culture give ear, for a moment, to a tale of wonder which 
 they have condemned as absurd, before it is commenced. In 
 the oblique glance of the half- closed eye — in the sneer that 
 played on the lip — he read the mind and the malice of every 
 sophist. He could mentally change positions with his auditors, 
 and at the moment while uttering the * strange fhings' of the 
 Gospel, could feel as they felt — the harsh and abhorrent char- 
 acter, both of the principles and of the facts, which he had to 
 announce — Jesus, the Gahlean teacher — crucified — raised to 
 fife — constituted Lord and Judge of men, and now giving re- 
 pentance for remission of sins."* 
 
 And what was the effect of this solemn appeal uttered to 
 the crowds who thronged those immemorial hillsj We may 
 believe the emotions were as varied as the classes of hearers 
 St. Paul addressed. " When they heard of the resurrection of 
 the dead, some mocked," and many probably were alarmed at 
 a creed so sweeping in its denunciations against the gods they 
 had been accustomed to reverence. The philosophical part of 
 his audience, too, may have been startled by doctrines so far 
 beyond the loftiest reasonings of their o^vn teachers. And as 
 they parted, the Cynic's sneer could have been seen, and the 
 Stoic wrapped his robe about him with a sterner pride, while 
 the careless Epicurean turned again to his luxm'ious Gardens 
 
 * Saturday Evening, p. 39. 
 
GEECIAI^ PHILOSOPHY. 149 
 
 with a laughing jest against those who could give heed for a 
 moment to so unsmiling and gloomy a creed. Yet there were 
 those who trembled at these strange tidings, and felt that the 
 rushing Spirit of " the Unknown God" must have descended 
 into the heart of him to whose voice they had limned. Their 
 souls were stirred within them, and among the converts who 
 were then persuaded to embrace the faith of the despised 
 Nazarenes, was even a member of the Court of Areopagus. 
 Thus was the Church first planted at Athens. 
 
 We perceive, from the statements that have been made, the 
 obstacles which gathered around our faith when it invaded the 
 stronghold of Grecian wisdom. And yet, in how short a time 
 did the lofty tenets of the Portico and the Grove bow before 
 the lowly doctrines of the Cross ! A century went by, and 
 Christianity numbered among its followers many of those who 
 once wore the philosopher's robe, but now coimted their wis- 
 dom foolishness in comparison with the teachings of Jesus of 
 Nazareth. From their trained intellects came the ablest de- 
 fences of the Christian faith, proving how soon it enlisted hu- 
 man learning in its behalf. 
 
 Another century went by, and the conflict with philosophy 
 was for a time once more revived in another land. Exiled from 
 Greece, philosophy sought refuge in other climes, where, under 
 new forms, it endeavored to revive its worship. And particu- 
 larly at Alexandria, which, in the dechne of Roman civilization, 
 became both the home of science and the mart of commerce, 
 its reign for awhile was brilliant. It was a revival of the doc- 
 
 13* 
 
150 GRECIAT^ PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 trines of Platonism, blended with that Orientahsm which suited 
 so well the mystical character of the Egyptians.* Philo had 
 sowed the seeds, which afterwards Plotinus and Proclus de- 
 veloped into a system, and arrayed as an antagonist to the 
 Christian Church. But if they were unlike their predecessors 
 of Greece, troir disciples were still more so. While Proclus 
 endeavored to revive the scientific spirit of Platonism, and Plo- 
 tinus the religious spirit of Paganism, the effort was rendered 
 sterile in the hands of men of feebler minds, who exhausted 
 their strength in verbal disputes. They attempted to explore 
 the secrets of the invisible world, and were led at last to the 
 wildest vagaries. They flattered themselves that they pos- 
 sessed the secret of disengaging the soul from its corporeal 
 prison — claimed a familiar intercourse with demons and spir- 
 its — and by a singular revolution, converted the study of phi- 
 losophy into that of magic.f The doctrines of the Grecian 
 schools were revived, and an attempt was made to breathe the 
 breath of life once more into their expiring Pagan creed by 
 interpreting its symbols in a new sense. They were invested 
 with the veil of moral allegory, yet there was nothing in this 
 that could sth* the ten thousand times ten thousand hearts of 
 men, or awaken them to a new spiritual hfe. The decline of 
 this school, therefore, was sudden and undignified. After a 
 
 * " Recentiores quiqui philosoplii nobihssimi, quibus Plato sectandus 
 placuit, noluerint se dici Peripateticos, aut Academicos, sed Platonicos." 
 De Civit. Dei, Ub. 8, ch. x. 
 
 f Gibbon's " Decline and Fall," ch. xiii. 
 
GRECIAN PHILOSOPHY. 151 
 
 bitter warfare with the Christian fathers of that age — a warfare 
 which brought forward Porphyry and Jambhcus — its last gleam 
 of splendor faded with Proclus, and the death of the Emperor 
 Julian was the signal for its entire defeat. Yet what a strange 
 spectacle for a time was witnessed in that Egypl^n city, when 
 within sight of the ranges of alabaster and porphyry columns 
 which marked the temple of Serapis, stood the Didascalia of the 
 Christians, and the schools of Philo the Jew and CEnesidemus 
 the Pyrrhonist — when the Hellenist Jews, the Christians, the 
 Platonists, the Greek Skeptics, who scarcely believed in the 
 existence of their own Elysium, and the adherents of a most 
 degraded Paganism, were all contending for the dominion of 
 the human mind ! 
 
 With the fall of this school of Neo-Platonism, the reign of 
 Philosophy, as a substitute for religion, was over forever. It 
 still exercised its dominion over the human mind, as it does to 
 this present time, but it had become the handmaid of religion. 
 The effort now was to harmonize the glorious dreams of Plato 
 with the sublime realities of the Christian faith. We have 
 already spoken of the extent to which this was carried, and so 
 many were the points of resemblance which the ingenuity of 
 early writers discovered — so near his approach to some of the 
 cardinal doctrines of our faith — that at last the tradition grew 
 in the Church, that Plato was met by our Lord when ** He 
 descended into hell," and received from him illumination and 
 pardon, and eternal life. But this very legend shows the 
 change which had taken place. The noble speculations of 
 
152 GEECIATT PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Grecian wisdom were esteemed of no value, but as they uttered 
 the same tones with that New Dispensation which claimed the 
 right alone to guide man on his dark and perilous way. Thus 
 the dimness of Grecian Philosophy faded away before the light 
 of tlie Gospelt and Christianity crushed its old antagonist in its 
 ancient home, or else forced it to follow in its train. Philoso- 
 phy, like the toiling Genius of Arabian fable, became the re- 
 luctant slave of a Master of a higher race, whose power was 
 too mighty to be withstood. 
 
III. 
 
 THE LICENTIOUS SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 
 
 The opposition which the early teachers of Christianity en- 
 countered was Proteus-hke in its shapes. Wherever the her- 
 alds of the Cross went, they found hostihty in a new form 
 awaiting them. When they had overcome the narrow bigotry 
 of the Jew, or vanquished the proud philosophy of Greece, 
 enemies still thronged their path, and they were called at once 
 to enter on a new strife. And we find this illustrated in the 
 history of St. Paul, as he passed on froni country to country, 
 everywhere sowing the good seed of the Word. " He departed 
 from Athens, and came to Corinth."* But if the scene is 
 changed, and the nature of his warfare, there is still the same 
 hostility to his message. He is commencing his ministry in 
 the most profligate city of the East, and the subject which it 
 suggests is — Christianity in conflict with the licentious 
 SPIRIT op the age. 
 
 Corinth was in that day the common emporium of the East- 
 em and Western divisions of the Roman empire. In the fresh- 
 
 * Acts, xviii. 1. 
 
154 LICENTIOUS SPIEIT OF THE AGE. 
 
 ness of its early power, when it sent forth its armament to the 
 siege of Troy, Homer had named it, " The Wealthy,"* and it 
 was in the Old World what afterwards Venice became in the 
 Middle Ages, when she ruled as Queen of the seas. To the 
 North, along the coast of Greece, stretched her colonies, to 
 which she had imparted her own character, and to the West 
 was the same line of settlements, as far as Syracuse, the might- 
 iest of the Grecian offspring. There was a beautiful custom 
 which required them always to derive from the sacred hearth 
 of the Mother state, the fire which they kept burning in the 
 Prytaneum ; thus the tie which bound them together was pre- 
 served by the holiest association, and when the parent had 
 fallen, these colonies were destined to give her, as it were, a 
 second youth. The name of Corinth was cherished among the 
 patriotic associations of Greece, for it was the centre of the last 
 brilliant Achaian confederacy, was sanctified by the remem- 
 brance of Aratus and Philopcemen, and the spot where the 
 final stand was made against the crushing power of Rome. 
 Nearly two centuries ha^ now elapsed since its destruction by 
 Mummius, but it had been restored and beautified by Julius 
 Caesar, who rebuilt it as a Roman colony. When it rose 
 from the ashes of its mournful ruins, it was to expand into a 
 splendor surpassing its former glory. Its conquerors, to atone 
 for the barbarous destruction with which it had been visited, 
 showered upon it all the honors and favors in their power ; 
 
 * Iliad, ii 637. 
 
LICENTIOUS SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 155 
 
 and, constituted the capital of the Roman province of Achaia, 
 it grew to be the rival of Athens in elegance and art. From 
 its situation it necessarily became, too, the commercial capital 
 of the East. The traveller by land who was going from the 
 Peloponnesus to visit any of the cities of Northern Greece, 
 passed through its gates — by the port of Cenchreae, it received 
 the rich merchandise of Asia, and by that of Lechseum, it 
 maintained intercourse with Italy and Sicily — while through 
 the Isthmean road a communication was opened with the North 
 and South. Its streets, therefore, were the very mart of the 
 world, and through them passed that continual stream of com- 
 merce, which flowed towards the Imperial City, bearing with 
 it all the luxuries of the Eastern provinces. Although the 
 basis of the population was Roman, yet others thronged in 
 from every quarter on account of its admirable adaptation for 
 mercantile purposes, and probably in ho part of the empire 
 were both the inhabitants and travellers so various and diversi- 
 fied. There was, as we can now see at Trieste and other 
 commercial cities of the East, a perpetual confusion and 
 mingling of all costumes and dialects, the inhabitants of three 
 continents meeting in the market-place and on the crowded 
 wharves. 
 
 Amid, therefore, this stu* of business and perpetual arrival 
 and departure of strangers from all parts of the world, the 
 preaching of a new and peaceful faith could excite but little 
 attention. The estabhshed priesthood themselves had been 
 but newly settled, and religious itinerants of every description 
 
156 LICEISTTIOTIS SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 
 
 abounded, so that no argument of novelty could attract the 
 inhabitants to any other form of worship. This city, too, was the 
 favorite resort of the Sophists, and in an oration of Dio Chry- 
 sostom there is a graphic description, which we may quote, as 
 illustrating the general appearance of society, Diogenes, the 
 Cynic philosopher, appears, and endeavors to attract an au- 
 dience among the vast and idle multitude. He complains, 
 however, " that if he were a travelling dentist, or an oculist, or 
 had any infallible remedy for the spleen or the gout, all who 
 were afflicted with such diseases would have thronged around 
 him ; but as he only professed to cure mankind of vice, igno- 
 rance, and profligacy, no one troubled himself to seek a remedy 
 for those less grievous maladies." ..." And there was around 
 the temple of Neptune a crowd of miserable Sophists, shouting 
 and abusing one another ; and of their so-called disciples, fight- 
 ing with each other ; and many authors reading their works, to 
 which nobody paid any attention ; and many poets, chanting 
 their poems, with others praising them ; and many jugglers, 
 showing off their tricks ; and many prodigy-mongers, noting 
 down their wonders ; and a thousand rhetoricians, perplexing 
 causes ; and not a few shopkeepers, retailing their wares 
 wherever they could find a customer. And presently some 
 approached the philosopher — ^not, indeed, the Corinthians, for, 
 as they saw him every day in Corinth, they did not expect to 
 derive any advantage from hearing him — but those that drew 
 near him were strangers, each of whom having listened a short 
 time, and asked a few questions, made his retreat for fear of 
 
LICENTIOUS SPIEIT OF THE AGE. 157 
 
 his rebukes."* This, therefore, was a place remarkable for the 
 excitement which pervaded every class of society, and for the 
 intensity of its worldliness. Every feeling which was not de- 
 voted to the pursuit of pleasure, was absorbed in the spirit of 
 commerce and the rivalry for gain. 
 
 Thus Corinth became the latest home of Grecian enterprise 
 and glory. When refinement and art were growing dim in their 
 early seats in Ionian Asia and Attica, they had another revi- 
 val — a brief flashing out into glorious beauty — in this splendid 
 city of the Isthmus. We trace there the last gleaming foot- 
 steps of Hellenic art before it took its departure forever from 
 the soil of Greece. But in the Apostle's day it was in its 
 " high and palmy state" — at the very climax of its luxury and 
 glory — ^its vice and heathen wickedness. No place could ex- 
 ceed it in the splendor and magnificence of its public buildings 
 — ^its temples, palaces, theatres, and baths. It was the opu- 
 lence of Rome, refined and guided by Attic taste. Perhaps, 
 in many respects, life was more free and joyous in this vivid 
 Grecian city than even in the Imperial capital of the world. 
 There, the mighty pomp and opulence which were witnessed 
 overpowered the senses, and threw all but the most favored 
 few into insignificance. Pleasure was too ponderous and stately 
 in the vicinity of the golden house of Nero, and about the pre- 
 cincts of the court. There, too, was felt the crushing power 
 of a despotism always before their eyes, and men could not 
 
 * Quoted by Mil man, Hist, of Christianity, v. i. p. 253. 
 14 
 
158 LICENTIOUS SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 
 
 breathe freely. But the inhabitants of the gay city of Corinth, 
 shining in her gaudy fetters, were subjected to no such con- 
 straints, while they found within the narrow compass of her 
 walls every gift which pleasure could offer. They had all the 
 brilliancy of luxury, without ever feeling their spirits wearied 
 by its pomp. 
 
 The Isthmean games, too, celebrated once in five years, drew 
 to this spot a concourse from every part of Greece, and added 
 much to the celebrity of the city. It is from them, as a sub- 
 ject familiar to his readers, that St. Paul draws many of his 
 illustrations of the Christian life. And it is strange, that the 
 only remaining monuments of ancient Corinth — the Amphi- 
 theatre, the Theatre, and the Stadium — are the very scenes to 
 which the Apostle referred, when he endeavored to explain the 
 emotions he felt, or those he wished to inspire.* When, for 
 instance, he wrote to them — " I have fought with beasts at 
 Ephesus,"f — they knew from what they had witnessed in their 
 own Amphitheatre, the nature of the conflict to which he 
 referred. When he declared — " We are made a spectacle 
 (eiaTpov) unto the world, and to angels, and to men, "J — the 
 thoughts of his readers must have reverted at once to their 
 own Theatre, where the actors in the drama were exposed to 
 the view of countless spectators, who watched and criticised 
 each tone and movement. And how vividly must they have 
 had pictured before their eyes the necessity of diligence in the 
 
 * WordswortKa Greece, p. 354. f 1 Cor. xv. 32. % 1 Cor. iv. 9. 
 
LICEIsTTIOUS SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 159 
 
 Christian race, wlien he asked the question — " Know ye not 
 that they which run in the Stadium, (h j^raSicfi,) run all, but one 
 receiveth the prize ? So run, that ye may obtain. I, there- 
 fore, so nm, not as uncertainly." And he couples with it allu- 
 sions to the gymnastic exercises by which the athletsB were 
 trained for the combat : — ** Every one that striveth for the 
 mastery is temperate in all things. Now they do it to obtain 
 a corniptible crown, (a fading garland,) but we an incon*upti- 
 
 ble So fight I, not as one that beateth the air : but I 
 
 keep under my body, and bring it into subjection.*'* And 
 now these mouldering ruins remain to recall, to our recollection 
 the words of St. Paul, and the ministry which for two years he 
 exercised in this dissolute city. Another race, indeed, dwells 
 on this spot, but the seasons come and go as of old — the land- 
 soape, too, is the same — the lofty mountain still looks down on 
 Corinth — the fountains send forth their gushing waters — and 
 the sea stretches around her azure arms, and breaks her glit- 
 tering waves upon the shore — as when, in a later day, St. 
 Clement, the fellow-laborer of the Apostle, drew from these fea- 
 tures of natural scenery his illustrations when writing to the 
 Corinthians: — "The teeming Earth brings forth at its ap- 
 pointed seasons overflowing nourishment to man and beast, not 
 gainsaying nor altering any of God's decrees ; the hollow of 
 the immeasurable Sea, collected together in heaps by His 
 workmanship, passes not out of the barriers thrown around it ; 
 
 * 1 Cor. ix. 24-2Y. 
 
160 LICEIS^TIOUS SPIEIT OF THE AGE. 
 
 the Ocean, not lightly crossed by man, and the worlds beyond 
 it, are ruled by the same ordinances ; the Seasons of Spring, 
 Summer, and Autumn, give way to each other in peace ; the 
 Posts of the Winds perform their duty in their proper season, 
 and interfere not ; and the perennial Fountains, formed for 
 delight and health, give their hearts of life to man, and never ^L 
 fail."* ▼ 
 
 But the beauty and wealth of Corinth proved its ruin. We 
 have already said, that it was notorious for its profligacy, and 
 in this respect it stood pre-eminent among the cities of the 
 East. Living in a climate whose mild and enervating influence 
 inclined them to enjoyment, its inhabitants yielded to its power, 
 and in their pleasures sank to the lowest depths of moral 
 degradation. Heathenism, too, held its rites among them with 
 a licentiousness which the world has, perhaps, never seen ^ 
 equalled. Here was the most celebrated Temple of Venus 
 with its thousand abandoned ministrants ; and not even in her 
 own Paphian home was the Goddess worshipped with so 
 degrading a service. Here arose the most sumptuous style of 
 architecture of the ancient world — an Order which still per- 
 petuates the name of the city of its birth, and whose rich 
 column, " waving its wanton wreath," seems to be a type of 
 the characteristics of the people with whom it had its origin. 
 And thus abounding riches swelled the tide of luxury and 
 addjed to the corruption of manners, until the very name of 
 
 * St. Clement's First Epis, to Corinthians, 20. ^ 
 
LICENTIOUS SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 161 
 
 voluptuous Corintli became a byword through the world, and 
 it was proverbially said — 
 
 "!N'on cuivis homini contingit adire Corinthum." 
 
 Profligacy was wrought into the very being of the Co- 
 rinthians — entwined with all their earliest associations — and 
 strengthening with their gro^vth. Degraded as was the hea- 
 then world around, the Apostle writes to them, that they far 
 surpassed it — that deeds were committed among them, which 
 " are not so much as named among the Gentiles."* And so 
 it continued to the end of their existence as a state. In spite 
 of every change in the population, the Corinthians retained 
 their luxury to the last ; and the Epistles of Alciphron, in the 
 second century after Christ, speak most clearly of the prodi- 
 gality and vice which characterized the inhabitants. When, 
 therefore, they turned to the holiness of our faith, their whole 
 nature had literally to be remodelled. " Old things passed 
 away, and all things became new." 
 
 We see the influences which were abroad in Corinth from 
 the very character of the Apostle's letters to the Church which 
 was established there. They are totally different in their sub- 
 ject and manner from those addressed to other Churches. 
 These are occupied almost entirely with matters of faith — with 
 those great doctrines which lie at the foundation of our religion. 
 But in those to the Corinthians, the Apostle is obliged to de- 
 
 * 1 Gw. V. 1. 
 14* 
 
162 LICEITTIOUS SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 
 
 vote himself to the correction of abuses which could be traced 
 in no other Christian community. He reiterates his warnings 
 against those grosser forms of sin, which we should suppose 
 the slightest knowledge of Christianity would induce them to 
 flee.* He is called to decide on the case of an incestuous per- 
 son, who, by his conduct, had outraged every principle of his ,ij^ 
 faith, and the stern decision is, " I verily, as absent in body, 
 but present in spirit, have judged already, as though I were 
 present, concerning him that hath so done this deed. In the 
 name of our Lord Jesus Christ, when ye are gathered together, 
 and my spirit, with the power of our Lord Jesus Christ, to 
 deliver such an one unto Satan for the destruction of the flesh, 
 that the spirit may be saved in the day of the Lord Jesus. "f 
 Again and again he utters his exhortation, that they should 
 flee from the enticing idolatry which surrounded them, because 
 they could not '' drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of 
 devils, or be partakers of the Lord's table and of the table of 
 devils. "J He reproves them for schism, § and for the disorder 
 which reigned in their religious assemblies, particularly when 
 they met to partake of the Holy Communion, degrading it 
 into a riotous feast, and losing sight of its origin and sacred 
 import. II The Church was, perhaps, as richly as any other in 
 the world, endowed with the extraordinary gifts of the Holy 
 
 * 1 Cor. ch. V. vl viL § Ch. i. 
 
 t Ch. V. 3. I Ch. 3d. 20. 
 
 t Ch X. 21. 
 
LICENTIOUS SPIEIT OF THE AGE. 163 
 
 Ghost — speaking with tongues, interpreting and prophesying — 
 yet they were inferior to most, in the ordinary graces of the 
 same Blessed Person, acting disorderly, fond of strife, and 
 nmning into parties, altogether in need of charity, " the excel- 
 lent way" of Christian perfection. Indeed, schism, dissension, 
 and error appear from the first to have set their seal upon the 
 Corinthian Church. 
 
 All the evils, indeed, which the Apostle was called to redress, 
 speak most forcibly of a Church struggling in the midst of 
 corruptions — bearing the impress of the evils which surround 
 it— ^tainted and enfeebled by that spirit of old idolatry which 
 it had hardly yet cast oflF. It was probably the most unpro- 
 pitious atmosphere in which the Gospel was ever preached. 
 In an intellectual philosophy, or an established mythology, 
 there was something tangible — something with which the mind 
 could grapple — and when the reason had been convinced of 
 their vanity, the influence they exerted was at once swept away. 
 But far different is it with the insidious love of pleasure, when 
 it has fastened upon the soul, and wonderful must have been 
 the change in the Corinthians, when they renounced those 
 things after which the depraved heart most yearns, and substi- 
 tuted, in their place, the strictness and purity of the Gospel. 
 They were to discard and turn with abhorrence from things 
 which they had not only looked upon as innocent, but which 
 had been even ingrafted on their worship. They had to learn, 
 that for their whole hves they had been calling evil good, and 
 good evil. And to the adoption of these new views and feel- 
 
164 LICENTIOUS SPIEIT OF THE AGE. 
 
 ings, they came without any strength of purpose or vigor of 
 mind. There was not even that decision of character which 
 he might have who had merely turned from a form of heathen- 
 ism. They were paralyzed by all the influences of the past. 
 The moral sense was blighted by the withering atmosphere in 
 which they lived ; and the heart which should have responded 
 freely to all that was great and glorious in the new faith, gave 
 back but feeble pulsations to its appeals. The task was, 
 therefore, a most difficult one, to break up this lethargy — to 
 reanimate these prostrate spirits — and to teach the soul which 
 for years had been grovelling in the dust, for the first time to 
 plume its wings upward, and to look towards heaven. 
 
 We perceive, then, the arena in which Christianity was now 
 to contend, and the nature of the adversary it met, when St. 
 Paul proclaimed, before the Corinthians, the strictness of that 
 law he was to inculcate, and the wealth of those promises 
 which are for the pure in heart. And he realized the obstacles 
 in his way. Familiar in his own native Tarsus with the de- 
 grading power of heathenism, he had been led, like the ancient 
 prophet, within the curtains of the dark " chambers of 
 imagery," and seen the secret abominations of the shrine, and 
 with the same righteous indignation he uttered his rebukes. 
 But with what arguments could he meet these slaves of sense ? 
 With what weapons could he contend against that subtle 
 spirit of profligacy which there reigned so supreme, that — 
 what the Apostle declares of the whole Gentile world was 
 most emphatically true of them — they not only did these 
 
LICENTIOUS SPIEIT OF THE AGE. 165 
 
 abandoned deeds themselves, but also had pleasure in those 
 that did them ?* With what motives could he address those 
 grovelling spirits — break the chains of corruption which bound 
 them down — or awaken them to higher and holier thoughts ? 
 He used only the simple arguments of the Gospel ; but the 
 mighty results produced, proved that here as elsewhere, it was 
 ** the power of God unto salvation." What, then, were these 
 arguments ? 
 
 The first was — ^the Cross of Christ. St. Paul, himself, states 
 this in the beginning of his Epistle to the Church at Corinth, 
 as he reviews his ministry among them. " And I, brethren, 
 when I came to you, came not with excellency of speech or 
 of wisdom, declaring unto you»the testimony of God. For I 
 determined not to know any thing among you, save Jesus 
 Christ, and Him crucified."f But how strange would have 
 seemed this course to the worldly-wise — ^to bring before the 
 pleasure-loving Corinthians the sad and mournful doctrine of 
 the Cross — to begin at the outset with what must have been 
 the most oflfensive truth of our faith — and to require them to 
 turn from their enticing idolatry to a religion whose earliest 
 lesson was thus one of tears and agony ! And yet, the ex- 
 perience of eighteen hundred years has shown the wisdom 
 of the plan adopted — that there is a true philosophy in 
 meeting all who first hear the Gospel — the Greek and the 
 barbarian, the bigoted Jew, and the enervated Corinthian — 
 
 * Eomam, i. 32. f 1 Cor. ii. 1, 2. 
 
