_MORDECAI._
ESTHER ii. 5, 6; iv. 1, 2; vi. 10, 11; ix. 1-4.
The hectic enthusiast who inspires Daniel Deronda with his passionate
ideas is evidently a reflection in modern literature of the Mordecai
of Scripture. It must be admitted that the reflection approaches a
caricature. The dreaminess and morbid excitability of George Eliot's
consumptive hero have no counterpart in the wise, strong Mentor of
Queen Esther; and the English writer's agnosticism has led her to
exclude all the Divine elements of the Jewish faith, so that on her
pages the sole object of Israelite devotion is the race of Israel. But
the very extravagance of the portraiture keenly accentuates what is,
after all, the most remarkable trait in the original Mordecai. We are
not in a position to deny that this man had a living faith in the God
of his fathers; we are simply ignorant as to what his attitude towards
religion was, because the author of the Book of Esther draws a veil
over the religious relations of all his characters. Still the one
thing prominent and pronounced in Mordecai is patriotism, devotion to
Israel, the expenditure of thought and effort on the protection of his
threatened people.
The first mention of the name of Mordecai introduces a hint of his
national connections. We read, "There was a certain Jew in Shushan the
palace, whose name was Mordecai, the son of Jair, the son of Shimei,
the son of Kish, a Benjamite; who had been carried away from Jerusalem
with the captives which had been carried away with Jeconiah king of
Judah, whom Nebuchadnezzar the king of Babylon had carried away."[266]
Curious freaks of exegesis have been displayed in dealing with this
passage. It has been thought that the Kish mentioned in it is no other
than the father of Saul, in which case the ages of the ancestors of
Mordecai must rival those of the antediluvians; and it has been
suggested that Mordecai is here represented as one of the original
captives from Jerusalem in the reign of Jeconiah, so that at the time
of Xerxes he must have been a marvellously old man, tottering on the
brink of the grave. On these grounds the genealogical note has been
treated as a fanciful fiction invented to magnify the importance of
Mordecai. But there is no necessity to take up any such position. It
would be strange to derive Mordecai from the far-off Benjamite farmer
Kish, who shines only in the reflected glory of his son, whereas we
have no mention of Saul himself. There is no reason to say that
another Kish may not have been found among the captives. Then it is
quite possible to dispose of the second difficulty by connecting the
relative clause at the beginning of verse 6--"who had been carried
away"--with the nearest antecedent in the previous sentence--viz.,
"Kish the Benjamite." If we remove the semi-colon from the end of
verse 5, the clauses will run on quite smoothly and there will be no
reason to go back