166 LICENTIOUS SPIEIT OF THE AGE. 
 
 With this same truth which Hes at the very foundation of oui' 
 feiith. 
 
 Look, then, at the effect of this doctrine. It revealed to the 
 Corinthians the meaning of the world's history — the end of all 
 that succession of changes which had been going on since time 
 began. For the first time, to their eyes, the records of the 
 past were linked together by the Unity of one great purpose. 
 They looked back to the ages which had gone — to those dy- 
 nasties of the elder world which, one after another, had passed 
 away — to the revolutions which had broken the sceptre of em- 
 pires, and made Egypt, and Babylon, and Media, in turn the 
 rulers of the earth — and they now learned that nothing was by 
 chance, but was intended to exert its influence on a people, 
 scattered over the hills of Palestine, and looked upon with 
 scorn by the polished Grecian. They found that each change 
 among the nations of the earth had its specific object, and was 
 but to prepare the way for that Mighty Dehverer, whose blood 
 was yet crimson on the Hill of Calvary, and who had been 
 seen in the flesh by those who still lived to tell the story of 
 His life. And then, looking forward, they saw that all 
 things in the coming destiny of this world turned upon its 
 reception of this doctrine, and that the shadowy future, 
 whatever it might bring forth, would only work out its con- 
 summation. 
 
 It solved, too, for them, the enigma of life. They saw this 
 present existence to be full of opposing elements, until men 
 often lost faith in all they once had reverenced — ancient creeds 
 
LICElSnOUS SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 167 
 
 were deprived of their majesty — and new doctrines could exert 
 no power over their minds. They felt themselves struggling 
 against a destiny they could not conquer, and sunk, therefore, 
 into sullen despair, or met the changes of life mth reckless 
 levity. They were ever encountering sorrows and afflictions 
 whose object they could not understand. Life was filled with 
 contradictions for which they had no solution. Where, then, 
 was the interpreter to teach them its mysteries ? Where was 
 the key to all these things — the event which could throw its 
 light upon the tangled web of human life, and dispel its shad- 
 ows ? It is the crucifixion of the Son of God, which hnks to- 
 -gether all the shifting scenes' around us — harmonizes all the 
 varied interests of this world — and brings into one view -the 
 past and the future. 
 
 Thus this sublime truth gave the Corinthian hearer a reason 
 for the dispensations which befel him, and he learned to recog- 
 nise in them the discipline of life. In the pursuit of pleasure 
 he must often have felt disappointment to be his lot, and his 
 heart whispered to him the lesson, " Vanity of vanity, all is 
 vanity." The Cross of Christ, then, not only uttered the same 
 voice to him, but gave the reason of that void which exists in 
 every human heart. It showed that all this was the punish- 
 ment of sin, and that the solemn sacrifice on the Mount was 
 the propitiation for the iniquities of a fallen world. It explained, 
 therefore, the cause of those sorrows which press upon suffer- 
 ing, sad Humanity — 
 
168 LICENTIOUS SPIEIT-OF THE AGE. 
 
 " the weight of care, 
 
 Tliat crushes into diunb despair 
 One-half the human race."* 
 
 But it hold out, also, the remedy, while it appealed to the heart 
 by every argument which could touch one not utterly " past 
 feeling." And when the world again arrayed its enticements 
 before them, from the heights of Calvary there came a warning 
 which proclaimed their worthlessness. " It is the death of the 
 Eternal Word of God, made flesh, which is our great lesson 
 how to think and how to speak of this world. His Cross has 
 put its true value upon every thing which we see, upon all 
 fortunes, all advantages, all ranks, all dignities, all pleasures ; ^ 
 upon the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the 
 pride of life. It has set a price upon the excitements, the ri- 
 valries, the hopes, the fears, the desires, the efforts, the tri- 
 umphs of mortal man. It has brought together and made 
 consistent all that seemed discordant and aimless. It has 
 taught us how to Uve, how to use this world, what to expect, 
 what to desire, what to hope. It is the tone into which all the 
 
 strains of this world's music are ultimately to be resolved 
 
 In the Cross, and Him who hung upon it, all things meet ; all 
 things subserve it, all things need it. It is their centre and 
 then* interpretation. For He was lifted up upon it, that He 
 might draw all men and all things unto Him."t 
 
 Was not this, then, a startling doctrine to break in upon the 
 
 * Longfell&w. f NevrntarHs Sermons, v. VI. pp. 93, 94. 
 
LICENTIOUS SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 169 
 
 dreams of those who had thought only of pleasure — to teach 
 them, for the first time, to look below the surface of the strug- 
 gling life around them and within them — and to call into exer- 
 cise a class of feeling which no other argument had ever 
 reached ? We see a reason, then, even in the light of human 
 wisdom, why it should have been received by the Coiinthians 
 ** in demonstration of the Spirit and with power." 
 
 And connected with this, necessarily came the subhme doc- 
 trine of man's immortality. It was the absence of an assured 
 hope on this point which led to much of the degradation of the 
 ancient world. There came no warnings from the land of 
 spirits to direct their steps — they felt that no punishment 
 could reach them in this world — and therefore " the hearts of 
 the sons of men were fully set in them to do evil." Life — 
 this present life which was fleeting so fast away — became every 
 thing. The teeming earth was only to them a place to trade 
 and barter for a few years — ^its paths were worn by the foot- 
 steps of those who had gone before — the heavens above ad- 
 dressed no lesson to their hearts — ^and all was " of the earth, 
 earthly." They felt, that after for a tune they had trodden 
 the same dull round, they must go, they knew not whither, 
 and the stars, in their silent courses, be looking down upon 
 their graves. Is it strange, then, that they grasped at the cup 
 of pleasure which was within their reach,' and with no elevating 
 hopes in the future sank to that degradation which character- 
 ized the Corinthians ? Their maxim was, " Let us eat and 
 drink, for to-morrow we die.'* 
 
 16 
 
ITO LICENTIOUS SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 
 
 The voice of the Apostle first broke in upon this dream. 
 The instructions which he imparted first dispelled this dark- 
 ness, and opened to them a view of realities of which the earth- 
 ly and sensual had never imagined. " Thou shalt not die," 
 was his earnest declaration, and he unveiled to them an exist- 
 ence " unmeasured by the flight of years" — a wasteless eternity 
 through which they must exist. He disclosed to them that 
 " life and immortality" which the new faith had " brought to 
 light," and seizing on the actions of this present existence, gave 
 them dignity by linking them to the next world, and showing 
 that there they had their influence. He taught the elevating 
 truth, that this life is but the germ of another, and that not 
 until it has dawned upon us will all things have their fulness 
 and completion. He revealed a pure and unsensual Heaven 
 for the just — converted speculation into certainty — and proved 
 that the soul did not yearn in vain, when visions of an immor- 
 tality flitted before it. 
 
 Now, we can scarcely imagine in this day the weight with 
 which such declarations fell upon the ears of those who had 
 been trained under a form of Paganism. They heard " strange 
 tidings." They learned the mystery of death. They were 
 raised from the damps and shadows of their old belief, and 
 began to breathe the pure air of heaven. Life beyond the 
 grave had hitherto been a thing hoped for, but not assured. 
 It had furnished a theme for the speculations of the philoso- 
 pher and the dream of the poet, and we may now see it shad- 
 owed forth in the sculptured butterfly on their tombstones— 
 
LICENTIOUS SPIRIT OF THE AGE. lYl 
 
 the representation of their Psyche, of the animating, survi- 
 ving soul — an intimation that it was to reappear once more in 
 a new form and region of being. But, unsanctioned by any 
 divine authority, the doctrine never sank into the hearts of the 
 people, or became a principle of action. There was no fixed 
 behef — no realizing sense of the retributions of another world 
 — sufficiently strong to dissipate the illusions of this, or to 
 break the power of its fascinations. But far different was the 
 case when their hopes became a certainty, and they reahzed 
 that they were Sons of Immortality, It became a new 
 tie to bind them to their Lord, for they learned that it was 
 "because He lived, they should live also." They felt facul- 
 ties within them, waking up as it were from a long torpor, and 
 they rejoiced in the thought that these should go on expand- 
 ing forever, and springing up to a renewed existence, long after 
 the stars themselves had been quenched. They realized what 
 the Apostle meant by " the power of an endless life." What, 
 then, to them were the pleasures of the dissolute city around — 
 the crowded circus — the glittering theatre — the voluptuous 
 banquets — and the thousand allurements of sense which 
 courted their notice? These must soon pass away and be 
 forgotten. But they carried Infinity in their bosoms — were 
 linked inseparably to that which could not di.e — and when the 
 earthly tabernacle had crumbled into dust, were to find that 
 all time was their heritage and domain. Ages might pass 
 away — the globe itself be blotted from existence — but their 
 wheel of hfe should be ever rolling round the circle of eternity. 
 
1T2 LICENTIOUS SPIEIT OF THE AGE. 
 
 and they gathering immortality by the side of the river of hfe. 
 They trampled therefore under their feet all that before had 
 enslaved their senses, and adopted as their rule of life the 
 earnest exhortation of him who had first led them to the truth : 
 •" But this I say, brethren, the time is short : it remaineth that 
 both they that have wives be as though they had none ; and 
 they that weep, as though they wept not ; and they that re- 
 joice, as though they rejoiced not ; and they that buy, as 
 though they possessed not ; and they that use this world, as 
 not abusing it : for the fashion of this world passeth away."* 
 
 But Christianity went even farther. It not only held out 
 to them the certainty of an endless life, but it declared that 
 the body also was to escape from the power of death and rise 
 again to an imperishable .existence. And this was beyond the 
 wildest dreams of Paganism. The idea that this scattered dust 
 should be reanimated — that it could for centuries mingle in 
 every form of vegetable life, be blown about by the winds of 
 heaven, or swept upon the waves of the surging sea, and then 
 be again collected into its old forms of strength and beauty — 
 was something which had never entered into the conceptions 
 of any of their philosophers. The knowledge of this perpe- 
 tuity of human nature came not till the New Dispensation was 
 proclaimed, and it received its confirmation from the resurrec- 
 tion of their Lord. And nowhere does the Apostle enter so 
 fully into the proofs of this sublime doctrine, as in his epistle to 
 
 * 1 Cor. vil 29. 
 
LICENTIOUS SPIEIT OF THE AGE. 1^3 
 
 these same Corinthians. He meets the objections of the skep- 
 tic, and, in the loftiest style of eloquence, contrasts the feeble- 
 ness of this present state with the glory which awaited even 
 the frail tabernacle they inhabited : — " It is sown in corrup- 
 tion, it is raised in incorruption ; it is sown in dishonor, it is 
 raised in glory ; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power ; 
 it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body."* And 
 when he had placed before them his great argument, he sums 
 up all with the inspiring words : — " Behold, I show you a mys- 
 tery ; we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a 
 moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump ; for the 
 trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, 
 and we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on 
 incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. So 
 when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this 
 mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to 
 pass the saying that is written. Death is swallowed up in 
 victory, "f 
 
 Stretching out before them, therefore, was a path bright 
 with the beams of a perpetual day, and they were to travel it 
 forever, complete in every attribute of their nature, the body 
 as well as the soul. In the world of retribution they were to 
 be, in every respect, the same persons who waged their war- 
 fare here. It is " this mortal" which is to " put on immor- 
 tality." What a vantage-groimd then did the Apostle occupy. 
 
 * 1 Cor. XV. 42. t V. 51-54. 
 
 15* 
 
I'r4 LICENTIOUS SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 
 
 when he summoned them to begin that mighty journey which 
 led from darkness to light — from corruption to immortahty ! 
 What an argument was furnished him against the prevailing 
 sins of Corinth, when he exhorted his converts to reverence 
 even this earthly body, for now it was the habitation of the 
 Holy Ghost, and hereafter should go with them through eter- 
 nity ! ** Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that 
 the Spirit of God dwelleth in you ? If any man defile the 
 temple of God, him shall God destroy ; for the temple of God 
 is holy, which temple ye are."* 
 
 But there was still another argument most efficacious to win 
 the attention of the profligate inhabitants of the City of the 
 Isthmus. It was the visible hving for another world which 
 they saw in the hves of those who proclaimed the word. It is 
 a strange contradiction in our nature, that no argument can win 
 the devoted adherents of pleasure from their degradation so 
 readily as a summons to endure suff'ering and self-denial in 
 some lofty cause — nothing can turn the worldly-minded so 
 soon from their empty dreams, as an exhibition of some one 
 Hving visibly and entirely for that hfe which is beyond life. 
 There is something in the heart, even of the most fallen, which 
 responds to such appeals, and which kindles the desire up 
 within it to tread in the footsteps of those who can thus sacri- 
 fice the present for the future. It was this principle which 
 invested martyrdom with such power, and made the blood shed 
 
 * 1 Cor. iil 16. 
 
LICENTIOUS SPIEIT OF THE AGE. 175 
 
 on the scaffold or at the stake, ** the seed of the Church." 
 Where a view of the agonies of the sufferer terrified one das- 
 tard into submission, it carried conviction to the minds of hun- 
 dreds, and awakened an heroic emulation in their breasts to 
 share the lot of those who could thus even die for their faith. 
 But to prove this, we need not go back to Apostolic times. 
 The annals of the Church contain, in all ages, instances regis- 
 tered to show the moral power of our faith, when taught by 
 men who came in self-denial. From among these, then, we 
 will select a single one — perhaps the most remarkable in the 
 history of our race — to illustrate this point. 
 
 In the latter part of the twelfth century there dwelt in a 
 mountain town of Italy, the son of an obscure merchant, who, 
 turning from the plodding cares of his father, was the foremost 
 in every feat, and the gayest in every festival among his towns- 
 men. But, stricken by disease in the very dawn of manhood, 
 he was brought to the gates of death, and forced for a time to 
 gaze on the realities before him, and to estimate the value of 
 those pleasures to which he had been devoted. He arose from 
 his bed of suflfering, ** a new creature." Henceforth his 
 thoughts were absorbed in the imperishable life he hoped to 
 win. His days were passed in devotion — ^he wept and fasted — 
 his alms were abundant — and he wandered alone over the Um- 
 brian hills, communing with his God. But the sacrifice was 
 not yet perfect. As he knelt before the altar in an agony of 
 prayer, a voice seemed to say in the depths of his soul — " Pro- 
 vide neither gold nor silver, nor brass in your purses, nor scrip 
 
lYG LICENTIOUS SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 
 
 for your journey, neither two coats, neither shoes, nor yet 
 staves." He applied these words to himself, and obeyed at 
 once. Parting with every thing he possessed, but the coarse 
 robe of serge drawn round him with a common cord, he went 
 forth to wander as a pilgrim over the face of the earth, without 
 M home, and dependent for his support on the precarious boun- 
 ty of his fellow-men. He mingled with them as a men- 
 dicant, and employed himself in the most revolting duties 
 he could select — the care of the inmates of the Leprous Hos- 
 pital. 
 
 Such was the beginning of the career of St. Francis of As- 
 sisi. He proclaimed that Poverty was his affianced bride, and 
 to the hour of death he was true to the vows of his betroth- 
 ment. It was the profession ever on his lips, that he was her 
 devoted husband, and the whole Franciscan Order their off- 
 spring. And through the wide world this union has been 
 celebrated. Bossuet, the noblest orator of France, eulogizes it 
 in his panegyric on the saint — Dante, in his " Divina Comme- 
 dia," has composed the Epithalamium* — and Art, too, has 
 rendered her tribute. On the walls of the Church of the Sa- 
 gro Convento in Assisi, the traveller may still see a fading fresco 
 which once came bright and beautiful from the pencil of Giotto. 
 It is the picture of a marriage, and if he knows not the story, 
 he will wonder at the dress of the bride on whose finger the 
 ring is about being placed. She is indeed crowned with light 
 
 * n Paradiso, xi. 
 
LICENTIOUS SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 177 
 
 and roses, but her apparel is sordid, and her feet are torn by 
 the sharp stones and briers over which she is passing. These 
 are the nuptials of St. Francis and Poverty. 
 
 But if this was the misappHcation of a passage of Scripture, 
 and perhaps a derangement of intellect which made the Father 
 of the M^dicants apply to himself this charge of the Saviour 
 to the seventy, yet still it had its effect. The gay revellers 
 with whom he had once mingled could not look upon him un- 
 influenced, and the earnest words he uttered, coming direct 
 from his heart, and acted out in his life, arrested their atten- 
 tion. The population of Assisi were moved by the sight of 
 poverty and self-denial for Christ's sake, and others also be- 
 came candidates for the same sublime self-sacrifice*. Adopting 
 St. Francis as their leader, they assumed his austere dress, and 
 enrolled their names as members of the Order he had founded. 
 Stripping themselves of all temporal wealth, they became vol- 
 untarily bound by vows of poverty, perpetual ceUbacy, and 
 implicit obedience to their ecclesiastical superiors. They were 
 to be public mendicants, not soliciting alms as a favor, but as a 
 right with which Christ had endowed the poor, and seeking in 
 the severity of the discipline they inflicted on themselves, the 
 perfection their Lord required. A few years passed, and we 
 may see this humble individual in the splendid palace of the 
 Lateran, bowing at the feet of Innocent III., receiving from 
 him a confirmation of the Order he had established, and au- 
 thority to go forth as the enthusiastic missionary of Rome, by 
 the watchwords of Poverty, Continence, Lowliness, and Self- 
 
1T8 LICENTIOUS SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 
 
 denial, commanding the sympathies of the multitude in her 
 behalf. Then, renown and influence gathered around the home- 
 less Italian friar. Processions, chanting litanies, met him — pros- 
 elytes crowded around him to repeat the solemn vows which 
 severed them from the world — and wealth flowed in to him 
 who had abandoned it forever, that convents and*^ churches 
 might be erected to perpetuate his principles. Ten years from 
 the foundation of the Order, and they met to celebrate its sec- 
 ond General Chapter. But no building within the walls of 
 Assisi could hold their multitude, and on the plain around the 
 city five thousand Franciscans assembled to debate on the con- 
 quest of the world. A few years later, and amid prostrate and 
 weeping crowds, the emaciated body of St. Francis w.as depos- 
 ited in the Church of St. Mary of Angels ; but. his work had 
 been most thoroughly accomplished. His followers were scat- 
 tered over all Christendom — a mighty army of Evangehsts — 
 and every land was familiar with the emblem of the Franciscan 
 cord. More than six centuries have since passed away, and 
 this wide- spread fraternity has survived the opposition of its 
 rivals — the sneers of Erasmus, and Wiclif, and Luther — ^and 
 the denunciations of so many among the wise and eloquent of 
 all Europe. At this day it claims seven thousand five hundred 
 communities, numbering more than two hundred thousand in- 
 mates who bow to its rule. Its statutes are a living code, 
 written in the hearts of multitudes in every land through the 
 Christian world, and nearly three millions who have already 
 gone to their account, shall at the last day be forced to testify 
 
LICENTIOUS SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 1T9 
 
 to the value of this stern law as a guide for life and a prepara- 
 tion for eternity. 
 
 How strange, then, this history, as we look back upon it, 
 and then forward at the power still to be exerted over coming 
 generations by one who has for centuries been sleeping in the 
 dust ! It seems mightier than has fallen to the lot of almost 
 any other among the sons of men. It changed the whole 
 course of this life with *' a multitude which no man can num- 
 ber." But this is not all. It was a discipline and a prepara- 
 tion for eternity. Its moral power passes over the gulf of 
 death — survives the shock of the archangel's trump — and is 
 felt through the bowers of Paradise, or among the gloomy 
 caverns of the lost. It will go on forever, world without end. 
 Its real influence begins when its disciples have entered eter- 
 nity, and the question is to be settled, whether it has led them 
 safely through their pilgrimage here, and amid the sorrows of 
 this life won for them a crown of glory. It was an entire sub- 
 jugation of body and soul — a perfect victory and control over 
 the whole man — ^which assumed, as it were, aU responsibility 
 for his welfare, both in this world and the next. 
 
 The point, then, to which we would come is this. How can 
 we account for this influence of the Franciscan friar ? Ob- 
 scurely bom, and putting from him wealth, and state, and eve- 
 ry thing which wins the attention of men, whence came his 
 mighty power over so many countless thousands — a power 
 which induced them to break away from the chains of custom, 
 and the things to which the heart most closely cleaves, and to 
 
180 LICENTIOUS SPIEIT OF THE AGE. 
 
 trample the dictates of nature and the ties of Hfe beneath their 
 feet ? Where was the winning influence which caused the garb 
 of the Franciscans to be seen in the camp of the Crusaders — in 
 the crowded market-place — in the halls of the Universities — 
 and even in the courts of princes ? We can account for it only 
 from the fact, that he brought the lessons of self-denial and 
 the reahty of eternal interests visibly before those whom he 
 addressed. He was incited, indeed, by a misconception of a 
 divine command, yet still it was a divine command, and he act- 
 ed it out. He might have sent forth from his closet the most 
 eloquent appeals to inculcate self-denial, and yet not even the 
 surface of society been ruffled by his burning words ; but when 
 he stood before them the impersonation of his own system, the 
 very depths were stirred with unwonted agitation. The sordid 
 dress and cheerless life of the Father of the Mendicants ap- 
 pealed to their senses. They recognised in his obedience, mis- 
 taken as it was in its form, the impress of the Cross. It 
 brought home to them the utter insignificance of all worldly 
 interests, and the friendless wanderer spake to their hearts 
 with a power which could not have been wielded by one 
 " clothed in soft raiment."* 
 
 Now this was the principle which in the Apostles acted and 
 
 * For the idea on which this illustration is founded, we are indebted to 
 a note to Bishop Whittingham's Matriculation Sermon before the General 
 Seminary in 1840. For the facts in St. Francis' life, see Histoire de St. 
 Francis d'Assisi. Par Emile Chatin de Malan, Paris, 1840. 
 
 •J 
 
LICENTIOUS SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 181 
 
 wrought upon those to whom they preached. Theu* hearers 
 felt that those were no idle words they uttered. They beheld 
 men, who themselves hved only for eternal realities, and who 
 trod the earth during their appointed days, only that they 
 might win souls to_ the faith, and spread more widely the mes- 
 sage they were commissioned to bear. Bold and fervent — 
 nursed i|^ vicissitudes — prepared for torments, and armed for 
 death — they united the lofty energy of the martyr with the 
 gentle love of the saint. Certain of their sins, but doubtful of 
 their salvation, they felt that the crown was yet to be gained. 
 They were men whose faith was not an abstraction, but who 
 evidently believed that Christ had come down from heaven to 
 die, since such was their love for Him, that they chose to be 
 like Him in all things, even in suffering. Amid the profligacy 
 of Corinth, this was a new revelation, and the ministers of 
 Christianity spake with an influence with which none others 
 had ever been gifted. The words, indeed, must have come 
 with power from men, before whose upward gaze the Celestial 
 gates were opened so vividly, that they were ready at any 
 time to throw aside this tabernacle of clay, if by so doing they 
 could rush upward to their reward — men, for whom the stake 
 had no terrors, and who would have welcomed the fires oi 
 martyrdom with an heroic joy, when, by the baptism of blood, 
 they could win a crown of glory — men, who, with a lofty 
 courage, invited them to share in self-denial and sorrow, in all 
 that could try the spirit and develop the hidden strength of 
 the soul. All, therefore, that was left of the divine and 
 
 16 
 
182 LICENTIOUS SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 
 
 spiritual in their natures ■ — all that sin had not wasted and 
 trampled into the dust — responded to the call, and the Apostle 
 found that even in Corinth were *' such as should be saved." 
 
 Such was the antagonist our faith had to meet in the luxu- 
 rious City of the Isthmus, and such were the arguments by 
 which it startled the votaries of pleasure from their fatal in- 
 difference, and roused the profligate to higher aq^ holier 
 thoughts. And yet in this case, as in that of Judaism and 
 Philosophy, the work was accomplished, and the Gospel was 
 established amid all the sensuality of that degraded city. A 
 single sentence, in the Epistle of St. Paul, tells the story of its 
 success — " The Church of God which is at Corinth."* There 
 it stood, like Milton's personification of Purity, amid " the 
 monstrous rout" of Comus, " rolling with pleasure in their 
 sensual stye." It was surrounded, indeed, by temptations, and 
 too often its members may not have been entirely freed from 
 the influence of that old idolatry they professed to abandon, 
 yet still, as a Church, it was steadfast to the faith. And 
 when, in his first Epistle, St. Paul had condemned them for 
 glaring violations of the laws of the Gospel, we learn from his 
 second letter, that these had been amended : " For though I 
 made you sorry with a letter, I do not repent, though I did 
 repent ; for I perceive that the same Epistle hath made you 
 sorry, though it were but for a season. . . For behold, this 
 selfsame thing, that ye sorrowed after a godly sort, what care- 
 
 * 1 Cbr. 1. 2 
 
LICENTIOUS SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 183 
 
 fulness it wrought in you ; yea, what clearing of yourselves ; 
 yea, what indignation ; yea, what fear ; yea, what vehement de- 
 sire ; yea, what zeal ; yea, what revenge ! In all things ye have 
 approved yourselves to be clear in this matter." And he con- 
 cludes with the declaration, " I rejoice, therefore, that I have 
 confidence in you in all things."* And so the Church grew 
 and strengthened as years went by ; and long afterwards we 
 find two other Epistles, written to the Corinthians, by St. Cle- 
 ment, in the name of the whole Church at Rome, and though 
 he is obhged to reprove them for a renewal of those dissensions 
 which had happened in the days of St. Paul, yet we can learn, 
 from the general tone he adopts, how high was their stand 
 among the Eastern Churches. 
 
 Thus it is that we trace the progress of our faith, as it went 
 on, " conquering and to conquer." Thus we learn the lesson, 
 that it hath weapons for every enemy, and arguments to meet 
 every form of error and sin ; yea, that it hath power even to 
 break the chains of the slave of sensuality, and bid him come 
 forth, renewed in spirit — a freeman in Christ Jesus. 
 
 * 2 Cor. vii. 8, 11, 16. 
 
IV. 
 BARBARISM. 
 
 When Xavier was preparing to go forth on that mission 
 which stamped his influence on miUions through the East, and 
 gave him an undying name in the annals of heroic Christian 
 daring, his friend Rodriguez, who shared his apartment in the 
 Hospital at Rome, was awakened in the night by his earnest 
 exclamations. He heard him tossing restlessly on his couch ; 
 and at times there came from the lips of the sleeping man the 
 agitated appeal, " Yet more, my God ! yet more !" In the 
 morning, he asked Xavier in vain for an explanation of " the 
 dream which made him afraid, and his thoughts upon his bed 
 which troubled him." It was not until months afterwards, 
 when about to leave his native land forever, that he revealed 
 the vision. He had seen in his slumber the wild and terrible 
 future of his career spread out before him. There were bar- 
 barous regions, islands, and continents, and mighty empires, 
 which he was to win to the truth. Storms, indeed, swept 
 around them, and hunger and thirst were everywhere, and 
 death in many a fearful form, yet he shrank not back. He was 
 willing to dare the penalty, if he could only win the prize. 
 
 16* 
 
186 BARBARISM. 
 
 Nay, lie yearned for still wider fields of labor, and with a pas- 
 sion as absorbing as the ambition which leads on the statesman 
 or warrior, filling every faculty, and haunting him even in his 
 slumber, he exclaimed, " Yet more, my God ! yet more !" 
 The meditations of the day shaped the visions of the night, 
 and revealed the tone and character of his zeal — its insatiate 
 reaching unto the things that were before. Well, then, might 
 Loyola write to him, " Eternity only, Francis, is sufficient for 
 such a heart as yours : its kingdom of glory alone is worthy 
 of it : be ambitious, be magnanimous, but aim at the loftiest 
 mark." 
 
 Was not this the spirit of Apostolic times? And was it 
 not under the influence of such feelings that St. Paul went 
 forth to offer his life, if necessary, a sacrifice on the altar of 
 Christian duty — "to fill up that which was behind of the 
 afflictions of Christ for His body's sake, which is the Church?"* 
 It seems to be the truth taught us by the untiring labors of his 
 hfe. We haye seen him already in conflict with Judaism — 
 with Grecian Philosophy — and with the Licentious Spirit of the 
 Age — hastening on from victory to victory. But had not 
 enough already been achieved — enough to satisfy the aspira- 
 tions of the most ardent mind ? Many years had passed as a 
 dream — as a vapor which the wind sweepeth away, or a wave 
 which rushes by and is broken on the shore. Yet they had 
 left no sting of wasted hours behind — the stern requirements 
 
 * Cot L 24. 
 
BAEBAEISM. 18T 
 
 of his Lord had been ever his guide — and in many lands he 
 had recorded a testimony which should speak to every coming 
 generation. After having endured " the heat and burden of 
 the day," might he not rest as the twilight drew on, and the 
 shadows of evening gathered about him ? Might he not, at 
 last, reap the full recompense of his toils, and devote the 
 coming years to training those who looked to him as their 
 spiritual father ? Might he not sit in the shadow of the tree 
 he had planted, with familiar faces around him, and famihar 
 voices in his ears, whose tones of affection were to grow more 
 kind as the end drew nigh, and the aged man was soon to be 
 seen no more ? If he could not dwell with his own country- 
 men, might he not with those whom, at Athens, he had led 
 from their idolatry, or with his beloved converts at Corinth ? 
 A voice within him forbad the thought ; and as he looked out 
 over the world, and beheld countless nations still groping on in 
 darkness, we beheve the spirit of his prayer was, " Yet more, 
 O my God ! yet more !" In the East he had first hfted up 
 his voice in behalf of the Gospel, and there had been " the 
 beginning of his strength." Yet it was in the West that he 
 looked for still greater triumphs, and expected to realize " the 
 excellency of dignity and the excellency of power." And 
 thus, making life one long day of trial and triumph, he was 
 willing to wait for his reward in Eternity. 
 
 Hitherto we have seen the faith establishing its dominion 
 among civilized nations, and overcoming the prejudices of the 
 cultivated and refined. Whether men believed in the intellec- 
 
188 BAEBAEISM. 
 
 tual philosophy of Greece, or the wide-spread mythology 
 which in that land was moulded into forms of beauty, and 
 had its noblest creations, or whether they lived in the disso- 
 lute City of the Isthmus, even there their minds bore the im- 
 press of that atmosphere of art and literature which surrounded 
 them, and the intellect was trained and elevated. But now we 
 are obliged to change the scene, and display the Apostle of the 
 Gentiles while striving to impress the truth upon those who 
 knew no advantages of civilization. At what period of his 
 ministry he was first placed in such circumstances, we are not 
 informed. By some it is supposed to have been at Melita, 
 where, after his shipwreck, *'the barbarous people showed 
 them no little kindness."* These are conjectured to have been 
 the remains of the ancient inhabitants of the island, who had 
 been conquered by the Romans. Others, indeed, deny that the 
 use of this term is any proof of want of civilization in those to 
 whom it was applied, as nations of that day were accustomed 
 to call all those " barbarians" whose language they did not 
 understand.! But however this may have been, we know that 
 as St. Paul went westward he must soon have been brought 
 into contact with those who, strangers to all the refinements of 
 fife, were groping on in an intellectual darkness. With some of 
 
 * Acts, xxviii 2. 
 
 f Thus Ovid, among the Getes, says in Trist v. 10 : "Here I am a 
 barbarian, for no one understands me." 
 
 Barbarus hie ego sum, quia non inteUigor ulli. 
 
BAKBAEISM. l/lJ N I Vj^gR "^^ 
 
 ^^Tr — 
 
 the other Apostles, it was doubtless at a much earl 
 When "they that were scattered abroad went everywhere 
 preaching the word,"* we learn from history and tradition that 
 some devoted themselves to the unlettered heathen ; and prob- 
 ably long before St. Paul met with the rude Pagans of West- 
 em Europe, prayers had been offered to Christ in many an 
 Eastern tongue which would have sounded strange to the 
 dwellers in Greece and Italy. We have opened therefore 
 before us the history of the Apostohc missions, but shall en- 
 deavor to confine our view to those nations who were not be- 
 lievers in the Hellenic mythology, as this will be considered in 
 the succeeding chapter. It is difficult indeed to tell what in 
 that day constituted a want of civilization, yet the most natural 
 division seems to be, to include in the present discussion all 
 those who lived beyond the reach of that science and literature 
 which shed its beams on the shores of the Mediterranean. 
 Classical Paganism — whatever may be said of its moral ten- 
 dency — certainly had an elevating and civilizing influence on 
 those who received it. 
 
 We will look then at Christianity in conflict with Bar- 
 barism — an antagonist with whom there was no common 
 ground on which they could meet, except those instinctive 
 longings after spiritual life which are implanted in the heart of 
 every one. With the other enemies of the faith it was far dif- 
 ferent. With Judaism it was only an appeal to the reason — ^un- 
 
 * Acts, viii. 4. 
 
190 BARBARISM. 
 
 rolling the prophecies of the past, and proving that Jesus was 
 indeed the Christ. With the Greek, the Apostle had but to 
 reveal to him the fact, that " the unknown God" whom he 
 ignorantly worshipped, had come to tabernacle among men 
 and receive their homage. And even the dissolute Corinthian 
 could be roused by the inspiring motives of another life, and 
 learn the lesson that he must trample on the present, would he 
 win the glorious rewards of the future. But with a barbarous 
 tribe it was otherwise ; and even at this day we can see how 
 difficult it is for the Gospel to win its way, or even effect a 
 foothold among those whose minds, through countless genera- 
 tions, had been neglected and waste. There seems, at first, 
 nothing to which the teachers of the faith can appeal. The 
 reason, never before tasked to decide such momentous ques- 
 tions, cannot bring itself to the point to grasp the matter at 
 issue, or to understand the course of conduct implied in yield- 
 ing to it. The missionary, indeed, is obliged to awaken from its 
 dormant state — to quicken into life — nay, almost to create, the 
 intellect on which afterwards he is to act. . He feels often, 
 therefore, as if he were addressing mindless, soulless beings, 
 when he beholds them turn with the most chilling apathy from 
 truths which would have at once arrested the attention of the 
 cultivated, even if they had produced no abiding moral influ- 
 ence. These endless, fruitless efforts are worse to the soul than 
 martyrdom. They realize the fable of the stone of Sisyphus, 
 and there is danger lest, from utter weariness, the zeal should 
 oe quenched, and the flame perish on the altar. The Jew 
 
BAEBAEISM. 191 
 
 might revile the doctrines of our faith, but still he understood 
 them — the astute Grecian, with his keen perception and prac- 
 tical atheism, had no difficulty in grasping the idea of a spir- 
 itual being, though he might ridicule the doctrine of the resur- 
 rection from the dead — and the believer everywhere in that old 
 mythology could recognise the difference between his own sys- 
 tem and the purer faith proposed to him, and weigh their 
 respective merits. But the degraded barbarian, with whom 
 the physical was every thing, the intellectual and the spiritual 
 nothing, had not yet in his character the elements to enable 
 him to comprehend the subhme yet often abstract truths on 
 which our faith is founded. It required, therefore, the fervent 
 zeal of Apostolical days — " a love which many waters cannot 
 quench, nor floods drown" — to sustain the laborer in his wear- 
 ing toils. And when the devotion of the Church began to 
 wax cold, it turned disheartened from this field, and less has 
 been done in the last fifteen centuries than was effected in the 
 three which preceded them. The scattered missionaries toil 
 on, year after year, and a few only are turned to the way of 
 hfe. We never hear, as in the olden time, of " a nation bom 
 in a day." The degraded state of hfe of those to whom they 
 minister — the absence of all intellect on which the truth can 
 take hold — which now forms the barrier in their way, was from 
 the beginning the great difficulty in impressing spiritual truths 
 upon the heathen. 
 
 There is something to the missionary worse than the fire or 
 the stake ; and the mind which, with heroic joy could gather 
 
192 BARBAEISM. 
 
 up its energies to meet death in all its terrors, sinks disheart- 
 ened in the contest with brutal ignorance, and obduracy, and 
 "a darkness which can be felt." There is a recoil of the 
 spirit which is fatal to its energies. Tlie laborer fears that he 
 has not counted the cost of his way, and while he was pre- 
 pared for danger and hardship, he was not for miseries which 
 more than either waste the heart. To speak to the dark and 
 shrouded spirit of the savage, and attempt to awaken it to the 
 lofty hopes of immortality — to spend hour after hour striving 
 to infuse ideas into the heavy brain of one who never before 
 attempted to reason — to weave the thoughts into the humblest, 
 simplest words of which speech is capable — and then be met 
 by a vacant look which shows that all within is ** without form 
 and void ;" or else, to have the listener turn away with cold 
 and derisive words — oh, this is a martyrdom of the spirit 
 worse than any that can befall the body ! And yet these were 
 the trials which in that early day the heralds of the Cross had 
 to expect when they went forth to inherit the earth. 
 
 Such, then, was the forbidding aspect of this portion of the 
 missionary field. The laborers were to plunge at once into the 
 thick shadows of an intellectual and moral darkness. Tliey were 
 to enter lands where "the sweet charities" which bind man 
 to man were unrecognised, " not knowing the things that should 
 befall them there," save that in every place they expected 
 bonds and afflictions to be their portion. They were to work 
 a revolution in which ** old things were to pass away" — old 
 customs, and delusions, and habits of thought — the cherished 
 
BARBAEISM. 193 
 
 feelings on which most the memory dwells — while " all things 
 were to become new" — tlie joys and affections of this life, and 
 the hopes which stretch onward to the next. Yet the Apos- 
 tles shrank not from the task. They turned not away from the 
 bitterness of the cup offered to their taste, nor fainted at the 
 sight of the fearful shadows which fell upon their path. Solemn, 
 indeed, was the scene, and one calculated to awaken an indiffer- 
 ent world, when they went out from their kindred and people, 
 henceforth belonging to no earthly land, but seeking a heav- 
 enly. To them " the field was the world," and they acted in 
 the spirit of St. Paul when he declared himself " a debtor to 
 the barbarian" as well as " to the Greek" — when he felt that 
 " a necessity was laid upon him" to preach the Gospel where- 
 ever man was found ; yea, that a wo was recorded against him 
 if he made not full proof of his ministry. 
 
 In this contest he led the way. The same spirit which in- 
 duced him to declare — " I am the Apostle of the Gentiles,"* — 
 forced him to realize that he was to proclaim the truth, not 
 only amid the learning of Athens and the splendor of Rome, 
 but to those also who were stigmatized as barbarians. And 
 for this conflict with heathenism of every form, his previous life 
 seems to have well prepared him. Bom in a city of Asia Mi- 
 nor, and trained in Grecian learning, he was probably free from 
 many of the narrow prejudices of his countrymen in Palestine, 
 while his education at the feet of Gamaliel had prevented his 
 
 * Rom. XL 18. 
 
194 BARBARISM. 
 
 faith in Judaism being weakened by this early culture of for- 
 eign philosophy and poetry. Unlike, therefore, the Jews in 
 general, he was familiar with much which was beyond their 
 pale, and standing on the confines of both regions, he was ad- 
 mirably qualified to preach to the heathen a system which was 
 to unite all men of every clime in one broad and comprehensive 
 faith. He felt that his business was to " plant"* the Gospel, 
 while he left to others the duty of cherishing the tender tree, 
 and at last reaping the fruit. " I have strived," he writes to 
 the Romans, " to preach the Gospel, not where Christ was 
 named, lest I should build upon another man's foundation."! 
 And he tells the Corinthians, that it is his wish, " to preach 
 the Gospel in the regions beyond you, and not to boast in an- 
 other man's line of things made ready to our hand."| He did 
 not, therefore, confine his efiforts to the circle of intellectual 
 light which surrounded the coasts of the Mediterranean, but 
 passed Westward into regions known only to the East as the 
 residence of tribes of savage lives and names. Spain heard his 
 voice, § and then he went Northward to those inclement shores 
 which the lordly Roman " shivered when he named." The 
 testimony of tradition indeed declares, that he preached the 
 Gospel in that far-off barbarous isle, from which our own 
 Church came, and therefore TertuUian wrote — " There are 
 
 * 1 Cor. iiL 6. f Ram. xv. 20. 
 
 X 2 Cor. X. 16. § Rrni. xv. 24. 
 
BARBAKISM. 195 
 
 places in Britain inaccessible to Roman arms, which were sub- 
 dued to Christ."* 
 
 His labors ceased not till the hour of martyrdom came, and he 
 stood without the walls of Rome, surrounded by thousands who 
 had gathered there to see a Christian die. But how beautiful 
 is it to trace this solitary herald of the Cross on his way, urg- 
 ing forward the chariot-wheels of the Gospel, and crushing 
 beneath them the altars of heathenism ! " Hell from beneath 
 is moved to meet him." All the chief ones of the earth — even 
 the king upon his throne and the priest in the temple — are 
 stirred up at his coming. They narrowly look upon him, and 
 consider him as the man that made the earth to tremble, and 
 did shake kingdoms.f But hght and immortality attend his 
 
 * Adv. Jvd. c. 7. The fact of St. Paul preaching the Gospel in Britain 
 depends upon the unvarying tradition of the early Church. Clemena 
 Romanus and Jeiome speak of his travelling " to the utmost bounds of 
 the West" — of his " preaching as far as the extremity of the earth" — and 
 " preaching the Gospel in the Western parts" — expressions which Stilling- 
 fleet has fully shown, from other writers, were always used in tliat age 
 with reference to the British isles. He has classified all the evidence on 
 this subject. Orig. Brit. p. 39. A single sentence in -Theodoret shows 
 the behef in his day : — " Our fishermen and pubHcans, and he who was a 
 tent-maker, carried the EvangeUcal precepts to all nations ; not only to 
 those who Uved imder Roman jurisdiction, but also to the Scythians and 
 the Hunns ; besides to the Indians, Britains, and Germans." Serm. IX. 
 de legihus, tom. iv. p. 619. The learned Camden, therefore, thus states 
 his conclusions : — " From these authorities it follows, not only that the 
 Gospel was preached in Britain in the times of the Apostles, but that St. 
 Paul himself was the preacher of it." — Britannia, Intro, p. 86. 
 
 f Isaiah, xiv. 9, 16. 
 
196 BARBARISM. 
 
 steps. The desolate stretch out their hands unto God. His 
 voice, pointing the way to eternal glory, first breaks in upon 
 their cheerlessness, and chases away their fears. Through all 
 his troubles — ^in dangers on the land and on the deep — in 
 weariness and painfulness — " in perils by the heathen" — his 
 love for others sustains him. To him it is power — resistless 
 power. 
 
 And so it was when long years had passed, and he writes 
 himself "Paul the aged." The step may have been more 
 slow, yet the spirit was ever renewing its strength — nay, add- 
 ing to its freshness and glory as it drew nigh the goal. We 
 may imagine him, therefore, when the evening of his days had 
 come, and in the dungeon of Rome he felt that " the time of 
 his departure was at hand." With the vigor of his mind un- 
 broken, and the lofty devotion of his heart unquenched — when 
 the shadows of this world were fading away, and the realities 
 of the next unfolding to his sight — how must his thoughts have 
 travelled back over the path of life's many years ! And how 
 intensely solemn must have been the memories of the aged 
 man ! All the scenes of his checkered career — the days of 
 toil and nights of prayer — the fearful struggles and the glo- 
 rious triumphs — rose from their graves in the past, and gathered 
 around his parting soul. His lofty purposes — his ceaseless la- 
 bors, protracted even when the shadows were lengthening in 
 his path — ^were now to be estimated in the light of that eterni- 
 ty before which the dream of life was fast fading, until perhaps 
 his spirit trembled, and would have failed within him, but for 
 
BAEBARISM. 197 
 
 that mercy which had ever been its refuge. But what trium- 
 phant visions rose before him ! What forms of glory and con- 
 solation flitted before his eyes ! The revelation on the road to 
 Damascus — " the unspeakable words" which long years had 
 not worn from his memory — the strife in the Jewish syna- 
 gogues — the conflicts with the subtle philosophers of Athens — 
 the splendors of the Imperial City, when first as a prisoner 
 there he preached the Gospel — his labors among the wild 
 tribes of the West — these in succession swept before him, as 
 the imagination created them afresh. The dead, too, lived 
 again. His fellow Apostles, men who had known their Lord 
 in the flesh — the companions of his toilsome wanderings — the 
 countless souls who had been given him for his hire — the mar- 
 tyrs whom he had first pointed to Heaven, and who had been 
 faithful unto death — all these seemed to speak to him from the 
 Paradise of God, and to be ready to receive him as the gates 
 opened to his spirit. The aged Apostle felt that all in 
 the long record had been mercy — that he was now " ready to 
 be offiered" — and, anticipating the hour of his departure, his 
 exclamation might be — " Why is His chariot so long in com- 
 ing ? why tarry the wheels of His chariot ?" 
 
 In this Apostleship, too, St. Peter shared ; and though his 
 chief labor was among the Jews, yet when he wandered to 
 the distant East, and planted there the Gospel, " the word of 
 the Lord" must have " sounded out"* among the crowded 
 
 1 Thes. L 8. 
 11* 
 
198 BAEBAEISM. 
 
 myriads around tliem. In his " Epistle to the strangers scat- 
 tered throughout" the neighboring regions, he dates from 
 Babylon, and sends to them, as brethren, the greetings of that 
 Church.* As we have mentioned, in a previous chapter. 
 
 * 1 Pet. V. 18. — "We have no room here to enter into the disputed 
 question, whether by this the Apostle means Babylon in Mesopotamia, or 
 the mystical Babylon — Rome. We believe that nothing but the warmth 
 of controversy could have induced men to advocate the latter opinion. 
 The Romanists were willing to identify Babylon with Rome, because it 
 established the point of the Apostle's residence in the Imperial City. 
 The Protestants also concurred in tliis view, because it gave them a new 
 argument to prove that Rome was the mystical Babylon of the Apoc- 
 alypse. Between these two parties, therefore, the opinion has been 
 widely advocated. 
 
 We confess we have never been able to take tliis view. We do not 
 see any thing in the context to show that the Apostle was speaking 
 figuratively ; while nothing can be more natural than that he " to whom 
 was committed the Gospel of the Circumcision," {Gal. ii. 1.) should visit 
 the great colony on the Euphrates. Nowhere else, out of Palestine, 
 could he find his countrymen in such numbers. Philo, in his invective 
 against Caligula, refers to the multitude of Jews in Babylonia. After 
 the destruction of Jerusalem, the Resch Glutha, or Prince of the Cap- 
 tivity, held there his court with much splendor ; and the insurrection, in 
 the time of Hadrian, was excited by the idea of a simultaneous rising in 
 Mesopotamia. We beheve that the earhest writer in defence of a figu- 
 rative Babylon is Papias, in the 2d century, who is characterized by Euse- 
 bius as being " very limited in his comprehension, as is evident from his 
 discourses" — beheving and reporting things on common tradition, even 
 things that were nvQix^rtpa, more hkely to be fables than truths — intro- 
 ducing fabulous stories into the Church, which many writers after him 
 adopted. {Eccles. Hist. Mb. iil ch. 39.) Bloomfield {Greek Test, in loco) 
 argues in defence of the real Babylon, as do Lightfoot, Scahger, Beauso- 
 bre, Bp. Conybeare, Benson, <fec. The reader will find the best statement 
 
BARBAEISM. 199 
 
 many of the Jews did not return from the Captivity with the 
 successive remigrations of Ezra and Nehemiah, and their 
 descendants, on the banks of the Euphrates, formed the most 
 powerful foreign colony of the Hebrews. The newly trans- 
 planted captives must indeed, at first, have mourned for the 
 sunny chfFs and rich pastures of their own land, where the 
 olive and the vine grew spontaneously, and the secluded val- 
 leys always afforded them shelter from the noontide heat. On 
 the wide plains of Babylon there was nothing to recall to them 
 a familiar association; and we wonder not, therefore, that 
 " they sat down and wept when they remembered Zion" — that 
 they " hanged their harps upon the willows," and professed 
 their inability to " sing the Lord's song in a strange land." 
 But the next generation had no such memories to recall them 
 from the East. It was a "glorious clime" in which they 
 lived — those scenes were endeared to them as then* early 
 home — and when the permission came to return to Palestine, 
 there were many who felt no wish to undertake the long and 
 toilsome journey, to inherit a desolate and wasted land, and 
 build up again a ruined city. And thus centuries went by, 
 and the colony grew and flomished ; yet still these volimtary 
 exiles preserved their attachment to the ancient faith, and once, 
 at least, during life, they made their pilgrimage to Jerusalem 
 
 of tliis argument in Michaelis, {Intro, to N. Test. ch. xxvii § 45.) The 
 opposite side is most ftilly stated by Lardner, {Hist, of Apost. and Evang. 
 ch. xix. § 3.) We do not see how the former view conflicts with the 
 Apostle's visit to Rome, which might have been subsequent. 
 
200 BAEBAEISM. 
 
 to attend its holy Festivals. Thither, therefore, came St. 
 Peter, in the fulfilment of his mission to his own countrymen 
 scattered abroad through all lands, and we know not a more 
 striking picture than that which represents him in this scene of 
 the ancient captivity. He stood amid the ruined Halls of 
 the Scriptural Beltshazzar, and the gorgeous palaces, where 
 once a hundred Satraps bowed their jewelled necks before the 
 throne of Nebuchadnezzar. Yet Isaiah and Jeremiah, in pro- 
 phetic words, had described "the beauty of the Chaldees' 
 excellency" as prostrate in the dust — the ceasing of the op- 
 pressor — the ruin of the Golden City ; and these strains, 
 uttered in the glory of its brightest days, had now received 
 their terrible fulfilment. Time, in its solemn march, had 
 changed these visions into the records of history. The Apostle 
 saw before him a blighted city, retaining only the shadow of 
 its former glory, while the mighty plain which stretched 
 around it was covered with the scattered wrecks of empires — 
 its lonely wastes " mounded with the dust of three-and- 
 twenty centuries." Yet this dreary desolation was a witness 
 to the truth of those Hebrew seers who had gone before him, 
 and must have strengthened his own faith in " the sure word 
 of prophecy." 
 
 Here, too, Daniel had wept and prayed, alternately a pris- 
 oner and a prince ; and, " among the captives by the river of 
 Chebar," Ezekiel had dwelt, when " the heavens were opened 
 and he saw visions of God." Mighty, indeed, were the revela- 
 tions of the shadowy future which they received — revelations 
 
BARBARISM. 201 
 
 of fearful desolation, when the record of coming events was 
 spread out before them, and they beheld "written therein 
 lamentation, and mourning, and wo."* The rise and fall of 
 empires — the fate of imperial dynasties, and wide -spread 
 pionarchies — the approaching destiny of the mightiest of the 
 earth — all swept before their eyes in solemn pageantry. And 
 now, every thing had been fulfilled, and in those " latter days" 
 there stood in their place another prophet, whose 
 
 ** Spirit had strength to sweep 
 Adown the gulf of time." 
 
 But even more glorious than those given of old, were the 
 visions granted to St. Peter. Not the wreck of empires, but 
 of worlds, is disclosed to his eyes, and as he speaks of the 
 time when " all these things shall be dissolved," he draws a 
 picture whose awful sublimity has never been equalled. 
 
 To the same portion of the vineyard came St. Thomas. Not 
 only the Medes and Persians, but the warlike Parthians and 
 the rude Bactrians, heard from him the Gospel ; and so he wan- 
 dered on, until he came to " India's coral strand" — those shores 
 too distant even to have seen the eagles of Imperial Rome. 
 An early writer tells us, that at first he shrank from those 
 lands on account of the rudeness of their people, till a vision bade 
 him go on, for it was his Lord's work.f And success crowned 
 
 * Ezek. iL 10. 
 
 f Niceph. Hist Eccles. 1. ii. c. 40. 
 
202 BARBARISM. 
 
 his efforts. Many hearts bowed before the Cross, and soon 
 there rose "hymns to Christ as God,"* 
 
 " From many an ancient river, 
 And many a pahny plain." 
 
 Thus he planted the faith, leaving the lasting tokens of his 
 labors to preserve entwined through coming ages his Master's 
 name and his own. And the later history of the Church he 
 founded comes to us like a voice from the Apostolic days. For 
 ages they lived on, cut off from the rest of the Christian world, 
 and utterly unknown. At length, in the sixteenth century, the 
 Portuguese visited the coast of Malabar, and found, to their 
 surprise, a Christian nation with more than a hundred churches. 
 The tradition among them was, that their forefathers had re- 
 ceived the faith from St. Thomas, and they therefore still called 
 themselves by his name. They had always maintained the 
 order and discipline of Episcopal jurisdiction, and for thirteen 
 hundred years had enjoyed a succession of Bishops, appointed 
 by the Patriarch of Antioch. "We," said they, "are of the 
 true faith, whatever you from the West may be ; for we come 
 from the place where the followers of Christ were first called 
 Christians." 
 
 But when the Portuguese became acquainted with the puri- 
 ty and simplicity of their worship, they were offended. " These 
 
 * " They were accustomed, on a stated day, to meet before daylight, 
 and to repeat among themselves a hymn to Christ as to a God." — Pliny' & 
 Letter to Trajan, describing the Early Ohrif^tians. 
 
BAKBAELSM. 203 
 
 churches," said they, " belong to the Pope." " Who is the 
 Pope ?" repUed the natives. "We never heard of him." They 
 refused to subscribe to the tenets of the Church of Rome, or to 
 exchange for her form of service the pure Liturgy they had 
 inherited. The Inquisition was therefore estabhshed at Goa, 
 persecution invaded these tranquil churches, and some of their 
 clergy were seized and devoted to death as heretics. At a 
 Synod, over which the Roman Archbishop Menezes presided, 
 they were accused of the following practices and opinions : — 
 " That they had married wives ; that they owned but two 
 Sacraments, Baptism and the Lord's Supper ; that they neither 
 invoked Saints, nor worshipped Images, nor beheved in Pur- 
 gatory ; and that they had no other orders or names of dignity 
 in the Church, than Bishop, Priest, and Deacon." All these 
 heretical opinions they were required to abjure. The churches 
 on the seacoast were thus compelled to acknowledge the su- 
 premacy of the Pope, but they refused to pray in Latin, and 
 insisted on retaining their own language and Liturgy. " This 
 point," they said, " they would only give up with their lives." 
 The Pope, therefore, compromised with them : Menezes pm-ged 
 their Liturgy, and they retain their Syriac language, and have 
 a Syriac college to this day. These are called the Syro-Roman 
 Churches, and are principally situated on the seacoast. 
 
 The churches in the interior, however, would not yield to 
 Rome. They hid their books — proclauned eternal war against 
 the Inquisition — and fled to the mountains, where they sought 
 the protection of the native Princes, who had always been 
 
204 ' BARBARISM. 
 
 proud of their alliance. Thus two centuries more passed by, 
 during which time no information was received of these 
 Christians in the interior, until the very fact of their existence 
 began to be doubted. At length, in 1806, they were again 
 discovered by Dr. Buchanan, in his missionary travels. He 
 found them, as they were described by the Portuguese, pre- 
 serving their purity and faith in the seclusion of the wilderness. 
 Then- Episcopal ministry was still unbroken* — their discipline 
 was orderly — and their Liturgy pure from any corruptions. It 
 was, too, a wide-spread Church. " I have now ascertained," 
 Tvrites Buchanan, "that there are upwards of two hundred 
 thousand Christians in the south of India, besides the Syrians 
 who speak the Malabar language."f Such are " the Christians 
 of St. Thomas," and thus deeply did he plant the faith among 
 those crowded millions. To this day it exists, and they who 
 claim him as their spiritual father, still preserve traditions of 
 
 * " This is the residence of Mar Dionysius, the Metropolitan of the 
 Syrian Church. A great number of the Priests from the other churches 
 had assembled by desire of the Bishop, before my arrival. The Bishop 
 resides in a bmlding attached to the Church. I was much struck with 
 his first appearance. He was dressed in a vestment of dark red silk ; a 
 large gclien cross hung from his neck, and his venerable beard reached 
 below his girdle. Such, thoiight I, was the appearance of Chrysostom in 
 the fourth century. On public occasions, he wears the Episcopal mitre, 
 and a muslin robe is thrown over his under-garment ; and in liis hand he 
 bears the crosier, or pastoral staE" — Buchanan's Christian Researches^ 
 p. 80. 
 
 f Idem. p. 81. ' . 
 
BAEBAEISM. 205 
 
 his ministry, and point to the place of his martyrdom and 
 grave. 
 
 Nathaniel departed to the Eastern shore of the Red Sea, 
 T^here many of his countrymen, after desolation had swept 
 over the city of their fathers, took refuge in the quiet regions 
 of Arabia Fehx. There, secluded from the world, and enjoy- 
 ing all that nature in her richest prodigality could pour around 
 them, they might learn to forget the sorrows which had over- 
 whelmed their land. There, too, those who had adopted the 
 new faith, could live in the public profession of their creed un- 
 molested by the narrow bigotry of their countrymen, who still 
 clung to the ancient covenant. Thus the wild Arabians — 
 tribes which had never bowed to mortal man — were taught by 
 tliis Apostle to take upon them the yoke of the humble GaH- 
 lean. And when a century later, another herald of the Cross 
 went thither to proclaim the truth, " he found," says Eusebius, 
 " his own arrival anticipated by some who there were acquaint- 
 ed with the Gospel of Matthew, to whom Bartholomew,* one 
 of the Apostles, had preached, and had left them this Gospel 
 in the Hebrew, which was also preserved until this time."t 
 From thence he went into Lycaonia, whose people, St. Chry- 
 sostom tells us, he instructed and trained up in the Christian 
 
 * It is scarcely necessary to mention to the reader, that Bartholomew 
 and Natlianiel are supposed to be different names for the same person. 
 St. Jolm never mentions Bartholomew in the nmnber of the Apostles, and 
 the other Evangelists never take notice of NatlianieL 
 
 f Eccles. Hist V. 10. 
 
 18 ^ 
 
206 BAEBARISM. 
 
 discipline.^ At last, he travelled on to Armenia the Greai, 
 and there this " Israelite in whom was no guile," closed his 
 days, learning, perhaps, the meaning of that solemn prophecy 
 with which his Lord had crowned the earliest profession of his 
 faith, for the first time when the glories of the eternal world 
 unfolded to his view, and he " saw the heaven opened, and 
 the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of 
 Man." 
 
 To St. Philip was committed the task of founding the Church 
 among the Phrygians — a duty most difficult to perform, be- 
 cause there, through all the days of their Paganism, the reh- 
 gious emotions, when not entirely dormant, seem to have de- 
 veloped themselves into the wildest excitement. Thence came 
 forth at times the priests of Cybele, wrought up to a state ,0/ 
 phrensy by the working of what they considered a divine influ- 
 ence — troops of frantic Orgiasts, whom the inhabitants of the 
 West looked upon with awe, while they caught from them the 
 same strange fanaticism. Egypt received the Gospel from St. 
 Mark. The north of Africa claimed St. Simon as its apostle, 
 and nowhere does the new religion seem to have taken 
 deeper root, or been more deeply riveted in the minds of 
 the people. The religion of ancient Carthage had perished 
 with the city, and newly-imported forms of faith seemed to 
 have had but a feeble hold upon the inhabitants. And they 
 had no sympathy with the dreamy mysticism of the East ; 
 
 * Cavers Lives of the Apostles, p, 891. 
 
BARBARISM. 207 
 
 every thing about tliem was earnest and practical. They 
 
 seized with eagerness on the grand verities of Christianity — 
 
 there was something in its lofty revelations which accorded 
 
 well with those highwrought spirits of the tropics — and in 
 
 every page they wrote, and every conflict they engaged for 
 
 their faith, we seem to trace the influence of their burning 
 
 climate. The land, now so thinly peopled, was then crowded 
 
 with teeming millions, and thousands of churches arose where, 
 
 in our day, 
 
 " The Moslem's prayers profane 
 Mom and eve come soimding." 
 
 The conversion of the Ethiopian eunuch by Philip the deacon, 
 carried the influence of Christianity to the court of Candace, 
 queen of Meroe. Tradition tells us, that her treasurer, return- 
 ing, unfolded to her riches greater than those of this world 
 which she had committed to his care ; and then, by her leave, 
 he propagated the faith throughout Ethiopia, till meeting with 
 St. Matthew the Apostle, by their joint endeavors idolatry Avas 
 expelled from that country.* In this way, the Gospel was 
 preached among those whom Homer describes as eaxaToi avSpw* 
 — the remotest of mankind. Thus it was, that even in the first 
 age, Christianity and Barbarism met in conflict, and many a 
 wild and mysterious land — the very name of which the high- 
 wrought civilization of that age refused to learn — had its 
 A.postle, who bequeathed to it the remembrance of his spiritual 
 triumphs and his cruel death. Countries where heathenism 
 
 * Cave's Lives of the Fathers, p. 8*7. 
 
208 BAEBARISM. 
 
 once was dominant, were trodden by saintly footsteps and wa- 
 tered by martyrs' blood. 
 
 The earliest laborers in this mighty vineyard, one by one 
 passed away to their reward, many of them receiving, at the 
 fire and the stake, a quick release to the Paradise of God. It 
 is said that the second generation of missionaries is rarely equal 
 to the first — to those who, desolate of all human aid, go forth 
 into the wilderness, and sow in tears the harvest which others 
 came after them to reap. Yet this was not the case in the 
 earliest ages of our faith. The successors of the Apostles 
 evidently shared in their spirit, and in all the lofty traits of 
 Christian character, Ignatius and Polycarp were worthy of 
 those at whose feet they had sat. Each individual felt that he 
 was an athlete of Christ, and gathered around the Cross every 
 hope, and joy, and affection of his soul. They went forth like 
 men who had ceased to have any sympathy with the fears and 
 passions of life — who trampled beneath their feet all to which 
 the carnal heart most cleaves — and the corrupt impulses of 
 whose nature were scourged with a rod of iron, or quenched 
 in their tears. And thus they fed their souls with the deep 
 impulses of enthusiasm, until there was to them a sublime ro- 
 mance in battling with the kingdom of Satan, and rescuing the 
 nations which were sitting under his dark control. They loved 
 the conflict and the blood-bought triumph more than '* the 
 still waters and the green pastures." The earth was to them 
 but a theatre on which were to be wrought out their spiritual 
 triumphs. As they wandered over plains and forests, they 
 
BAKBAEISM. 209 
 
 felt that these were to be but provinces of their empire, and 
 this thought took away the sense of weariness, and added fire 
 to their zeal. , 
 
 And thus a century more went by, and even in distant lands, 
 where the Apostles had left Christianity struggling for exist- 
 ence, it was now dominant and fearless. We see this in the 
 glowing splendor of Tertulhan's writings, when on the distant 
 shores of Africa he sent forth his defence of the faith. The 
 very contrast of its tone with the persuasive and deprecatory 
 appeal of Justin Martyr, shows the change which must have 
 taken place in the public mind. The day for apologizing had 
 passed. Christianity utters no longer the voice of humble 
 supplication — she does not even plead the cause of her unof- 
 fending followers, and endeavor to screen them from the rage 
 of the persecutor — but every sentence breathes defiance and 
 contempt of that Paganism which a few years before was 
 tramphng her into the dust. TertuUian hurls against their 
 Pagan foes the vengeance of the Christian's God — sternly 
 warns the Praefect Scapula by the example of Roman govern- 
 ors who, like Herod, had been smitten at once in their pride 
 and power — and taunts him with the futility of his efforts to 
 crush a kingdom, ** whose duration will be coeval with that of 
 the world."* Everywhere it was aggression in the confines 
 of barbarism. The preaching of Frumentius carried the Gospel 
 even beyond the bounds of Ethiopia, and won to its sway the 
 
 * Terttd. ad ScapiUam. 
 18* 
 
210 BAEBARISM. 
 
 wild tribes of the Nubians and Blemmyes. Gaul bowed to 
 the Cross. The dark and inhuman superstition of the Druids 
 faded before its gentle lessons, and even the warlike deities of 
 the Goths were exchanged for the rule of the Prince of Peace. 
 The symbol of our faith was hallowed on the wastes of hea- 
 thenism, and thousands who lately worshipped idols, now 
 
 " Shook the depths of the forest's gloom, 
 With their hymns of lofty cheer."* 
 
 Of many of these victories of the Cross, no history has been 
 preserved to us. Its ministers, plunging into the dark, un- 
 known forests, were lost to sight when they mingled with its 
 savage tribes, and as years went by, the very memory of their 
 existence faded in their ancient homes. No record of their 
 trials was sent to those they left behind, for they labored not 
 for the praise of men but of God. They were alone with Him, 
 and none others saw their struggles, but the watchers that are 
 on high — " the holy ones" who look down upon the just as 
 they ** sound along their dim and perilous way." But who 
 can tell how fearful must have been their loneliness of soul ! 
 They whose lives are hallowed by the joys of home — whose 
 
 * " There exists not," says Justin Martyr, " a people, whether Greek 
 or Barharian, or any otlier race of men, by whatsoever appellation or man- 
 ners they may be distinguished — however ignorant of arts or agriculture, 
 whether they dwell under tents, or wander, about in covered wagons, 
 among whom prayers are not offered up, in the name of a crucified Jesus, 
 to the Father and Creator of all things." — Dialog, cum Tryphon. p. 341. 
 
BARBARISM. 211 
 
 sorrows are softened by the treasure of endearing aflfection, 
 and over whose day and night watch the love of kindred — 
 can never reahze that sickness of heart which at times must 
 come upon those who have thus cut themselves off from all 
 human sympathy. In these hours of depression naught was 
 left them but to pray and weep till light once more broke in 
 upon the darkness. But though they sought no discharge 
 from their labor — toihng on in the eleventh hour as painfully as 
 in the first — we believe they must have rejoiced in the ap- 
 proach of immortality, and heard with gladness " the rushing 
 of the wings" of their last messenger. And there they died, 
 forgotten by the world they had abandoned. No mother or 
 sister sat by their lowly couch, and wiped the tear of anguish 
 from the cheek, or the damp of sickness from the brow. 
 Often they must have sunk alone in their last agony, and the 
 shriek of the vulture, as he waited for his prey, been their only 
 requiem. No consecrated ground received their remains — 
 there were none to write their epitaph but the rude converts 
 they had won from idolatry — none to transmit to later age^ 
 the memory of all they dared and suffered. Thus, after a 
 self-denying, loveless hfe, they died a lonely and unheeded 
 death. 
 
 But they had their reward. Souls had been given them for 
 their labor. Many a spirit had been raised from darkness — 
 many a lip breathed forth blessings on their memory, when 
 they were beyond the reach of human praise — to many they 
 had opened the gate of Paradise, and made the Dark Valley 
 
212 BARBARISM. 
 
 beautiful by the word they preached. The faith, therefore, 
 survived them ; and when, years afterwards, the tide of bar- 
 barous invasion rolled down upon the Roman Empire, the pol- 
 ished Christian on the banks of the Tiber found, to his aston- 
 ishment, that these wild sons of the North believed in the 
 same faith with himself — that tribes of which he never heard 
 had learned the story of the Incarnate Son of God — and 
 "the yellow-haired Goth" and the fierce Vandal felt no way 
 strange as they worshipped at the altars of the Imperial 
 City. 
 
 Thus it was that the faith went forth to inherit the ear^,n, 
 and, like the leaven, silently yet surely won its way. It was 
 at a mighty cost that the work was achieved — a cost of tears 
 and suffering, and the blood of martyrdom — yet the price was 
 cheerfully paid. As one leader in " the sacramental host of 
 God's elect" fell in the contest, another at once stepped for- 
 ward to fill his place, and take up the weapons of his warfare. 
 All realized that they were " baptized for the dead." And 
 the result was, what we have already seen. Everywhere men 
 became famihar with the name of Jesus of Nazareth. The 
 gathered thousands in the crowded city thronged his temples, 
 while the distant and scattered barbarians — " the few sheep in 
 the wilderness" — found there was a mighty brotherhood ex- 
 tending over the earth, of which they too were invited to be 
 members. In many a strange tongue rose the anthem of 
 praise, yet its spirit was the same through all its many voices, 
 and " with one heart they desired the prosperity of Christ's 
 
BAEBARISM. 213 
 
 Holy Apostolic Church, and with one mouth professed the 
 faith once delivered to the saints."* 
 
 But the effect of these triumphs of the Cross among barba- 
 rous nations was not seen in a single age. It was not confined 
 to themselves, nor did its benefits cease with leading those who 
 listened to a knowledge of the truth. It was to react on the 
 shores of the Mediterranean, and exert a power to be felt 
 through all ages of the Christian faith. Not from the venera- 
 ble shrines of Egypt, where antique learning sat enthroned — 
 or from the groves of classic Greece, the home of philosophy — 
 or even from the sacred temple of Judea's faith, was that 
 power to proceed which was to control the future destinies of 
 the Christian Church. It came from the barbarous North. 
 When, a few centuries later, the Roman Empire was tottering 
 to its fall, and the tide of armed invasion, to which we have 
 already alluded, swept from those dark forests and over- 
 whelmed it in ruin, we can see that these rude warriors were 
 the special messengers of God to promote the permanent 
 purity of the faith. It had -lost its influence amid the general 
 depravity of morals, and was without authority to correct the 
 growing cruelty and licentiousness. There was danger lest 
 Christianity in Italy should degenerate into heathenism. The 
 Pagan power, in its last struggle, seemed to have cast its man- 
 tle over the new faivh, and men had insensibly grafted on their 
 practice many of the customs of their heathen ancestors. 
 
 * From Prayer in Office of Institutioa 
 
214 BARBARISM. 
 
 Every association around spoke to them of the past, and of 
 ihat poetic faith among whose ruined fanes they dwelt. It 
 was necessary, therefore, to break this train of thought and 
 feeling — to eradicate it from the Church — and to infuse a new 
 and healthier tone into the public mind. And this could only 
 be done by the advent of a new race, unfettered by these old 
 associations of the past — with a faith whose vitality was unin- 
 jured by local heathen customs — and with no ties to bind them 
 to any thing but the Living Present. The communities of 
 Southern Europe could never, of themselves, have worked out 
 this reform, or thrown off the chain that was rusting in upon 
 the heart. It was an age of worn-out and effete civilization, 
 when Rome had lost the vigor of its youth, or rather, exchanged 
 it for the decrepitude which always marks the closing years of 
 a once mighty nation. Life, indeed, was refined, yet without 
 purity ; and the arrow only sank deeper because its point was 
 polished. The early simplicity of faith was gone, and society, 
 incapable of higher and nobler influences, needed to be entirely 
 changed by new elements and fresher impulses. While the 
 Roman Empire was breaking up into a number of hostile states, 
 and days of disaster and confusion were at hand, it was evi- 
 dent that if religion was to exist at all, it needed a complete 
 and vigorous reorganization. A new spirit was to be breathed 
 into the imbecile and hackneyed people of Italy. And how 
 sould this so effectually be done, as by the tribes of the North, 
 ijut off, as they always had been, from imbibing the vices of 
 the woni-out nations of Southern Europe ! They trampled 
 
BARBAEISM. 215 
 
 the effeminate Romans beneath their feet, and showed no sym- 
 pathy with corruptions which the degenerate Christians they 
 supplanted had ceased to regard as in any way at variance 
 with the spirit of their faith. Not without reason, then, did 
 Alaric the Visigoth style himself " the scourge of God ;" and 
 when he led his fiery countrymen over the Alps, and made his 
 name a watchword of terror, he was fulfilling his mission as 
 fully as was Cyrus, when God sent him forth against His ancient 
 people, and employed him but as ** the rod of His wrath" for 
 the Church's sake.* 
 
 We perceive, too, from these considerations, how much the 
 preservation of the faith in those lands depended on the fact, 
 that the successful invaders should be at least nominal 
 
 * " Not for myself did I ascend 
 
 In judgment my triumphal car ; 
 'Twas God alone on high did send 
 
 The avenging Scythian to the war, 
 To shake abroad, with iron hand, 
 The appointed scourge of his command. 
 
 " With iron hand that scourge I rear'd 
 O'er guilty king and guilty realm ; 
 Destruction was the ship I steer' d, 
 
 And vengeance sat upon tlie helm. 
 When launch'd in fury on the flood, 
 1 ploughed my ways through seas of blood, 
 And in the stream their hearts had spilt, 
 Wash'd out the long arrears of guilt." 
 
 Dirge of Alaric, hy Hon. Edw. Everett. 
 
216 BARBARISM. 
 
 Christians. Had they been still attached to their ancient 
 heathenism, civilization itself would have been exchanged for 
 barbarism and darkness. Christianity would have been swept 
 away before them, and Italy shared the fate of the North of 
 Africa, when in a later age the Crescent entirely supplanted 
 the Cross, and the churches over which Cyprian and Augustine 
 once ruled, lived only on the page of history. Thus the faith 
 would have been forced back into its ancient home in the East, 
 and the labor of centuries been lost. But as it was, the Church 
 began to reap the benefit of her forgotten missionaries, who 
 a century before had toiled in those northern regions. The 
 impression the faith had already made on the invading race, 
 softened in some respects the horrors of their warfare, and 
 St. Augustine appeals to the mercy shown by the conqueror 
 as an argument in favor of Christianity. He tells his readers, 
 that had the Pagan Radagaisus taken the Imperial City, not a 
 life would have been spared, or any place been sacred from 
 his violation, while the Christian Alaric had been checked and 
 overawed by the sanctity of the Christian character, and his 
 respect for those whom he was obliged to recognise as his 
 own Christian brethren. St. Augustine therefore taunts his 
 adversaries with their inability to produce a similar example of 
 a city taken by storm, in which the gods of heathenism had 
 been able to protect either themselves or their deluded vo- 
 taries.* The skeptical Gibbon, too, is obliged by the facts 
 
 * Be Civit. Dei, Ub. L ch. 1-6. 
 
BARBAEISM. 2lT 
 
 which history had recorded, to acknowledge in the same case 
 the controlling influence of Christianity. " The proclamation 
 of Alaric," he says, " when he forced his entrance into a van- 
 quished city, discovered, however, some regard for the laws of 
 humanity and religion. He encouraged his troops boldly to 
 seize the rewards of valor, and to enrich themselves with the 
 spoils of a wealthy and effeminate people ; but he exhorted 
 them, at the same time, to spare the lives of the unresisting 
 citizens, and to respect the churches of St. Peter and St. Paul, 
 as holy and inviolable sanctuaries. Among the horrors of a 
 nocturnal tumult, several of the Christian Goths displayed the 
 fervor of a recent conversion; and some instances of their 
 uncommon piety and moderation are related, and perhaps 
 adorned, by the zeal of ecclesiastical writers. While the bar- 
 barians roamed through the city in quest of prey, the humble 
 dwelHng of an aged virgin, who had devoted her life to the 
 service of the altar, was forced open by one of the powerful 
 Goths. He immediately demanded, though in civil language, 
 all the gold and silver in her possession ; and was astonished 
 at the readiness with which she conducted him to a splendid 
 hoard of massy plate, of the richest materials and the most 
 curious workmanship. The barbarian viewed with wonder 
 and delight this valuable acquisition, till he was interrupted by 
 a serious admonition, addressed to him in the following words : 
 * These,' said she, * are the consecrated vessels belonging to St. 
 Peter : if you presume to touch them, the sacrilegious deed 
 
 will remain in your conscience. For my part, I dare not keep 
 
 19 
 
218 BARBARISM. 
 
 what I am unable to defend.' The Gothic captain, struck with 
 reverential awe, dispatched a messenger to inform the king of 
 the treasure which he had discovered ; and received a peremp- 
 tory order from Alaric, that all the consecrated plate and orna- 
 ments should be transported, without damage or delay, to the 
 Church of the Apostle. From the extremity, perhaps, of the 
 Quirinal Hill, to the distant quarter of the Vatican, a numerous 
 detachment of Goths, marching in order of battle through the 
 principal streets, protected with glittering arms the long train 
 of their devout companions, who bore aloft on their heads the 
 sacred vessels of gold and silver ; and the martial shouts of 
 the barbarians were mingled with the sound of religious psalm- 
 ody. From all the adjacent houses, a crowd of Christians 
 hastened to join this edifying procession ; and a multitude of 
 fugitives, without distinction of age or rank, or even of sect, 
 had the good fortune to escape to the secure and hospitable 
 sanctuary of the Vatican."* 
 
 There was, therefore, some degree of sympathy between the 
 rude barbarians and the cultivated Romans whom they over- 
 threw. The clergy of southern Europe had a hold upon their 
 invaders which enabled the two nations ultimately to blend 
 together into one people. Religion was indeed obhged to ac- 
 commodate itself somewhat to the spirit of the times, and 
 while it softened in some degree the rude martial temper of 
 the North, it underwent itself a desecrating change. Losing 
 
 * Decline and Fall, ch. 
 
BARBAEISM. 219 
 
 something of its purity, and certainly much of its gentleness, it 
 became what we see it in the middle ages, splendid and imagi- 
 native, warlike, and at length chivalrous.* It assumed the 
 form which was afterwards developed into the wild excitement 
 of the Crusades. Yet still it made a community of interest 
 and a similarity of feeling between the master and the slave. 
 It was a hnk, and the only one, which bound together the con- 
 querors and the conquered, and prevented the latter — ^like the 
 Saxons of England — from being crushed into a state of actual 
 servitude. It averted the utter and hopeless prostration of the 
 feeble nations they overran. These had among them the order 
 of the ministry, whose authority was acknowledged by the 
 invaders, and who extorted their respect by the commanding 
 attitude they assumed. The rude warrior, who cared for no 
 earthly authority, had been taught to shrink from ecclesiastical 
 censures, and while he feared no temporal power, he bowed in 
 reverence before the Bishops of the Church. In this way they 
 were enabled to subdue their conquerors, and cast around their 
 mmds those spells which are more potent to enslave than 
 triple bands of iron to the body. Before a new tide of bar- 
 barism rolled over the land, the former invaders had been 
 partially civilized by mingling with those whom they had dis- 
 possessed, and a sympathy had grown up which checked the 
 adverse influences brought to bear upon them, and saved the 
 elements of society from rushing into i-uinous conflict. They 
 
 * Milman's History of Christianity^ v. ii p. 162. 
 
220 BARBAEISM. 
 
 all worshipped the same God, and knelt in the same church, 
 and thus by degrees other differences were forgotten, and 
 merged in the common tie of Christian brotherhood. We 
 see, then, how it was that the labors of the early ministers 
 of our faith, when they toiled among barbarous and strange 
 tribes, were destined to act upon the heart of Christendom, 
 long after they had gone to their reward. 
 
 Thus the Church triumphed over barbarism, and won the 
 heathen to a knowledge of the faith. And one secret of suc- 
 cess was the fervent spirit of those who were engaged in this 
 work. They renounced every thing in this world, in the hope 
 of receiving that eternity which had been revealed to them in 
 the next. The evident destiny which was before them formed 
 and moulded then" characters. It gave a direction to their 
 lives, and a tone to their whole nature. They entangled not 
 themselves with the affairs of this life, that they might have 
 no impediment in their warfare. Separated from all they had 
 ever Ipved — crushing in their hearts every reminiscence of 
 childhood, with its faith and hopes, its creed and customs — 
 their earthly ties seemed to be utterly severed.* They passed 
 
 * Bede thus describes their manner of life : — " They lived like Apos- 
 tles ; frequent in prayers, watcliings, and fastings. They preached the 
 "Word of Life to all who were ready to hear it, receiving from their disci- 
 ples so much only as was necessary for a bare subsistence, and in all 
 things acting in strict conformity with their profession and doctrine. In 
 truth, they seemed to put aside the good things of this world, as property 
 not belonging to them. They bore disappointments and hinderances with 
 
BAEBAEISM. 221 
 
 not their lives in cloistered seclusion, or in tlie spiritual delights 
 of holy meditation, thus forestalling their heavenly repose, but 
 in wrestling with the evil around them ; and when at last they 
 met death, it found them covered with the dust and blood of 
 battle. They chose their career, and identified with it every 
 desire, and hope, and passion ; and waking or sleeping, had be- 
 fore them the same undying object. Life often to them must 
 have been but a lingering death, when every day brought fresh 
 mental or bodily anguish. Yet they awakened every energy 
 of their spirits to the struggle, rushing forward to it with joy, 
 even when it led them to the grave. Theirs was the high- 
 wrought enthusiasm which works changes in the world, be- 
 cause, with a reckless hardihood, it tramples all obstacles 
 beneath its feet. It forces itself into men's hearts, and kindles 
 the passions, and thus each step of its progress is urged on by 
 a more potent motive. It inspires others with the fervor of its 
 own belief, and wins its victories by the contagion of its own 
 sincerity. These were men formed for conquest, because reso- 
 lute to suffer — men who were repulsed by no discouragements, 
 and disheartened by no defeats — men who felt themselves in- 
 spired, and whose very zeal inspired those whom they ad- 
 dressed. They spake with the burning eloquence of those to 
 
 a cahii and cheerful spirit, and would readily have died, had such been 
 God's will, in defence of the truth they preached." And this, he adds, 
 was the result : — " Many believed, and were baptized, won over by the 
 simpHcity of their blameless lives, and the sweetness of their heavenly 
 doctrine." — lAh, i. c. 26. 
 
 19* 
 
222 BARBAEISM. 
 
 whom the world of retribution was ever open — who had looked 
 upon the agonies of the lost, and listened with mortal ears to 
 the glorious anthems of the blessed. Their very intolerance 
 furnished them with the means of victory. They felt too deep 
 a horror of every other creed to look upon it with the least 
 allowance. Its gods were demons, and eternal ruin was the 
 portion of its worshippers. Their own faith held out the only 
 hope of safety, and all they loved in this world must embrace 
 it, or the separation at death was one forever. They had, 
 therefore, every motive to widen the circle of the faithful, and 
 to nerve themselves with sternness for the perilous task of en- 
 countering the bitter opposition of the Polytheist. Each soul 
 on which they poured the light of truth was an immortal be- 
 ing, saved from the fires of hell. Each accession to their ranks 
 was a lamb gathered into the one true fold — another heir of 
 the kingdom of Heaven. And the heathen were attracted by 
 this zeal — so stern and unwavering — which, while it forced 
 itself upon them, proclaimed that it was for their own sakes 
 alone — and which, to win a proselyte, would scarcely count as 
 obstacles the torture and the stake. 
 
 And thus the early Christians went forth, with nothing here 
 for which to live, but the thought of serving Him whose her- 
 alds they were. Everjnvhere they were animated by the same 
 lofty spirit, which neither danger, nor sorrow, nor death itself, 
 could quench. On the most distant savage shores — in the 
 midst of the mighty forests of the North — in the dungeon and 
 the mine — on the scafifold, or amid the fires of the persecutor — 
 
BARBAEI8M. 22 B 
 
 every thought of self was merged in the sublime conflict they 
 were waging, and the influence it was to have on the countless 
 generations who were to come after them. Not pilgrims, but 
 palmers,* they traversed the remotest comers of the earth, 
 proclaiming those solemn truths which first their Master 
 preached among the hills of Gahlee and through the streets 
 of Jerusalem. They passed through heathen tribes Uke the 
 wind, none knowing " whence they came or wliither they were 
 going," yet everywhere, like the wind, sowing the seed that 
 was to enrich the world, and one day wave with an abundant 
 harvest. They were a devoted band, and though they fell fast, 
 yet there was no pause in their warfare. Others followed on 
 in the steps of the slain, and they pressed on from wo to wo, 
 until it seemed as if the price of sufiering had been paid, and 
 then their career was one leading on from victory to victory. 
 And these were they whom the Church commemorated, when 
 at an early age it chanted in the Cathedral at Milan, the sub- 
 lime anthem — " The noble army of the martyrs praise Thee." 
 
 * In ancient times this was the difference between a pilgrim and a 
 palmer. A pilgi-im had a home to which he retmned when his vow was 
 performed ; a palmer had none. A pilgrim went to a certain place in 
 particular ; a palmer went to all. A pilgrim renounced his profession 
 after a time ; a palmer never did, until he liad won the heavenlv pahn of 
 victory over the world — Foshroke on Pilgrim, ch. vm. 
 
V. 
 THE PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 Among the solemn ruins of Rome is one whicli for nearly 
 two thousand years, by its faultless proportions, has com- 
 manded the admiration of the world. The rude Goth and 
 Vandal spared it — the scarcely less barbarous Roman of me- 
 diaeval times held back his desecrating hand — and we now 
 gaze upon it with perhaps a greater delight than those who 
 saw it in the glory of its early day. It presents to the view a 
 circular temple, lighted by a single opening above, through 
 which every change of atmosphere, from the first flush of 
 mom to the purple hue which fills the air of an Itahan sky at 
 evening, is successively reflected from the antique marble 
 within. We see, indeed, this rehc of the past only when it 
 has been stripped of all that once shed a grace and beauty 
 about it. The statues on which ancient art had exhausted 
 its skill — the bronze which covered the roof — and the silver 
 which lined its compartments within, have long since been the 
 prey of the spoiler ; yet time has not destroyed its matchless 
 symmetry, while each passing age has shed around it a softer 
 and mellower tint. This is the Pantheon — once the home of 
 
226 PAGAT^ MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 Koman Paganism. Here, in the days of Augustus, were 
 gathered the statues of the gods, in gold and silver, in bronze 
 and precious marbles, and every faith might have found its 
 representative and its tutelary deity. 
 
 The Pantheon is now a Christian temple. The niches which 
 once were filled with the gods of the old mythology, are occu- 
 pied by the busts of those whose genius has won for them an 
 immortality even on earth. We recognise the sculptured forms 
 of Metastasio, Poussin, Annabal Carracci, and Raphael — the 
 divinest painter of his age — while below us are their tombs. 
 We tread, indeed, on the same marble pavement over which 
 once Roman Emperors walked, yet a new spirit has been 
 breathed into the edifice, and it has received a nobler consecra- 
 tion than when of old the gods of Paganism were gathered 
 within its walls. White-robed priests now minister there in 
 the rites of Christian worship — incense floats around the lofty 
 dome — and no sounds are heard but the voices of those who 
 chant the solemn anthems of the Church. And thus this rehc 
 of the past, of which Byron speaks, as the 
 
 " Shrine of all saints, and temple of all gods 
 From Jove to Jesus" — 
 
 remains an enduring monument of the triumph of our faith. 
 Its transformation shows the result of the conflict between 
 Christianity and the Pagan Mythology. 
 
 There was nothing prescriptive in the ancient Paganism. It 
 waged no war of aggression with other forms of faith. Each 
 
PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 22l 
 
 tribe and nation had its own deities, and while it worshipped 
 them, it cared not to interfere with the creed of its neighbors. 
 It added perhaps to the pride of the conquerors, to have the 
 conviction that their gods were more powerful than those of 
 the vanquished, and thus the contest was extended from the 
 earth to the rulers of the invisible world ; yet even in this case 
 they did not question the right of those whom they regarded as 
 weaker deities, to possess some place in the heavenly hierarchy. 
 It was in this spirit that the exulting King of Assyria inquired, 
 — " Hath any of the gods of the nations delivered at all his 
 land out of the hand of the King of Assyria ? Where are the 
 gods of Hamath and of Arpad? Where are the gods of 
 Sepharvaim, Hena, and Ivah ? have they dehvered Samaria 
 out of mine hand ?"* Yet never do we find any attempt to 
 impose their own faith upon the conquered, nor was it regarded 
 as a matter of any moment which of the crowded hosts of 
 Olympus they had chosen for their tutelary deities. These, too, 
 were often looked upon as having only a local power, and when 
 therefore men abandoned their own country, they often gave 
 up also the gods they had worshipped there, and adopted in 
 their place those of the nation among whom they dwelt. It 
 was this feeling of a restricted and territorial dominion which 
 dictated the advice the King of Assyria received from his ser- 
 vants, after his defeat by the Israelites — " Their gods were 
 gods of the hills ; therefore they were stronger than we ; but 
 
 * 2 Kings, xviii 33. 
 
228 PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 let us fight against them in the plain, and surely we shall be 
 stronger than they."* A persecution of the religion of a coun- 
 try had generally some ulterior object, and was directed against 
 their faith because it was interwoven with some popular feeling 
 of a political nature. Such was that terrible persecution of the 
 Jews by Antiochus Epiphanes, when he desecrated their tem- 
 ple and slew their priests, because they would not conform to 
 the rites of idolatry. He cared nothing for their faith, except 
 that he recognised in it the foundation of a fierce fanaticism, 
 which would lead them to throw off his yoke, and therefore he 
 endeavored to crush it.f But the idea of a deliberate warfare 
 against any form of faith, for the purpose of supplanting it by 
 another system, with any reference to the spiritual interests of 
 those who were to be affected by the change, was something 
 utterly at variance with the loose and tolerant notions of the 
 ancient Pagans. 
 
 And in this feehng the Romans fully shared. It was the 
 policy of the Imperial City, as the head of a universal empire, 
 to collect within her walls the representatives of every faith, 
 and to give to all their gods a place within her Pantheon. 
 " All were considered by the people as equally true ; by the 
 philosopher as equally false ; and by the magistrate as equally 
 useful It was customary to tempt the protectors of be- 
 sieged cities by the promise of more distinguished honors than 
 they possessed in their native country. Rome gradually be- 
 
 * 1 Kings, xx. 28. \ 1 Mace. L 42, and 2 Mace. vi. 
 
PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 229 
 
 came the common temple of her subjects, and the freedom of 
 the city was bestowed on the gods of all mankind."* Thus 
 she bound the foreign nations to their allegiance by the ties of 
 superstition, and riveted their chains more firmly than could 
 have been done by the force of her armies. Worship was 
 offered on the banks of the Tiber in many a strange tongue. 
 The Greek could bow before the statues of Jupiter and Apollo, 
 and find his own faith transplanted from the groves of Acade- 
 mus and the classic fountains of Hymettus. The Egyptian, too, 
 encountered here the solemn and typical worship of his burning 
 clime, and as he wandered through the streets he met the 
 priests of Isis, and saw upon the temples the familiar emblems 
 of the ox Apis and the dog-headed Anubis. The dusky In- 
 dian from the distant Ganges, discovered there his own mis- 
 shapen idols, and fellow-worshippers in the creed he had al- 
 ways professed. The philosophers of Greece taught their 
 atheistic creed, and sneered at the popular superstition as some- 
 thing intended only for the mental childhood of the human race 
 — while the strange rites of the Phrygian priests — the Isaic 
 and Scrapie worship from the Nile — and, at a later day, the 
 Mithriac mysteries — had each their followers. The Jews, 
 when peacefully obeying the laws, practised the rites of their 
 faith unimpeded by persecution, and one of their race, Alitu- 
 rus, was even for a time the favorite of Nero, yet without for- 
 saking his religion. And if we look at still more distant 
 
 Gibbon's Decline and Fall, ch. i. 
 20 
 
230 PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 Oriental creeds, we might find in Rome the followers of the 
 Babylonian Mylitta, and see the obsequious senate gather around 
 Elagabalus, while he celebrated the Syrian worship of the sun. 
 Thus, every form of faith was there, side by side, and to all 
 was extended the same toleration. 
 
 On these terms Christianity too might have been introduced, 
 and the sculptured image of Jesus of Nazareth have taken its 
 place by the side of many a heathen deity, without any being 
 found to object. But this could never be. The faith could 
 form no alliance with error. It could not tolerate a divided 
 worship. It claimed the whole field to itself. It demanded 
 the entire dominion of the human mind and heart. It waged 
 a war of extermination with every thing which professed not 
 the same creed with itself. It was the first time in the annals 
 of the world that any religion had gone forth to acquire a 
 universal and permanent conquest over every other behef. 
 The Apostles proclaimed, that when they built up the fabric 
 of the new faith in its severe and solenoin beauty, the structure 
 must be founded on the wrecks of all existing religious 
 systems. The very announcement, therefore, of the Advent 
 of Christianity, arrayed against it every form of Paganism. It 
 was at once encircled by countless enemies. It stood alone to 
 wage a warfare against the faith of the earth. Every man's 
 hand was raised to smite the arrogant intruder ; and the only 
 voice heard from an infuriated populace was the cry — " To the 
 lions with the Christians." We feel, therefore, that St. Paul 
 was giving a noble proof of his courage, when he wrote to the 
 
PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 231 
 
 converts in the Imperial City — "I am ready to preach the 
 Gospel to you that are at Rome also." 
 
 In considering, then, the conflict of Christianity with Pagan- 
 ism, we would assume as its general representative, that beau- 
 tiful mythology which, originating in the forgotten ages of 
 elder times, had before the Advent of Christianity been refined 
 into a poetical system, which even now, when exploded as a 
 form of faith, exercises its influence over the imagination and 
 the intellect. It is the Ionian mythology to which we usually 
 refer, when we speak of the classical Paganism. To us it is 
 identified with the remembrance of Greece, for there was its 
 chosen home, and amidst her groves and temples it reached 
 its highest glory. Her poets first gathered up the primitive 
 traditions of those Eastern lands, and then, moulding them in 
 their songs, brought forth those lofty poetical creations which 
 come down to us in the verse of Homer and her tragic writers. 
 It had its origin in their fertile imaginations ; and what at first 
 was a religious fable, sank into the hearts of other generations 
 and became a worship of faith. The fanciful allegory was 
 looked upon by the men of after ages as veritable history, and 
 the wild legend which once appealed only to the imagination, 
 was moulded up at last into a solemn creed. 
 
 And yet everywhere the elements of Pagan worship were 
 the same. The gods of Egypt were those of Greece, under 
 different names ; and could we now decipher the mystic char- 
 acters on their obelisks, and thus interpret their system, we 
 should find that the sacred animals were to them only a kind 
 
232 PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 of living ritual, each one so consecrated being a mystical type.* 
 This was only their form of expressing truths which they held 
 in common with many other nations. The same attributes 
 which they worshipped in Serapis as the regenerating principle 
 of the universe, and lord of the regions beyond the grave, we 
 can trace in the ^sculapius and Hades of their Hellenic 
 neighbors ; while in the symbolic three-headed animal which 
 stood by the side of his colossal statue in the sanctuary at 
 Alexandria, the Greeks saw the type of their own poetic 
 Cerberus. The Baal and Ashtaroth from whom the Jews 
 shrank in horror, found their counterparts among the groves 
 of Athens ; while the cumbrous and multiform idol, like that 
 in the shrine of the Ephesian Diana, which by its innumerable 
 heads, or arms, or breasts, represented wisdom, or power, or 
 fertihty, was obliged to be transformed to suit the polished 
 taste of the Greeks. When introduced among them, it was 
 refined into a being free from the deformities it exhibited in its 
 Asian home, and only distinguished from human nature by a 
 fuller development of the noblest physical qualities of man.f 
 There the fierce war-god of the Northern tribes is invested 
 with the more heroic traits of Mars ; while in the Minerva who 
 had become the tutelary deity of Athens, we can recognise the 
 ancient Onca of the Phoenicians.]; Thus there was no wide 
 
 * Faher's Foreign Peoples and Churches, p. 539. 
 f Milman's Hist, of Christianity, v. i p. 9. 
 
 X In the " Septem contra Thebas" of -^schylus, the chorus invoke 
 Minerva by this name. 
 
PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 23S 
 
 gulf which separated the creeds of the Athenian and the 
 Syrian — the Egyptian and the Persian. Their outward de- 
 velopments may have varied, but when their general principles 
 are examined, all important differences vanish away. And in 
 this way we may trace a family resemblance between all the 
 religions of antiquity, countless as they seem to be. All pos- 
 sessed originally the same traditions, though as ages went by 
 they necessarily received additions which gradually destroyed 
 their early hkeness to each other. Yet it was the same Pa- 
 ganism everywhere, changing only its form to suit the genius 
 of each particular nation. In taking up, therefore, that popu- 
 lar mythology which has come down to us, we are bringing 
 forward a representation of the Paganism of the world. 
 
 Let us look, then, at the hold which this faith had upon its 
 votaries. It appealed to them by its beauty ; and never, as we 
 have shown in a former chapter, were a people formed so 
 susceptible to all that was refined and graceful, as those who 
 had adopted and moulded into an enduring system this imagi- 
 native creed. Their religion came from the dim traditions 
 of the earliest ages ; but these were shaped into form by 
 their poets, who colored the superstitions they had inherited. 
 These with them constituted the union between the \^sible and 
 the imseen. Yet, in every land, the popular mythology was 
 to receive its character, not only from the genius of the people, 
 but even from the forms in which nature around was presented 
 to their eyes, and those thousand associations which acted on 
 their daily life. The inhabitants of the dark primeval forests 
 
 20* 
 
234 PAOAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 of the North could not portray to themselves a deity invested 
 with grace and beauty. Amid the wild and gloomy scenes 
 about them, the superstition to which they bowed assumed 
 the same character, and the spiritual beings to whom they 
 paid their homage were clothed with a terror which gave 
 them all the attributes of demons. Far different, however, 
 was the case with the refined and polished Greeks, whose 
 home was in an enchanting clime — bright skies above them — 
 bright waters gushing from each fountain and sparkling in the 
 sunlight — and every scene around one of cheerfulness and 
 beauty. There the genius of Homer had called forth from 
 the shadows of Olympus those lifelike creations which other 
 generations were to worship as gods — beings clothed in the 
 fairest forms, and whose ministrations on earth were those of 
 kindness to the children of this lower race. 
 
 And flie peculiar character of their deities appealed most 
 strongly to their hearts. They were each represented with 
 the distinctness of a hving man — their attributes portrayed 
 — ^their traits delineated — until Apollo or Mercury stood out 
 in bold relief to the view of an Athenian, and each was in- 
 dividualized with a distinctness which prevented his image 
 from being in any way confused with that of others in the 
 crowded court of Olympus. Their characters were not left 
 to be uncertain and unknown — realized only by the exertion 
 of their infinite power. And then, too, they seemed to possess 
 the attributes of our nature, only carried to a higher point 
 of excellence. They were half human, half divine — uniting 
 
PAOAN MYTHOLOGY. 235 
 
 the lofty power of a god with the warm affections of a man — 
 sharing in the loves and hates of those who worshipped them. 
 There were, therefore, associations and sympathies which bomid 
 them to earth, and the Greek felt this, even when he looked 
 upon the Father of gods as clothed with the ineffable splendor 
 of an inhabitant of heaven, and shaking the universe with his 
 nod. The supernatural world was not removed far away 
 from him, nor were the feehngs of those who directed its 
 agencies incomprehensible even to the dwellers on this earth 
 below. 
 
 And can we not perceive the influence exerted by thus 
 bringing their deities near to themselves — investing them with 
 human attributes — and connecting them with the affairs of 
 this lower world? We see it in our own creed. We can 
 bow in reverence before a God, shrouded in the darkness of 
 His own incomprehensible nature. Yet there is something 
 in this too sublime and shadowy to be grasped by our 
 feeble minds — there is a want of that connection which can 
 interest the heart, and awaken all those touching associations 
 to which we in our weakness cling. But if we believe that 
 He put on mortahty and walked among human habitations, 
 bearing our sorrows, like unto us in form, then a new tie 
 has been created to bind us to Him. The Christ who tasted 
 the bitterness of death and suffered on the cross — who is 
 " touched with the feeling of our infirmities" — is the Being 
 before whom our hearts bow, and at whose shrine we offer 
 up our hoUest affections. We feel that there is something 
 
236 PAGAJS^ MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 here within the reach of our comprehension — the imagination 
 can dwell upon the solemn scenes of His pilgrimage — while 
 we shrink in awe from the contemplation of that Dread 
 Being, of whom prophets speak as " the High and lofty One 
 that inhabiteth eternity."* It was the want of this intimate 
 union between Divinity and Humanity which age after age 
 drove the Jews into idolatry, as they sought in sensible em- 
 blems for something on which the mind could rest; and it 
 is the possession of this which has always invested Christiani- 
 ty with so much of tenderness and love, and adapted it to 
 all the wants of our frail and eriing nature. This dark and 
 sinful world has been brightened by the Lord of Hosts, and 
 the very earth on which we now tread been fragrant with His 
 footsteps. The confiding heart, therefore, has pictured before 
 it, Infinite and All-embracing Love assuming a visible Form. 
 
 And it was something of this feeling of the humanness 
 of their faith, which imparted to the religion of Paganism — if 
 we may be allowed the comparison — all the vitality that it 
 possessed. In those poetical legends, which, as we have said, 
 gave form and system to their mythology, the powers of 
 Olympus are represented as descending to the earth and 
 sharing in human passions and human labors. Remove from 
 the Iliad the agency of the Homeric gods, and you destroy the 
 poem. Many, too, of their deities had once been men, and par- 
 taken even of the sorrows of those with whom they lived ; and 
 
 * Isaiah, IviL 15. 
 
PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 237 
 
 was it to be supposed that their translation to a seat among 
 the celestial powers would destroy their interest in the nations 
 among whom had once been their home? While on earth 
 they had been the dispensers of blessings to men, who looked 
 back to the golden age of their sojourn here as the period from 
 which they must date the origin of every benefit of social life. 
 Thus the heroic son of Alcmcena had spent his days in travail 
 and labor for the human race, and therefore it was that his 
 temples rose in every land, and incense ascended for him from 
 thousands of altars wherever the creed of Paganism was recog- 
 nised. The Dorian Apollo, too, had shared our nature, when 
 to expiate a sin he descended to this lower world, and while 
 he passed years in servitude, showered benefits on his earthly 
 master. And this debt of gratitude owing to an Immortal is 
 what gives its interest to the Prometheus of ^schylus, when 
 the suffering deity recounts the blessings he had conferred 
 upon man, and refers to these as the cause of the enmity of 
 Jupiter and the fearful doom to which he has been subjected. 
 Therefore the sympathy of all created beings is excited for. 
 the vanquished Titan, and when amid fragrant odors and the 
 rushing of approaching wings, the Daughters of the Ocean 
 come to console him, it is for this reason, they tell him, that 
 
 " The wide earth echoes wailingly, 
 And from the holy Asian dwelling-place, 
 Fall for a godhead's wrongs, the mortal's mimnuring tears." 
 
 Thus it was that this faith not only appealed to the imagi- 
 nation of men by its beauty, but also to their hearts, by being 
 
238 PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 associated with the affairs of their daily Hfe. It was indeed 
 not only lofty and august, elevating that spirit of poetry to 
 whose breath il owed its own influence, but also household 
 and familiar. And although when we look back to it, we do 
 so as if in a Platonic cave in which we are entranced in a 
 dream, while shadowy forms move before our eyes, yet to the 
 Greek it had a living reality. It was all that connected him 
 with the world of spirits. It was the only ray of light which 
 shot athwart the Dark Valley, and gilded the clouds which had 
 gathered on the Mount beyond. 
 
 And we much mistake the feelings of the Greeks, and the 
 manner in which their faith acted on their daily lives, if we 
 confine our view of their religion to the hght thrown on it 
 by those fables which not only endowed the gods with the 
 attributes of our nature, but also degraded them to all the 
 weaknesses and vice of fallen humanity. These bore the same 
 relation to the faith itself, as in our day the tales of sprite and 
 fairy do to the solemn verities of Christian doctrine. There 
 was a religion of imagination and another of faith ; and while 
 to the poets the gods were beings who held their shadowy 
 thrones on Olympus, to the multitude their existence was a 
 solemn article of their creed — something actual and palpable. 
 While, therefore, they laughed in the theatre at the ludicrous 
 pictures which Aristophanes drew of Hercules and Bacchus, 
 they could pass from thence at once to the temples of these 
 deities, and offer sacrifice there with reverence unimpaired and 
 faith unweakened. 
 
PAaAN MYTHOLOGY. 239 
 
 And we may add, too, that it was this characteristic of the 
 
 religion of the Greeks — this connection between the divine and 
 
 the human — which in art gave its highest inspiration to genius. 
 
 They drew their subjects from the old ancestral faith — from 
 
 the legends of a dim traditionary age — and these, being the 
 
 offspring of Poetry, elevated and refined their conceptions. 
 
 We never find them forming the grotesque images by which in 
 
 the East men endeavored to shadow forth the attributes of 
 
 their gods. If the Greeks attempted to dehneate the typical 
 
 and mystical, the conception was redeemed by the impress of 
 
 beauty stamped upon it. The artist who would create with 
 
 his chisel a representation of Apollo, took for his models the 
 
 noblest human forms, and then endeavored to surpass them, 
 
 and throw around his statue something more majestic and 
 
 beautiful than he could find on earth. He struggled to ascend 
 
 beyond the Visible and to reach the Ideal. He lost sight of 
 
 the sensual and the earthly in the Imaginative and the Divine. 
 
 Therefore it is that now, at the distance of two thousand years, 
 
 crowds still gather in speechless admiration around the Apollo 
 
 Belvidere in the Hall of the Vatican, and the testimony of every 
 
 generation has been, that here 
 
 " are express'd 
 All that ideal beauty ever bless'd 
 The mind with, in its most imearthly mood, 
 When each conception was a heavenly guest — 
 A ray of immortality — and stood 
 Star-like around, until they gather'd to a god 1" 
 
 But let us look at another consideration — the universality of 
 
240 PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 this faith — and we will see the difficulty of rooting out a sys- 
 tem so entwined with every department of, life. With the 
 Jew, the adoption of the New Faith — if he had rightly under- 
 stood his own — required no violent transition. For ages his 
 nation had been preparing for this " fulness of time," and 
 when it came, he passed at once from the dimness of a mul- 
 titude of types, to a perception of the unclouded reality. In 
 the new creed he was required to adopt, he recognised only 
 the perfection of his own undeveloped system. He worshipped 
 the same God as before, only he now approached Him through 
 the mediation of His Son ; and in Jesus of Nazareth he beheld 
 " the brightness of His glory and the express Image of His 
 person." But with the Pagan it was not so. In the wreck of 
 his former creed, there was nothing remaining to which he could 
 cling. The change to Christianity was one which was thorough 
 and radical. It extended to every part of his being. It swept 
 away his cherished views in every department of religion and 
 morals, and in their place built up a new system utterly at 
 variance with all in which he had formerly believed. When, 
 therefore, he avowed the faith of the Nazarene, the future was 
 to have no sympathies with the past. He had entered an 
 entirely new world of thought and feeling. " Old things had 
 passed away ; all things had become new." 
 
 We cannot read the writers of that day without feeling that 
 the whole life of the heathen was directed and regulated by 
 the spirit of Polytheism. It threw its chains around him in a 
 way in which no other faith has ever done. He could not es- 
 
PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 241 
 
 cape from its all- pervading influence. It met him, wherever 
 he was, and whatever he was doing. Nothing was too lofty to 
 be within its reach — nothing too insignificant to admit of its 
 regulation. All the grave aflairs of state were ushered in by- 
 its ceremonial. The Senate — whose meetings were always held 
 in a temple or consecrated place — commenced its deliberations 
 with sacrifice, and each senator, before he entered on business, 
 dropped some wine or frankincense on the altar. The gods 
 were appealed to as the arbiters of battle, and in the centre 
 of the camp was always erected a consecrated shrine. In the 
 same way it entered into all the circumstances of domestic life ; 
 and St. Augustine, in his " City of God," has devoted page 
 after page to showing this intimate connection, and how some 
 fabulous deity was ready to preside over each mmute act the 
 heathen could perform. When he travelled on the land he 
 was under the protection of one divinity, and on the sea, of an- 
 other. The public games, which constituted the amusements 
 of the ancients, were often regarded as ofierings in honor of par- 
 ticular deities, and were at all times thoroughly imbued with 
 the spirit of their faith. Therefore it is that the Christians were 
 entirely debarred from them, and TertuUian denounces them 
 with such unsparing severity, consigning to the same condem- 
 nation the combats of the gladiators, and the lofty tragedies of 
 Euripides.* When, too, the heathen entered his home, he 
 passed at once into the protection of his household divinities. 
 
 * De Spectaculis. 
 21 
 
242 PAaAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 and tlie ancestral gods of his family or tribe which presided 
 over his domestic hearth. Around him, in the ornaments of 
 his house — the paintings which adorned its walls, and the fur- 
 niture of its rooms — were interwoven representations of the 
 gods, and allusions to those poetic fictions, which with him 
 were matters of faith. Even the commonest household uten- 
 sils and implements were often cast into forms which had some 
 relation to their mythology. Thus, it not only pervaded and 
 animated the compositions of their genius, and was, as we have 
 already seen, the source from which poetry, and eloquence, and 
 art drew their insphation, but its influence was felt in the most 
 trifling events of every-day hfe. 
 
 We see, then, the contest which the early Christians had to 
 maintain, when they came out from all these old associations. 
 It was one which was waged everywhere — in the city and 
 the country — ^not only in Imperial Rome, but even in the most 
 retired village of the distant provinces. They were to look 
 with feelings of abhorrence upon each temple and shrine — 
 each sacred grove and hallowed fountain — for all had been 
 polluted as the abode of demons and the scene of abomi- 
 nable idolatries. Each glorious representation of their ancient 
 gods, on which the sculptor had lavished all his skill, was to 
 be to them but an unmeaning mass of stone. They were to 
 flee with trembling fear from their old familiar festivals, for 
 these were founded on the legends of idolatry. The laurel 
 branch they bore was sacred to the lover of Daphne, and the 
 garland of flowers, though frequently worn as a symbol either 
 
PAGAN MYTHOLOaY. 243 
 
 of joy or mourning, had been dedicated in its first origin to the 
 service of superstition.* And so it was in all those scenes 
 where kindred are accustomed to meet and recognise the bond 
 of relationship. They could not listen to " the dirge-note or 
 the song of festival." They could not be with the bride when, 
 struggling with affected reluctance, she was borne over the 
 threshold of her husband, or partake in any part of the hyme- 
 neal pomp. In dread of idolatry they shut their ears to the 
 nuptial hymn — " Hymen, Hymensee lo !" — for to them it 
 sounded hke an invocation of evil spirits. And so it was when the 
 mourning relatives bore the dead in sad procession to the funeral 
 pile. There, too, every rite was one of heathenism — the blood 
 of victims was offered in idolatry, and the lustral water which 
 was sprinkled on the attendants, was to them " the baptism of 
 devils." They could not be present at a social feast without 
 seeing a libation made to the gods ; and they shrank even from 
 the blessing of love, since it was framed in the name of those 
 whom they looked upon as demons. Their whole language, 
 indeed, had to be remodelled, for the phrases of common life 
 were filled with allusions to their popular religion, and the 
 words of affection and worship were so entwined, that it seemed 
 impossible to banish the one and retain the other. The good 
 wishes they endeavored to express became chilled and unmean- 
 ing, when they dropped the customary allusions to the gods of 
 their faith. The adoption of Christianity, therefore, alienated 
 
 * Gibbon. 
 
244 PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 I 
 
 them from all to which the heart most clings, and severed the 
 dearest bonds of life. The ties were broken which united them 
 to the tender reminiscences of youth, and to the love of those 
 whose faith and hope, creeds and interests, were separated 
 from their own by " a great gulf," which none could pass. 
 
 It was, however, away from the noise of the busy city, and 
 amid the quiet retreats of Nature, that the spirit of Paganism 
 was most felt, and there it lons^est lino^ered when elsewhere its 
 influence was gone. The old Heathen ritual was bound up in 
 the course of agriculture, and the population of the country, 
 watching with trembling anxiety the frequent vicissitudes of 
 climate, learned to look to their local deities for the success of 
 seedtime and harvest, and the plenty which was to reward 
 their labors. To the influence of these capricious deities they 
 referred the drought and the mildew, which blighted their 
 fields — the murrain which swept away their cattle — and the 
 swarms of locusts, which, in an hour, destroyed the hopes of 
 the husbandman. In every field and garden, therefore, were 
 found their statues — their shrines were erected in every grove 
 and by every fountain — and even when converted to Christi- 
 anity, the peasant trembled at the consequences of his own 
 apostacy.* 
 
 Infuse into this belief a spirit of poetry, and we have what 
 gave its charm and its wide-spread influence to ancient hea- 
 thenism. To its votaries, the golden age of fable had not yet 
 
 * Milman's Hist, of Christianity, v. ii. p. lYl. 
 
PAGAN MYTHOLOaY. 245 
 
 entirely faded into the dreariness of common day. When the 
 poets sang of the melodies of invisible spirits haunting the air 
 in the vale of Tempe, or amid the luxurious glades of Paphos, 
 they were but announcing the existence of a faith which for 
 them was everywhere. To their excited imaginations, Naiads 
 were sporting in every fountain, and they heard the voices of 
 the Dryads in the echoes of the woods. When the leaves 
 trembled on the branches, as the winds swept by, to them 
 they seemed shaken by the Invisible god ; and with hesitating 
 step they entered the silent grotto, or trod the aisles of the 
 dark forest, because there, they felt, were especially the homes 
 of those who I'uled these sylvan scenes. " Ipsa silentia," 
 beautifully says the elder Pliny, "ipsa silentia adoramus." 
 And still more eagerly did they recognise everywhere the 
 creative energy of their divinities. When the blossom de- 
 lighted them with its fragrance, Aurora had nourished it with 
 her tears, and Zephyr expanded it with her breath. The rich 
 clustering grapes were the gift of Bacchus ; and for the bend- 
 ing harvest and the golden fruits of autumn they were in- 
 debted to the benignity of Ceres and Pomona. The very 
 lights of heaven were but the radiance of the gods. In the 
 revolutions of the sun they saw the path of Phcebus, as, 
 seated in his car of fire, and borne along by immortal steeds, 
 he daily circled round the world, and poured light and joy 
 over the universe. The sea, too, had its rulers. In its coral 
 palaces, Thetis and her nymphs celebrated their mysterious 
 revels ; while, through the blue waters, the long-hahed Triton 
 
 21* 
 
246 PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 floated in his car of pearl, and guided some favored bark from 
 the whirlpool or the rock.* Thus, over the whole face of the 
 land, brooded the spirit of Paganism ; and to the believers in 
 this ancient creed it was not only a matter of poetic imagina- 
 tion, but of actual faith, that 
 
 " Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth 
 Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep." 
 
 Can we wonder, then, that the heathen shrank from Chris- 
 tianity, when it called him to give up those graceful supersti- 
 tions which were never silent — ^which were so entwined with 
 the actions of his life as to become a part of the life itself ? 
 To him, the sublime faith of the Nazarene was a melancholy 
 one, because it swept away the countless deities whose altars 
 filled the earth. " What ? should all this beautiful world be 
 made only human ? — the mountain disenchanted of its Oread — 
 the waters of their Nymph — that beautiful prodigality of faith, 
 which made every thing divine, consecrating the meanest flowers, 
 bearing celestial whispers in the faintest breeze — should he 
 deny this, and make the earth mere dust and clay ? No ; all 
 that was brightest in their hearts was that very credulity which 
 peopled the universe with gods. ... So abundant was belief 
 with them, that in their own climes, at this hour, idolatry has 
 never thoroughly been outrooted ; it changes but its objects of 
 worship ; it appeals to innumerable saints, where once it 
 
 * Alley's Vindicice Christiance, p. 18. 
 
PAGAIS^ MYTHOLOGY. 247 
 
 resorted to divinities ; and it pours its crowds, in listening 
 reverence, to oracles at the shrines of St. Januarius and St. 
 Dominic, instead of to those of Isis or Apollo."* 
 
 The belief, too, of the ancients, in divination, constantly 
 brought their faith before them. It seemed to have strongly 
 impressed upon their minds a consciousness that the spiritual 
 world was around them and nigh them, and therefore they 
 were ever striving to realize it — to behold, in the incidents of 
 this lower world, and even in the patient lives and instincts of 
 the brute creation — some manifestation of what was passing in 
 the Invisible, or what was yet to take place in the shadowy 
 Future. There was among the nations of antiquity a wide- 
 spread Pantheism, which made them bestow a kind of worship 
 on the earth itself, and look upon her as a treasure-house of 
 knowledge, and the vehicle of revelation to man. The exhala- 
 tions which streamed up from her depths, as at Delphi, in- 
 spired those who breathed them, and to the awestruck specta- 
 tors, their wild ravings seemed the oracles of the gods. The 
 Greek heard not only the whisper of prophecy in the quivering 
 of the Dodonsean oaks, and read its tokens in the sportive forms 
 in which the wind strewed the fallen leaves, but, to his eye, in 
 every thing there were signs and warnings. When the spirit 
 of the earthquake was abroad, as the Titan, moving on his 
 burning couch, sent his convulsive throes through the upper 
 world — or the storm swept by — or the comet and the meteor 
 
 * Last Days of Pompeii, v. i. pp. 200, 201. 
 
248 PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 glared upon the heavens — he felt that they bore with them 
 their mystic warning, *' presaging wrath to nations." The 
 clustering of bees — the direction in which birds winged their 
 flight — and the motions of serpents — came to him with a mes- 
 sage from the spiritual world. The victims at the altar were 
 not merely offerings to the gods, but each was a volume in 
 which the ministering priest read prophecies of the future. 
 The interpretation of dreams, too, was a science, in the study 
 of which the learned spent their lives ; and each strange fancy 
 which flitted through the brain of the unconscious sleeper, was 
 treasured up in his waking hours, and deemed an augury of 
 evil or of good. The world around was filled with omens. 
 No event, indeed, was so trifling as to claim exemption from 
 this mystic interpretation. An accident — a hasty word — an 
 unexpected meeting — any thing which varied, in the slightest 
 degree, the course of ordinary life — was registered, as if only 
 the shadow of some reality soon to be developed. Thus it 
 was that they were ever on the watch for tokens from the land 
 of spirits. 
 
 We can see, then, how the ancient heathen lived in an atmos- 
 phere of rehgion. It was with him, not only in the temple 
 and the solemn festival, but in the camp and in the market- 
 place — in times of joy and sorrow — in the gay nuptial rite, 
 and in the funeral solemnity. There came no time when he 
 could put away from him the remembrance of his faith, but its 
 solemn sanctions and its varied rites ever encircled him, and in his 
 daily life he was forced to carry out that injunction of the an- 
 
paga:n mythology. 249 
 
 cient lawgiver to his people — " Thou shalt talk of these things 
 when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by 
 the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest 
 up."* 
 
 Nor, must we believe that in the age in which Christianity 
 appeared, this faith had entirely lost its hold upon the minds 
 of the people. Skepticism had, indeed, been spread abroad, 
 and the lesson inculcated was, that the old mythology was 
 only intended for the mental childhood of the human race. 
 Yet, this was a teaching suited only to the loftier thinkers, and 
 common minds could not be thus weaned from the popular 
 rehgion. It was philosophy which made the first attack upon 
 this ancient shrine in which so many generations had worship- 
 ped, or rather which first commenced undermining its founda- 
 tions. Cicero, indeed, could say — " It is marvellous that one 
 soothsayer can look another in the face without laughing" — 
 and Plutarch declared, that when the ministering priest depart- 
 ed from the temple, he did so repeating the line of Menander — 
 " I have sacrificed to gods in whom I have no conceni." Po- 
 lybius and Strabo, too, might think it necessary to apologize 
 to their readers for quoting the sacred legends which they be- 
 lieved to be only fabulous tales, yet still the reverential feelings 
 of the multitude for their national worship might have been 
 unaffected. When the reasonings of the enlightened have proved 
 an ancient creed to be but a collection of fables, it is long be- 
 
 * Dmt vi 7. 
 
250 PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 fore the conviction of its emptiness will sink into the hearts of 
 the common people. And so it was in this case. The cere- 
 monies of their faith still went on — ^the temples were thronged 
 — and whatv3ver doctrines might have been taught in the narrow 
 circle of the philosophical few, it would have taken ages for 
 them to overthrow a popular superstition so entwined with the 
 hfe, and so jealously guarded by the crowds whose interests 
 depended on its perpetuity. Had its only antagonist been 
 the coldness of skepticism, it would have retained its hfe and 
 energy ; nor did it at last yield, until expelled by the over- 
 mastering power of a new affection. 
 
 And even among those who boasted their exemption from 
 the terrors of the gods, we can detect at times a gleam of su- 
 perstition, which shows that still they were in bondage to the 
 fears they ridiculed. If Pompey, and Caesar, and Crassus, 
 turned from the shrines of their household gods, they yet con- 
 sulted the Chaldeans, while their miserable fates sadly belied 
 the promises they received, that death should overtake them 
 in their ripe old age, in glory in their homes.* Even the Epi- 
 curean Horace, when he hears thunder at noonday, yields to 
 an evident dread of the supernatural powers, and leaves in his 
 verse the traces of his fear.f 
 
 * Milman's Hist of Christianity, v. i. p. 23. 
 f " Parous deorum cultor et infrequens, 
 Insanientis dum sapientiae 
 
 Consultus erro, nxinc retrorsum 
 Vela dare atque iterare cursus 
 
PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 251 
 
 But this skepticism, fashionable as it was among some in the 
 latter days of the Roman republic, soon passed away. Lucian 
 indeed wittily satirized Polytheism, but we find he had few 
 to imitate him. An age of belief seems to have succeeded his 
 times — a season of reaction in which even Epicureanism lost 
 its advocates. The writers who in the third century pretended 
 to treat of religion, abandoned the careless tone of contempt 
 which prevailed in the days of Cicero. There came again a 
 time of reverence, when they endeavored to reanimate the 
 fading superstitions, and to infuse fresh life and energy into the 
 ancient legends of their faith. This was the Pagan school of 
 Alexandria, which strove to mould into a new shape the poetic 
 fictions of ancient Greece, and to give them vitality by means 
 of a mystic and dreamy enthusiasm. It answered its purpose, 
 however, to connect the invisible world with the visible, and 
 enabled the old mythology to retain its hold upon the mind. 
 
 There was, therefore, a soul in Paganism ; and he but little 
 comprehends its true spirit who looks upon it with scorn, as 
 only an array of gross and unmeaning superstitions. Still less 
 in this case does he understand the magnitude of that contest 
 which Christianity was obliged to wage with it. False as the 
 ancient mythology was, it supplied a want which man must 
 
 Cogor relictos. Namque Diespiter 
 Igni corusco nubila dividens 
 
 Pleminque, per purum tonantes 
 
 Egit equos volucremque currum," — Carm. xxxiv. 
 
252 PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 ever feel, of something on which the spirit can rest as being 
 higher than this world. Each fair temple proclaimed that there 
 was in the faith a divinity to its worshippers — setting forth 
 truths, veiled, indeed, yet still disclosing beneath these old 
 forms of heathenism, the impress of their purer origin. We 
 feel, therefore, that we can look beyond these outward devel- 
 opments, and that the shattered remains of ancient beauty 
 which still give a melancholy interest to the land of Pericles, 
 speak to us of a departed faith which once had a meaning and 
 a moral power to guide the consciences of thousands. 
 
 '* Triumphant o'er this pompous show 
 Of art, this palpable array of sensq, 
 On every side encountered ; in despite 
 Of the gross fictions, chanted in the streets 
 By wandering rhapsodists ; and in contempt 
 Of doubt and bold denials hourly urged 
 Amid the wrangling schools — a spirit hung, 
 Beautiful region ! o'er thy towns and farms, 
 Statues and temples and memorial tombs ; 
 And emanations were perceived ; and acts 
 Of immortality in nature's course, 
 Exemplified by mysteries that were felt 
 As bonds, on grave philosopher imposed 
 And armed warrior ; and in every grove 
 A gay or pensive tenderness prevailed, 
 When piety more awful had relaxed !"* 
 
 And this faith — perhaps by the very dimness with which it 
 portrayed another world — incited to cheerfulness and pleasure 
 
 * Wordsworth^s Excursion, book iv. 
 
PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 253 
 
 in the present life. There was no bright picture of the reward 
 hereafter, and therefore, hemmed in by darkening shadows 
 which the eye could not penetrate, they clung to this exist- 
 ence, and endeavored to crowd into its narrow limits all the 
 enjoyments which the brief day of Hfe could furnish. They 
 shrank from the gloomy Hades, and used their fleeting hours 
 as if they expected nothing beyond. We see this trait particu- 
 larly in the Greeks, who hesitated not to avow their love of 
 life, and their deep regret when they felt that the Angel of 
 Death was at hand and the shadow of his wings rested on 
 them. The same men who broke the array of the Mede at 
 Marathon, and at Platsea "jeoparded their hves unto the death 
 in the high places of the field" against the Persian force — men 
 who would have gladly sacrificed every thing for home or 
 country — yet thought it no shame to weep when they were 
 called to part from this existence which they had invested 
 with all that was beautiful. That stoicism which learned to 
 count life as nothing and to despise death, was the product of 
 later days of philosophy and doubt. The heroes of Homer, 
 while they fought terribly, did not think it unworthy of their 
 manhood to weep bitterly, and to deplore the coming of that 
 inexorable foe whose power no arm of flesh could resist. Life 
 to them was precious, as a season of enjoyment, and they made 
 the most of it. They suffered not the thought of the future 
 to sadden, but it seemed rather to exhilarate and incite to 
 pleasure. 
 
 We see, therefore, that their faith spread over life a glad and 
 22 
 
254 PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 joyous aspect. It had no features of austerity — it taught no 
 self-denial — it held up no Cross to be borne — but was compre- 
 hended in one round of festivals and cheerful holydays. In the 
 Calendar of the Greeks, indeed, every thing was elevating, and 
 the worship of their gods was entwined with the loftiest asso- 
 ciations. Sometimes they celebrated the achievements of those 
 who, after " doing exploits" on earth, had departed to join the 
 starry hierarchy of Olympus ; and sometimes, at the shrines of 
 their presiding deities, they commemorated the changes of the 
 seasons, tracing them on from the first bursting flowers of 
 Spring to the gathering of the vintage in the Autumn, when 
 " the showering grapes 
 
 In Bacchanal profusion reel to earth 
 Purple and gushing." 
 
 They circled round the altar with wild and exulting songs, 
 which stirred their hearts hke a trumpet's sound, and every 
 strain was heard, from the rude hymn of the peasant to the 
 solemn and lofty chorus which proclaimed the deepest mysteries 
 of their faith. There might be seen the stately procession 
 which celebrated the triumphs of the Dorian Apollo, and 
 where every thing was invested with a splendor worthy of his 
 majesty — or ceremonies in which they had preserved the re- 
 membrance of the primal dynasty of gods and the rites of 
 early creeds — and then perhaps came the Dionysiac revels, and 
 scenes from their own legendary mythology — the story of En- 
 dymion as he slept upon the mountains, or the wild adventures 
 of Eros and Psyche, " the youngest born of the Olympians,'* 
 
PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 255 
 
 until they ended in that union which shadowed forth the 
 attainment of the destiny for which humanity is sighing. 
 Even the stem Spartans at such times relaxed their austerity, 
 and the antique hymns which had come down to them were 
 gradually softened into harmony and beauty. Graceful and 
 stately indeed was the measure in which the Laconian maidens 
 moved in the Carytic dance, while one crowned with a wreath 
 of sedge stood motionless in the centre, bearing aloft a basket 
 full of flowers, and her young companions circled around her 
 as if they were twining a garland ; and majestic was the sword- 
 dance by which the brave soldiery roused their courage, as 
 they chanted the praises of the noble dead, and amid the clash- 
 ing of steel vowed to follow in their footsteps. And there 
 were also festivals of a more homely and jovial character, when 
 they celebrated the praises of Bacchus as the ** Unbinder of 
 galling cares," and license was given to sport and jest, and even 
 wild buffoonery. Then they threw aside all remembrance of 
 the troubles of hfe, and arrayed in the skin and horns of " the 
 vine-browsing goat," they acted over the legends they had in- 
 herited of the sports of the faun and satyr. Such were the 
 scenes in that land of sacrifice and song, and everywhere there 
 seemed a joyous spirit in their faith, whether on the banks of 
 the classical Cephissus, or in the distant Macedon and Boeotia* 
 which the Greeks of Attica scarcely acknowledged as a part of 
 the Hellenic nation. 
 
 It is curious, too, to Tiotice the different hold which this 
 %iith had upon different coujitries, in proportion to their ad- 
 
256 PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 vance in civilization. We see traces of this in the account 
 given of St. Paul's preaching, and the philosophical inquirer 
 can thus easily account for the varied manner of its reception. 
 Their degree of faith seemed to be in proportion to their dis- 
 tance from the centre of the world's literature and refinement. 
 For instance, when the Apostle came to Lystra — an inland and 
 comparatively barbarous district, into which the Greek lan- 
 guage had scarcely penetrated — we find that the miracle 
 wrought in the cure of a cripple awakened the reverend won- 
 der of the multitude, and they at once concluded that Jupiter 
 and Mercury "had come down to them in the likeness of 
 men." Preparations were therefore made to sacrifice to 
 these celestial visitants, and they were with difficulty withheld 
 by the earnest declaration of the Apostle, that they were only 
 *' men of hke passions with themselves."* Here, then, belief 
 must have been unimpaired in the fabulous appearance of their 
 deities, and the old poetic faith have existed in all its original 
 force. But at Athens there could have been no such illusion, 
 and we doubt whether miracles themselves would not have 
 been set down as the skilful deceits of some of the usual 
 traders in human creduhty. The ancient creed still had its 
 influence over the mind, but it was held in a philosophical 
 spirit ; and the cultivated Grecian, priding himself on his 
 intellectual advancement, would have ridiculed the idea of 
 an actual appearance of the gods of his mythology. He 
 
 * Acts xiv. 15. 
 
PAOAl^ MYTHOLOGY. 257 
 
 believed, indeed, in the creed of his fathers, for it embodied 
 all his ideas of beauty ; but the discussions in which he de- 
 lighted, and the inquiring tone he had adopted, developed a 
 spirit widely different from the simple-hearted faith of less 
 polished tribes. 
 
 But all traces of this religion, in whatever way held, were 
 to be swept away. The followers of the new faith were to 
 divorce themselves from all reverence for the sanctity of old 
 opinions — they were to uproot from their hearts all love for 
 hereditary rites. Wrestling against the influence of every 
 thing they had formerly cherished, they were not to be stopped 
 in their path by " the solemn plausibilities of custom." Chris- 
 tianity proclaimed against every development of Paganism a 
 rigid and uncompromising hostihty. And we learn from the 
 Epistle to the Corinthians, the extent to which this was 
 carried. It entered into every arrangement of domestic life, 
 and the more scrupulous even entertained doubts whether 
 meat purchased at public sale in the market, but which had 
 formed part of a sacrifice, might not be dangerously polluting 
 to the Christian who partook of it. This sensitiveness induced 
 them to appeal to the judgment of the Apostle, and in the 
 Epistle he gives his decision on this point.* 
 
 Again — the faith which Christianity came to overthrow was 
 interwoven with all that was lofty in the literature of the 
 ancients. Uproot the former, and the latter became at once 
 
 * 1 Cor. chap. viii. 
 22* 
 
258 PAGAN MYTHOLOaY. 
 
 stripped of its meaning. Take, for instance, their tragedies, 
 all founded on their mythology, and we can see that to theur 
 eyes they must have been invested with a degree of sanctity. 
 UnHke the Drama of modern times, which resorts to the basest 
 passions of our nature, the spirit of their rehgion pervaded 
 them. "The characters were demigods or heroes; the sub- 
 jects were often the destinies of those lines of the mighty 
 which had their beginning among the eldest deities. So far, 
 in the development of their plots, were the poets from appeal- 
 ing to mere sensibility, that they scarcely deigned to awaken 
 an anxious throb, or draw forth a human tear. In their works, 
 we see the catastrophe from the beginning, and feel its influ- 
 ence at every step, as we advance majestically along the solemn 
 avenue which it closes. There is httle struggle ; the doom of 
 the heroes is fixed on high, arid they pass, in sublime compo- 
 sure, to fulfil their destiny. Their sorrows are awful — their 
 deaths religious sacrifices to the powers of Heaven-. The glory 
 that plays about their heads is the prognostic of their fate. 
 A consecration is shed over their brief and sad career, which 
 takes away all the ordinary feelings of suffering. Their afflic- 
 tions are sacred, their passions inspired by the gods, their fates 
 prophesied in elder time, their deaths almost festal. All things 
 are tinged with sanctity in the Greek tragedies. Bodily pain 
 is made sublime — destitution and wretchedness are rendered 
 sacred. All the human figures are seen, sublime in attitude, 
 and exquisite in finishing ; while, in the dim background, 
 appear the shapes of eldest gods, and the solemn abstractions 
 
PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 259 
 
 of life, fearfully embodied — * Death the skeleton and Time the 
 shadow.' Surely there was something more in all this, than a 
 vivid picture of the sad realities of our human existence."* 
 Nowhere, indeed, do we learn so much of the true spirit of the 
 ancient faith as in these productions of Grecian genius. In the 
 stem and lofty scenes of Prometheus, with its dark allegories 
 and its lessons of a terrible fatality — as we have already re- 
 marked — we trace the outline of some older and almost 
 forgotten creed ; and in the choral odes of Euripides we read 
 the doctrines of a faith — the providence of the Supreme Ruler, 
 the immortality of the soul, and the future state of retribution 
 — which was believed by those who then thronged the tem- 
 ples of Athens. 
 
 We can readily conceive, therefore, how difficult it must 
 have been for them to sever their minds and affections from 
 these old associations. In all ages this literature has retained 
 its hold even upon those who believed not in the faith on which 
 it was founded, and to whom it offered no higher claim than 
 that of mere poetic beauty. When Julian the Apostate en- 
 deavored to degrade the intellect of the Christian teachers, he 
 closed against them these storehouses of the past, and prohibited 
 all instruction in Hellenic learning. And it was in vain that 
 they endeavored to supply the want. A Christian Pindar and 
 a Christian Homer were written, with the sentiments and views 
 of the new faith interwoven with the words of the original 
 
 * Metros. Review, v. i. p. 12. 
 
260 PAGAN JVIYTHOLOGY. 
 
 poets ; but the expedient was fruitless. There was too sad a 
 contrast between the life and spirit of Homer and the weariness 
 of his labored copy. Christian thoughts and images would not 
 blend with the language of classic authors, and these parodies 
 retained their place no longer than the student was debarred 
 from the perusal of their great models. At the death of Ju- 
 lian, they were thrown aside even in the Christian schools ; and 
 in the words of the historian of that day — " The works of these 
 men, [the two Apollinares,] are now of no greater importance 
 than if they had never been written."* 
 
 How impressive, then, must they have been to those who 
 were from childhood devout believers in the old mythology ! 
 For if, in these later days, our poets are obliged to resort to 
 supernatural influences to give a charm to their verse, summon- 
 ing the fairy from the forest — the gnome from the mine — and 
 the fiend from his abode of darkness — though no teaching of 
 our religion warrants the use of such agency — we can imagine 
 how much higher must have been the inspiration of the ancient 
 legends which, with those who used them, were matters of ab- 
 solute faith. It gave a solemn interest to their theme, and 
 invested it with a reverence as something half divine. It was 
 this which endowed Homer with such power over the minds 
 of his ancient hearers. There was something higher than the 
 mere excitement of his stirring descriptions, for he had em- 
 bodied in his verse those stories from their mythology which 
 
 * Socrates^ Eccles. Hist. Ifiii. ch. x?<d. 
 
PAGAN :aiYTHOLOaY. 261 
 
 to them were more than fables. The ground on which they 
 trod was sacred. 
 
 And so it was at Rome, when the conquerors of the world 
 had inherited the faith of the Greeks, and in another tongue 
 offered that worship whose true home was on the heights of 
 Phyle, and among the ohve-groves of the Ilyssus. On this her 
 historians based their narratives ; and when Livy collected the 
 ancient heroic traditions which had come down with the bal- 
 lads of the early Romans, and bequeathed them as veritable 
 chronicles to later ages, we can trace everywhere the poetry of 
 their mythology. On this, too, Virgil founded his poem, and 
 it gave a new interest to the distant Alban Mount, that he 
 represented the Queen of Heaven as watching from thence the 
 changing fortimes of the fight, when the Latin and Trojan 
 armies were contending on the plain below. Her orators, too, 
 invoked the aid of the gods when called to address their coun- 
 trymen, and the patriot appealed to them in confirmation of 
 the truth of all he uttered. Even Cicero, whatever philosoph- 
 ical doubts he might elsewhere express, when pleading for 
 Milo, turned to the magnificent temple of Jupiter Latiaris, in 
 full view from the Forum where he stood, and burst forth into 
 the eloquent apostrophe : " Tuque, ex tuo edito monte, Latiari- 
 ris Sancte Jupiter, cujus ilia lacus nemora fines que," &c. 
 Thus, the Hellenic mythology became interwoven with all their 
 intellectual life, and there was no department of learning in 
 which its influence could not be discerned. And yet, Christian- 
 ity aimed a blow at all this lofty hterature. By prostrating 
 
262 PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 the faith on which it was built up, it stripped the labors of the 
 poet of all their sanctity, and instead of a religious lesson, re- 
 duced them to fictions of the imagination. 
 
 Again — another difficulty in the way of the new faith was, 
 that at Rome Paganism was supported by the whole power of 
 the state. " It was a state religion, guarded and fought for 
 by the armed strength of the most powerful government of the 
 greatest of all empires. Thousands and tens of thousands 
 owed their daily bread to their connection with that rehgion. 
 Millions on milHons had identified it with all their conceptions 
 of life, of enjoyment, and of that obscure hope in which the 
 heathen saw a life to come. The noble families of Rome owed 
 
 to it a large portion of their rank and influence There is 
 
 indeed no instance on record of a religion so strongly imbedded 
 in the passions, prospects, and general influence of a govern- 
 ment and nobility. The connection between the Church and 
 State was at once of the most extensive and the most intimate 
 
 nature The Emperor himself was the High Priest 
 
 The noble might be a priest, without relinquishing the sternest 
 prizes of ambition. He might on one day lead the procession 
 to the temple of Jove as a pontifi", and on the next as a consul 
 and conqueror. Emolument, influence, the sanctity attached 
 to the official rank, all bound the nobles to the Pagan estab- 
 lishment. There was no worldly penalty to repel the union. 
 The ensigns of poHtical power were not to be laid down by the 
 hand that took up the Augural staff": the armor might be 
 worn under the sacrificial robe. The bloodshed of civil war — 
 
PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 263 
 
 the ambition which usurped the state — even the deepest ex- 
 cesses of the luxury of Rome, were not incompatible with the 
 etercise of the priesthood, by the long succession of fierce 
 rivals to the throne. The rank of the Chief Pontiff was for 
 life, and his power was worthy of all but Imperial envy. He 
 commanded the whole religious ministry. So, too, the ap- 
 parent trifling of the Augurs included the material of great 
 public power. The Augur hostile to the newly-elected Consul 
 could drive him from the ivory chair, by the simple declaration 
 that the heavens were unpropitious.* This formidable in- 
 fluence rendered a seat in the College of Augurs of the great- 
 est importance to all who contemplated the high offices of the 
 state Thus the priesthood of ancient Rome was cement- 
 ed into the state. The nobiUty, instead of looking with envy 
 at its wealth — with contempt at its pacific pursuits— or with 
 hostility at its power — felt an interest in the security of the 
 great Hierarchy, in whose honors they were to possess the 
 principal share, and in whose strength was to consist so large a 
 portion of their own. It was a gigantic growth of pohcy and 
 power, rooted in the very centre of the Roman constitution — 
 shooting its fibres through every corner of the Empire — and 
 towering to a height and expansion beneath which all other 
 idolatries were at once sheltered and thrown into eclipse, "f 
 From this mighty system, which had thus gathered, into 
 
 * Plutarch in Marcello. 
 
 f Altered from Groly on the Apocalypse, pp. 210, 218, 216. 
 
264 PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 itself every hope and interest, Christianity alone stood apart 
 as something distinct and separate. It had no sympathy with 
 this proud monument of Roman greatness. The new converts 
 seemed to merge their interest in whatever was national, in 
 that bond of brotherhood which bound them to their fellow- 
 believers over the whole earth. They even held lightly the 
 ties which united to family and country, and their gloomy and 
 austere aspect rendered them everywhere different from the 
 rest of mankind. Against that Paganism which was the life 
 of the Empire, they avowed the most relentless hostility. 
 And these separate societies were springing up in all parts of 
 its widely-extended dominion — obeying their own rulers, gov- 
 erned by their own code of laws — and renouncing all obedience 
 to Rome, where the Imperial edicts conflicted with the regu- 
 lations of that new system which they had adopted. And this 
 fraternity was banded together by the closest interests, exhib- 
 iting an unbroken front, which alone constituted strength. It 
 was a mighty army, which " covered the face of the whole 
 earth." It spread through every rank of society, winning its 
 proselytes among both high and low. It included all, from 
 the inmate of Caesar's palace to the captive in the dungeon. 
 Persecution could not turn them from their behef, but they 
 were gifted with principles whose steadfastness faltered not in 
 view of the fire and the stake. Is it wonderful, therefore, that 
 the adherents of the old faith looked upon this wide-spread 
 fellowship with suspicion and distrust ? 
 
 There had, indeed, always been a feeling in the Roman mind 
 
PAGAIS^ MYTHOLOGY. 265 
 
 which connected the permanency of his country's glory with 
 the preservation of its religion. He looked upon this as a 
 pledge of safety to the Empire, and old tradition had impressed 
 the lesson, that when faith decayed the day of Roman domin- 
 ion would pass away forever. For ages the god Terminus, 
 whose altar never receded, might be regarded as the tutelary 
 deity of Rome — ^her ambition deified and brought visibly be- 
 ore the people. The religious Calendar, too — a half-year of 
 which has been preserved in the Fasti of Ovid — ^remains a 
 record of the manner in which the services of rehgion were 
 made to advance political ends. It is not intended to bring 
 before the minds of the worshippers those solemn events which 
 concern their spuritual interests, for but a single ceremonial 
 only is devoted to the doctrine of another life', but it seems in- 
 tended to minister to Roman pride — mingling with the ancient 
 legends of Greece, a commemoration of the old heroic deeds in 
 then* early day, when the state was sti-uggling for existence, 
 or else some act of the reigning family, which was thus em- 
 balmed for posterity. And around them in the city were 
 countless temples, many of which were votive offerings for 
 national deliverances. Above the Capitol itself towered in 
 majesty fifty shrines or temples, the very names of which — 
 Janus, Romulus, Caesar, and Victory — reminded the dweller 
 there of something in the annals of his land, while to many of 
 them ages of glory had attached a sanctity which associated 
 them with all he reverenced in the majesty of Rome. Con- 
 nected, therefore, as their faith was with all in which they felt 
 
 23 
 
266 PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 a pride, from the stern days of the republic down to the 
 splendors of the Imperial sway, they contended for it on ac- 
 count of their veneration — 
 
 " For the ashes of their fathers 
 And the temples of their gods," 
 
 And we trace this feehng through all the ages of the conflict 
 between our faith and Paganism, until the final triumph of 
 Christianity over the pride and power of its foe. The Romans 
 ever clung to the remembrance of older and more glorious 
 times ; and when, therefore, the horizon darkened and clouds 
 began to lower, they naturally turned to the neglect of their 
 ancient faith as the cause of these impending evils. The gods, 
 through whose protection they had grown to power, had been 
 estranged, and the forsaken city was now to reap the reward 
 of its ingratitude. They beheld around them deserted temples, 
 and altars on which the fire of sacrifice was extinguished, and 
 to this they ascribed the crisis of terror and calamity which 
 had overtaken them. As, therefore, the Christian faith ad- 
 vanced, and each year beheld greater multitudes estranged 
 from their ancient worship, and avowing their contempt for the 
 rites of their fathers, it is no wonder that the feeling also gath- 
 ered strength that the progress of the new religion and the 
 downfall of Roman glory were linked together. They, of 
 course, could not comprehend the nature of Christ's spiritual 
 kingdom, and listened with a vague fear to prophecies half un- 
 derstood, which set forth the future triumph of His cause. 
 They heard of the e^tabhshment of His throne on earth, and 
 
PAGAISr MYTHOLOGY. 267 
 
 they expected it to be visibly erected, while the glory of the 
 Empire should fade away before it. And perhaps the very 
 tone adopted by the Christian writers increased this apprehen- 
 sion. It was with unsparing severity that they denounced the 
 popular idolatry, and uttered their threats against that gigantic 
 power which was then overshadowing the earth. Rome was 
 to them the prophetical Babylon of the Apocalypse, and when 
 the heathen tyrannized, they muttered predictions of the 
 plagues which were to overtake her, and the fearful ruin which 
 was at hand. They felt, therefore, no sympathy for her mis- 
 fortunes, and from the lips of the more fanatical or the un- 
 guarded, expressions of triumph may have burst, as they 
 recognised in these tribulations the hand of the Son of Man 
 taking vengeance on tlieir persecutors. 
 
 When, therefore, the last days of the Imperial City drew 
 nigh, and her enemies gathered more closely around her, su- 
 perstition awoke, and crowds, in the agony of their fear, rushed 
 once more to the long- deserted shrines. As the aspect of the 
 times grew more dark, they looked around for some victims to 
 propitiate the offended gods, and who could they select but 
 those apostates from their worship, whose blood must now re- 
 pair the evil and avert the indignation of the deities they had 
 estranged ? These were the days of martyrdom, when the 
 Christian host was called to furnish its sacrifices to the flames, 
 as often as the multitude in frantic terror wished to show their 
 devotion to their national gods. The superstitious, who really 
 believed in the deities whose shrines were around them — the 
 
268 PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 patriotic, who looked to the past with passionate regret, and 
 grasped at any thing which thej vainly supposed would restore 
 the ancient glory of the Empire — and the countless thousands, 
 whose taste for blood, maddened in the amphitheatre, made 
 them eagerly welcome any victims — all were ready to unite in 
 the cry — " To the wild beasts with the despisers of the gods !" 
 And so it continued until in the fifth century the long agony 
 was closed by the capture of Rome by the Goths. In this day 
 we can scarcely conceive of the shock which this event gave to 
 the whole civilized world. It was striking a blow at its very 
 heart, and all who bore the Roman name, even in the most 
 distant provinces, started up wildly, as if some dream of secu- 
 rity had been rudely broken. It was a disastrous consumma- 
 tion to which they appear jiever to have looked forward. 
 When barbarians broke through the frontier, and province after 
 province fell before them, they still seemed never to imagine 
 that the torrent could overwhelm the Imperial City. Rome 
 to them was invested with a shadowy power, as the inheritance 
 of long ages of glory — a mysterious existence with which they 
 had identified the life of the Empire. But now these illusions 
 were suddenly dispelled, and she had ceased to be the Mistress 
 of the world. And thus was deepened and confirmed the feel- 
 ing which ascribed this destruction to the loss of the ancient 
 faith under which they had once expanded into greatness, and 
 everywhere among the scattered exiles murmurs of indignation 
 were heard against the rehgion which had wrought this aliena- 
 tion of their gods. 
 
PAGAlSr IHYTHOLOaY. 269 
 
 Then it was that St. Augustine came forward, and in his 
 great work, " The City of God," replied to these impeach- 
 ments, and silenced the arguments against the new faith. With 
 a masterly hand he sketched the influence of ancient heathen- 
 ism, and arraying before his readers its vices and superstition, 
 uttered his loud gratulation that its day was over, and vrith the 
 fall of the mystic Babylon tl» reign of idolatry had passed 
 away forever. And then, with the glowing imagination which 
 characterized the African mind, he portrayed the true " City 
 of God" which was to rise upon its ruins, and become the 
 reality of what that had only been the type and shadow. It 
 was to be a new dynasty, without limit and without end — the 
 realization of the prophet's dream — the Empire of Empires. 
 Thus before his eyes floated the glorious vision which after 
 ages were to see embodied in the Church of Christ, as it went 
 on to fulfil its lofty destiny, spreading peace and pm*ity through 
 this world, and becoming in the next, the City of the Children 
 of the Resurrection. This was his solemn requiem over the 
 dying throes of Paganism. 
 
 We have thus seen the difficulties there were in preaching the 
 Gospel at Rome — ^how stupendous the system to be over- 
 thrown, sustained, as it was, by old hereditary reverence — en- 
 twined with every action of daily life-^nd guarded by a wide- 
 spread hierarchy, and the power of the most powerful Empire 
 which ever existed. Yet this mighty fabric was smitten to the 
 dust. The antagonist, who once threatened to crush the rising 
 
 faith, became a captive, bound to the chariot-wheels of its 
 
 23* 
 
270 PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 triumphant conqueror. Rome, it is true, was purple with the 
 blood of martyrs, and three hundred years of suffering were to 
 be endured; yet the price was paid and the end attained. It 
 was only step by step that the victory was won, and it is a singu- 
 lar fact, that Paganism is the only religion whose gradual decay 
 has been chronicled, so that we are now able to trace its pro- 
 gress, from the palmy days of^its power, to its last expiring 
 struggle. Other systems have passed away, and, from the ad- 
 vance of civilization or the changes which were going on in the 
 world, lost their influence over their votaries. We know that 
 they once existed, but the human mind began at last to tire of 
 their superstitions, or they were only adapted to the days of 
 its childhood, and it therefore outgrew them. Thus they 
 faded from the earth, and looking back to the dim ages of the 
 past, we see that they have gone. But this is all we know. 
 We are unacquainted with the interests and passions which 
 struggled in their favor, or how they were repressed. We are 
 ignorant of the successive stages of then* progress, as they 
 waned into extinction, or at what precise time their dissolution 
 took place. History has condescended to assist at the funeral 
 of Paganism alone.* 
 
 It was at Rome that this battle was chiefly fought, because 
 there it was in eye of tile whole world — an arena, as it were, 
 surrounded by countless millions. There the Pagan interest 
 
 * Histoire de la Destruction du Paganisme en Occident. Par A. 
 £eiignot, t. L p. 2. 
 
PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 271 
 
 rallied its strength, and ojQTered the only long-protracted re- 
 sistance. In the East, it was often a war of intellect, in which 
 sophists wrangled for systems, which really had but little hold 
 upon their aflfections ; and at Athens, was a philosophy which 
 had already enfeebled their attachment to the ancient faith. 
 In Rome alone was the seat of its power, and there its strength 
 was concentrated, and a jealous power watched around its de- 
 parting energies till the struggle was closed in its extinction. 
 The Church, in the Imperial City, was founded long before St. 
 Paul wrote his Epistle, for it is addressed to those who are 
 already established in the faith, and the visit he proposed was 
 merely to take them on his way to Spain.* It had grown up 
 unmarked, under teachers whose names are now lost to us. 
 In the days of Nero, the Roman Christians had already out- 
 grown all feehngs of contempt, and become formidable in the 
 eyes of the ruling power, or they would not have awakened 
 so fully the indignation of the people, or been selected as the 
 victuns of persecution. In a time of general distress, when 
 the flames had desolated the city, and popular fury sought 
 some object on which to expend itself, no small and obscure 
 sect would have been a sufficient or acceptable offering. And 
 thus, gathering strength in the home of Paganism, the leaven 
 gradually spread through the whole Empire ; and while men 
 woke and slept, and ambition ran its career, and none thought 
 of the mighty influence which was growing up among them, 
 
 * Rom. XV. 24. 
 
272 PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 the new faith was laying broadly its foundations, and under- 
 mining the lofty temple of heathenism. 
 
 For the first century, the outward face of society seemed 
 unchanged. The temples and shrines, undiminished in number, 
 were still open to their worshippers, and the services went on 
 us usual. It was long even before the decreasing attendance 
 ' t the games and festivals could be noticed ; or the heathen 
 priests began to murmur at the waning devotion of the age, 
 and at the scantier offerings which rewarded their ministry, 
 it was far beneath the surface that the change was going on — 
 in silence and secrecy the Christian faith was maturing its 
 strength, before it came forth publicly to claim the dominion 
 of the earth. Its proselytes dwelt apart by themselves — " a 
 peculiar people" — and it was only by their rigid seclusion, and 
 their sullen absence from the popular amusements, that their 
 neighbors knew they had become believers in the new and un- 
 social creed. They alone abstained from the games and the 
 amphitheatre, partly on account of the sanguinary character 
 or licentious tendency of some of the exhibitions, and partly 
 because they were all founded on some fables of the old my- 
 thology — ^were often performed in honor of particular deities — 
 and had the temples themselves been closed, would have pre- 
 served alive, in the minds of the people, a remembrance of 
 their ancient faith. But the Christians knew that the hour of 
 their triumph was at hand, and they were willing to bide their 
 time. They were confident that each year would find the 
 courts of the heathen temples trodden by fewer worshippers. 
 
PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 273 
 
 till silence reigned where once thronging multitudes were 
 seen — the daily sacrifice cease — and the air be no longer pol- 
 luted by the smoke of victims, where formerly hecatombs were 
 offered. And so it proved : and before the last of those who 
 had seen their Lord in the flesh had sunk to his rest, throngs 
 passed the deserted porticoes of the temple on then- way to 
 the secret worship of the Christians. 
 
 It was in the reign of Trajan, that Christianity in the prov- 
 inces seems first to have expanded from its safe obscurity to 
 a prominence — proof, indeed, of its growth, yet dangerous to 
 its followers. The former persecutions had been confined to 
 the Imperial City, or else were mere local outbreaks of popu- 
 lar fury. But now, at length, a cry of distress is heard — 
 complaints are made of diminished sacrifices and deserted tem- 
 ples — and the strength of the civil power is invoked to sustain 
 the failing energies of Paganism. We see this in the memo- 
 rable correspondence between Pliny and the Emperor. Yet 
 still no general edict condemned the Christians to punishment. 
 And so it was through the reign- of Hadrian, who seems to 
 have tampered with all religions, and cared for none. At one 
 time avowing the principles of a stem philosophy, and then, in 
 his luxurious villa, whose massive ruins near, the Alban hills, 
 even now excite the wonder of the traveller, giving way to all 
 the pleasures of an Epicurean — at Rome, the upholder of the 
 national faith — in the East, an inquirer into the secrets of 
 magic, and an initiated votary of the Eleusinian mysteries — 
 and even receiving, without mark of disapprobation, the works 
 
274 PAGAK MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 of the Christian Apologists — his reign was characterized by a 
 general toleration, which gave a breathing time to the rising 
 faith, and enabled it to present its arguments where formerly 
 its voice was never heard. And the effect of this was seen 
 under the mild and parental reign of his successor, Antoninus 
 Pius, in the loftier tone assumed by the Apologists of Christi- 
 anity, and the boldness with which they preferred their claim 
 to supremacy over the human mind, in opposition to the old 
 and still dominant faith. 
 
 But this truce could not last. Christianity was rapidly grow- 
 ing into a rival power, and assuming a stand which naturally 
 arrayed against it the jealousy and hatred of Paganism. It 
 was becoming a foe not to be despised, and the heathen power 
 seems at last to have awakened to a consciousness that the 
 struggle on which it was entering was one for life or death — 
 that the faith on which it had always looked down must now 
 be crushed, or it would uproot their ancient and time-honored 
 system. In the reign, therefore, of Marcus Aurelius, the Phi- 
 losopher, we witness the first general persecution of our reli- 
 gion. Those under Nero and Domitian, as we before re- 
 marked, did not extend beyond the City of Rome, and that 
 under Trajan was confined to a particular province. But now 
 edicts were to go forth, through the whole wide-spread Empire, 
 to vindicate the insulted majesty of the ancient faith, and to 
 authorize everywhere the cry which the multitude were so 
 ready to raise, " Away with the godless !" Perhaps, we 
 should have looked for a different result from the liberal 
 
PAGAN MYTHOLOaY. 2^5 
 
 studies and philosophical mind of the Emperor. We might 
 rather have expected that he would have regarded with con- 
 temptuous indifference, these aberrations from the prevailing 
 belief. But there were other causes at work to influence his 
 conduct. The very position which Christianity had assumed 
 may have produced alarm. Its gathering thousands, to be 
 found everywhere, in the city and the camp — the increasing 
 opulence and power of its members — and the bold and lofty 
 tone in which they arraigned the popular idolatry — ^may have 
 startled even the occupant of the throne with the idea, that a 
 dangerous enemy was rising up. Its voice could not but reach 
 even to Caesar's palace, for it was rapidly creating a Uterature 
 of its own ; and while, in the West, Irenseus, Bishop of Lyons, 
 attacked the errors which were prevalent among the Orientals, 
 on the shores of Africa the fiery Tertullian hurled his defiance, 
 not unmingled with scorn, at their ancient Pagan foes. Per- 
 haps, too, the pride of authorship may have had some influence, 
 for the Emperor himself had advocated before the world the 
 doctrines of the Porch, and, instead of the respectful deference 
 for which he looked, found his arguments were treated with 
 contempt by men, who, unable to appreciate the elegance of the 
 Greek in which they were written, denounced the entire sys- 
 tem as " the doctrines of devils." But, more than all, was the 
 influence of those troubles, to which we have before alluded, 
 as gathering around the falUng Empire. There were " wars 
 and rumors of wars, famines and pestilences, and earthquakes 
 in divers places ; upon the earth distress of nations, with per- 
 
276 PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 plexity, men's hearts failing them for fear, and for looking after 
 those things which were coming on the earth." The Emperor 
 himself was obliged to leave his Lanuvian villa and the quiet 
 studies of philosophy, and in the field of battle, on the distant 
 Danube, contend for the honor of his tottering throne, with 
 the rude and barbarous foe which poured like a torrent from 
 the North. It is not strange, then, when popular fury loudly 
 demanded the punishment of the Christians, and the priest- 
 hood promised, with returning reverence for the forsaken gods, 
 there should also be a return of the golden days, that the phi- 
 losophy of the Emperor gave way, and he yielded to that 
 superstition from which even the most skeptical can never free 
 themselves. 
 
 Then came the edict which surrendered up the Christians tc 
 the violence of their enemies, and that persecution arose which 
 has given to the annals of the Church its brightest examples of 
 lofty heroism and unfaltering faith. Then died at Rome, Jus- 
 tin, the eloquent apologist of Christianity — at Smyrna, the 
 aged Polycarp, whose martyrdom furnishes one of the most 
 striking narratives in Christian history — and in the West, ''the 
 martyrs of Vienne," when the rage of the adversaries, foiled 
 by a courage stronger than death, vented itself on the mangled 
 remains of their victims, which were flung into the Rhone, in 
 mockery of their hopes of a future resurrection. 
 
 But the palmy days of Rome had now passed away, and 
 during the disastrous period between the death of the last An- 
 tonine and the accession of Diocletian, the clouds which had 
 
PAGA]S^ MYTHOLOGY. 277 
 
 overspread the Empire gathered more darkly around. While 
 without, the barbarians were pressing on the provinces, and 
 each year narrowing the circle which separated them from the 
 Imperial City — within, the throne was seized by a rapid suc- 
 cession of rivals, often foreigners from Africa and Thrace, and 
 the people were the unresisting victims of their imbecility and 
 vice. The short reign of Alexander Severus could not atone 
 for the miseries inflicted by the brutal Commodus, the effemi- 
 nate Elagabalus, or the savage Maximin. Yet, during all this 
 time the faith steadily advanced ; and it is probable, indeed, 
 that the sufferings which on every side pressed upon the peo- 
 ple, accelerated its progress. Men looked around for some- 
 thing to compensate them for the inevitable troubles of Ufe, 
 and with nothing to hope for in this world, they eagerly 
 grasped at those joys of the next which the faith held out to 
 them. The insult, too, which Elagabalus offered to the ancient 
 religion, must have still further broken down all reverence in 
 the minds of men, and aided to undermine the already tottering 
 edifice of Paganism. A Syrian by birth, and at one time a 
 priest of the Sun, he introduced into Rome those ancient rites 
 of Baalpeor which once excited the horror of the Jews. The 
 nuptials of this deity with Astarte, the Queen of Heaven, were 
 celebrated with bridal festivity, and the trembling senators were 
 forced to follow in the Emperor's train, wliile he danced with 
 frantic gestures before the car of the god.* Every lingering 
 
 * Oihhon, chap, vl 
 24 
 
278 PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 feeling of Roman decency was outraged by the foreign licen- 
 tious rites thus forced upon them, while it made the purer 
 morals of Christianity stand forth with a contrast which must 
 have awakened the attention of many who before had been in- 
 different. The simple faith of the Nazarenes must have fur- 
 nished a welcome refuge to those who were revolted by the 
 degrading sensuality of the East.* 
 
 The last public conflict between Christianity and Paganism 
 was now to take place — the last at least which deserves the 
 name — when for a series of years the whole strength of the 
 civil power was vigorously exerted to suppress the faith, and 
 to quench it in the blood of its martyrs. But the growth of 
 three hundred years had gifted it with a might which no 
 human power could crush. It was prepared, therefore, to 
 meet once more the ancient Polytheism, even though it had 
 lately leagued itself with the party of the Platonic Philosophy, 
 and to engage in a contest which was to be final in its issue. 
 Thus stood the contending parties when the fatal crisis came. 
 After long hesitation Diocletian issued his edict, commanding 
 all churches of the Christians to be levelled with the ground. 
 
 * We learn from a passage in Eusebius, the strength of the Church in 
 the city of Kome at this time. He speaks of one bishop, forty-six pres- 
 byters, seven deacons, seven sub-deacons, forty-two acoluthi, (clerks,) 
 exorcists, readers, and janitors — in all, fifty-two ; widows, with the afflict- 
 ed and needy, supported by the Church, more than fifteen himdred And 
 in the next sentence, he refers to the laity as " the innmnerable multi- 
 tude of the people." — Ecclen. Hist. lib. vi. ch. 43. 
 
PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 2T9 
 
 and aiming at the annihilation of the hostile faith through the 
 whole Empire. In every part of the world death awaited 
 those who dared to profess their reverence for the Cross — one 
 rescript after another was published, each more barbarous than 
 the last — and everywhere the faithful found themselves com- 
 mitted to desperate strife with those who sought their utter 
 extermination. And if at any time the Emperor seemed in- 
 clined to relent, his associate Galerius was ready to infuse 
 suspicions into his mind, and to madden it with the hostihty 
 which inflamed his own. But all was in vain. The prisons 
 were filled — the mines were crowded with their victims — 
 thousands died in the flames and at the stake — ^new torments 
 were invented to gratify the rage of their enemies — and yet, 
 when six years of persecution had passed, the vigor of Chris- 
 tianity seemed undiminished, and thousands more were ever 
 ready to press forward in place of those who had died. 
 
 But the hour of triumph was at hand, and the victory of 
 Christianity was not to be that of unbending endurance alone. 
 Galerius was smitten with a deadly disease, and in the agonies 
 of his repentance turned to the faith he had persecuted. From 
 his dying bed he issued an edict repealing the severe statutes 
 against Christianity — permitting to its adherents the free exer- 
 cise of their religion — and even urging them to intercede for 
 him in their supplications to their God. Thus it was that Pa- 
 ganism was forced to acknowledge its defeat, when the confes- 
 sion wrung from the dying Emperor was published to the world. 
 Christianity came forth once more from its retreat — in its reno- 
 
280 PAGAN MYTHOLOaY. 
 
 vated temples the anthems of praise were heard from countless 
 thousands who had maintained their faith — and from the per- 
 secution of Diocletian the Church inherited some of her noblest 
 examples of martyrdom to animate the courage of all succeed- 
 ing ages. 
 
 A few years later, and the Emperor Constantine professed 
 the faith, and appeared before the world as the head of that 
 religion against which his predecessors had been arrayed. 
 Then came one decree after another, smiting the ancient hea- 
 thenism — closing its temples — depriving its priesthood of their 
 honors — till it gradually lost its influence over the public mind. 
 The Empire naturally followed by degrees the example of its 
 Imperial ruler, and thus the once despised Cross became a 
 badge of honor and glory. But among all the acts of Con- 
 stantine, the most fatal to the ancient religion was his removal 
 of the seat of Empire to the banks of the Bosphorus. Amid 
 the venerable temples of Rome, heathenism must have lingered 
 on for ages, for these scenes were connected with all the glories 
 of the past, and here were performed those solemn pomps in 
 which were blended the fables of the old mythology and the 
 historical recollections of their city's nobler days. It seemed, 
 therefore, the home of their national gods — gifted with an he- 
 reditary sanctity — and a latent superstition would have rested 
 in the minds even of those who believed not in their divinity. 
 Here Christianity could not stand forth prominent, or the mod- 
 est churches, hid in the Transteverine region, contrast with the 
 stately temples of heathenism, which towered above the Capi- 
 
PAGAN MYTHOLO 
 
 toline Hill m all the splendor which art coi 
 them. But the new city was free from all these associations. 
 It had no venerable temples or time-honored customs — no con- 
 secrated spots — no ancient superstitions. There the Christian 
 churches rose in a splendor unknown before, and men learned 
 to recognise the faith as the religion of the Empire, while the 
 ancient images of Paganism, if transferred from their former 
 seats, lost their sanctity, and became only works of art. There 
 was but little conflict on the pait of expiring Paganism. Its 
 end was mournful and undignified — not gilded by the gorgeous 
 sunset with which Gibbon has endeavored to color its closing 
 scenes. It had no martyrs, for it had no creed. 
 
 Once, indeed, a half-century later, it rose for a brief interval, 
 and struggled feebly for dominion. Julian the Apostate was 
 on the throne of the Empire, and lent his influence to revive 
 the ancient and exploded faith. And yet, though he endeav- 
 ored to restore the forms of this antiquated system, it was 
 something far different from the Paganism of ancient Rome. 
 It was mingled now with the tenets of philosophy, and thus he 
 attempted to fill once more its empty urn, and to infuse a new 
 spirit into its failing rites. But it was too late — the vitahty 
 and life were gone. The chill of death was already on the old 
 mythology, and all the art of Julian could only arouse it to 
 that brief and impotent struggle which is the precursor of dis- 
 solution. The city of Eleusis rose again into splendor, but he 
 could not restore the spirit of that idolatrj^ which there had 
 once its seat. In Constantinople every thing 1-eminded the in- 
 
 24* 
 
282 PAGAN MYTHOLOaY. 
 
 habitants of its Cliristian founder, and they had no sympathy, 
 therefore, with the change which was attempted to be forced 
 upon them. And even when the Emperor visited Antioch, 
 and endeavored to revive the Oriental worship of the Sun, he 
 was forced to hsten to the maledictory Psalm which the exci- 
 ted Christians chanted, as they passed in procession — " Con- 
 founded be all they that worship carved images and delight in 
 vain gods." The contest was, therefore, a brief one ; and 
 when Julian perished on the field of battle, and flinging up to 
 heaven his blood, exclaimed in his parting agony — '•' Gahlean ! 
 thou hast conquered !"* — that was the knell of Paganism. In 
 that hour it fell, never to rise again. The flickering hght 
 which had been rekindled among the dying embers of its altars, 
 was quenched forever. 
 
 For a while, indeed, its spirit lingered, particularly in places 
 consecrated by old associations, yet it never again appears in 
 alhance with the civil power. It is curious, too, to mark its 
 changing tone — to read the elaborate oration — " For the tem- 
 ples" — which Libanius addressed to the Emperor Theodosius, 
 when the fears of the heathen had been awakened by an Im- 
 perial command which directed the demolition of a stately 
 
 * This rests on the testimony of Theodoret, who thus describes the 
 death of Julian : — " It is said that directly after he had received the 
 wound, Julian took some of the blood in his hand, and threw it up to- 
 wards heaven, saying, ' Galilean ! thou hast conquered !' {T^svUtiKas, TdXi- 
 Xais.) So great was his stupidity, that thus, at one and the same instant, 
 he acknowledged his defeat, and gave utterance to blasphemy." — Eccles. 
 Hist, lib, iii ch. 25. 
 
PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 283 
 
 temple at Edessa. Paganism had now become a suppliant, 
 and was pleading in vain for its existence with the power on 
 which once it trampled. Its latest refuge was naturally in the 
 Imperial City, and there its last voice was heard, when Sym- 
 machus presented his plea in its behalf to the young Valen- 
 tinian. But through the veil of his eloquence, we see that he 
 writes with the consciousness of one who knows he is pleading 
 a hopeless cause, and his oration contrasts most strongly with 
 the bold and impassioned tone which marked the reply of St. 
 Ambrose. The Bishop of Milan pours out his bitter sarcasm 
 on those venerable traditions which once were the glory of 
 Rome, and scarcely condescending to argument, he appeals to 
 the passions of his audience, and strives to rouse them by all 
 the lofty themes which their faith supplied. He seems to re- 
 joice and triumph over their prostrate foe, whose earnest plea 
 he dismisses with contemptuous scorn. Thus slowly the 
 pageant of the ancient religion faded away, and the last 
 feeble remains of this once mighty system were buried be- 
 neath the ruins of the Western Empire. The Hues of a Chris- 
 tian poet describe the closing scenes of its history, when the 
 victory of Theodosius had made him master of Rome, and after 
 solemn debate the Roman senators passed over to the Christian 
 cause with all the influence of their old hereditary names. If, 
 therefore, St. Augustine's " City of God" may be regarded as 
 the solemn requiem of expiring Paganism, we may characterize 
 the poems of Prudentius as the proud anthem of triumphant 
 Christianity. 
 
284 PAGAl^ MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 Thus fell the ancient Classical Mythology. It was conse- 
 crated by all that was venerable in antiquity, and the genius 
 of many ages had lavished upon it their costliest treasures, yet 
 its destruction was entire. It was a ruin, which Gibbon pro- 
 nounces " perhaps the only example of the total extirpation of 
 any ancient and popular superstition."* It now lives only on 
 the page of history or in the illustrations of the poet, or it 
 points the argument of the philosopher as he reasons on the 
 changes through which the human mind has passed. 
 
 ' The intelligible forms of ancient poets, 
 The fair humanities of old religion. 
 The Power, the Beauty, and the Majesty, 
 That had her haimts in dale, or piny moimtain, 
 Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring, 
 Or chasms and wat'ry depths ; all these have vanished. 
 They live no longer in the faith of reason !"f 
 
 Fourteen centuries have rolled away since the power of Pa- 
 ganism was broken, and Rome still sits upon her " Seven 
 Hills ;" but what a change has passed over her since she was 
 the centre and home of that old mythology ! The landscape 
 is indeed unaltered, for yonder are the purple Alban Hills, 
 clothed in the rich verdure of which Horace spoke and to 
 which Propertius paid his tribute — the wide-spread Campagna 
 is there as of old — and we trace the Claudian aqueduct as it 
 goes sweeping on with its countless arches, until it is lost to 
 sight among the distant mountains where once stood the stately 
 
 * Gibbon, ch. xxviil f Coleridge's " Ficcolomini." 
 
PAGAK MYTHOLOGY. 285 
 
 palaces of Domitian. But still the outward aspect of every 
 thing proclaims the mighty revolution which has taken place. 
 As we stand upon the Capitoline Hill, we see around us the 
 mouldering rehcs of a departed faith. No smoke of sacrifice 
 ascends from this height — no altars are seen — the temples 
 which once crowned it are gone, and their columns and precious 
 marbles have been used to erect the Christian churches. Beside 
 us is the church of S. Maria d'Ara Coeli, built on the founda- 
 tion of the old Roman temple of Jupiter Feretrius, in which 
 the Spolia Opima were deposited ; and if it is the hour when 
 the shadows of evening are beginning to gather, the Vesper 
 Hymn of the monks will be borne plaintively to our ears. Be- 
 low, by the side of the deserted Forum, are the ancient tem- 
 ples of Antoninus and Faustus, of Venus and Rome, now con- 
 secrated by Christian names to the use of that faith which has 
 supplanted heathenism, while beyond, grand and solemn rise 
 the massive ruins of the Flavian amphitheatre. There Ignatius 
 died, and the blood of countless martyrs enriched its sands, as 
 they were " butchered to make a Roman holyday." But now, 
 the once despised Cross stands in the middle of the arena, and 
 often the voice of some humble monk may be heard on that 
 spot, as he preaches the faith of the Crucified, and his earnest 
 appeals send strange echoes through those galleries, which 
 once rang with the shouts of infuriated thousands, who were 
 feasting their eyes on the torments of the expiring Christians. 
 And there is the old monastic house from which St. Gregory 
 sent forth St. Augustine, now occupied by the white-robed 
 
286 PAGAN JVIYTHOLOGY. 
 
 Camaldolese — the church of St. Clement, where the Pelagian 
 heresy was formally condemned — and on the hill, that solitary 
 palm rises from the Garden of the Passionists. To the right, 
 covering the whole Palatine Hill like the wreck of some 
 mighty City, are seen the ruins of the palace of the Caesars ; 
 and amid crumbling walls and prostrate columns — where the 
 trees twine their roots through marble floors once trodden by 
 the masters of the world, and the tall grass and rank weeds 
 wave in wild luxuriance — rises the monastery of the Capuchin 
 monks, and prayer and praise are now heard where once Nero 
 held his sensual revelhngs. We turn away from these scenes, 
 and the Imperial City is before us in all her solemn and vener- 
 able magnificence. Yet she has put ofi" all trace of her heathen 
 origin. A wilderness of towers, and domes, and columns are 
 there, rising in the deep blue of an Italian sky — yet each pin- 
 nacle is gleaming with its cross — each edifice is devoted to the 
 worship of Him, whom once it was death here to name with 
 aught of reverence. And towering above all — on the very spot 
 where once were Nero's gardens, and which witnessed the 
 martyrdom of countless Christians — swells forth that miracle 
 of art, St. Peter's dome, surmounting the noblest structure the 
 world has ever seen, yet now the shrine of a faith before whose 
 resistless march the ancient Paganism of Rome was trampled 
 into the dust. 
 
PAGAN MYTHOLOaY. 28 Y 
 
 We have thus seen the progress of our faith, as in succession 
 it met every foe, and bowed itself to none. We have traced 
 it from the hour of its weakness in Judea until it triumphed 
 over the superstitions of the world, and amid the frail memo- 
 rials of earthly pomp and temporal dominion, founded that 
 dynasty which is without limit and without end — the substance, 
 of which all other dominions are but the shadows. And the nar- 
 rative carries with it its own solemn lesson. It is the truth, that 
 this faith is divine, or what was sown in weakness could never 
 thus have been raised in glory. A mere peasant of Galilee 
 could not have originated a system, which thus was to go on 
 from conquering to conquer, until it overthrew the profound 
 Philosophy of Greece and the deep-seated Paganism of Rome. 
 The eloquent historian who wrote the Decline and Fall of the 
 Roman Empire, has in vain endeavored to account for this phe- 
 nomenon from natural causes. But the five which he enumer- 
 ates could never have produced such a revolution. Not the 
 intolerant zeal of the Christians — or the clear development of 
 the doctrine of another life — or the miraculous powers ascribed 
 to the primitive Church — or the pure and austere morals of 
 its members — or even the union and discipline of the new 
 Christian community* — could alone have prostrated the pride 
 of human reasoning, and won men from luxurious vices which 
 it required the genius of Juvenal to delineate, persuading them 
 
 * Gibbon cliap. xv. 
 
288 PAGAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 everywhere to learn the lessons of self-denial and take up the 
 Cross. 
 
 We feel that we must look higher for a^olution of this diffi- 
 culty. We feel that God was with His Church, and its risen 
 Head was aiding it, or it could ne\er have survived the storm, 
 and come down to our day with its strength unimpaired. We 
 feel, too, that the past is a pledge for the future, and that time, 
 in its solemn march, shall bring before us as glorious realities, 
 the yet brighter things which the voice of prophecy has an- 
 nounced. We will plant our faith, then, on this cause which 
 has already stood the test of centuries. We will not be dis- 
 mayed, though the darkness gathers, and the hearts of men 
 are failing, but ask the question : " Watchman ! what of the 
 night ?" well knowing that the answer will be : " The night is 
 far spent, and the day is at hand." And when that morning 
 dawns, and in the hour of the Church's glory she stands upon 
 the Holy Mountain, and uplifts the anthem of triumph which 
 the redeemed shall sing forever, then they who have followed 
 the Lamb in the time of His conflict, shall share with Him His 
 crown and kingdom. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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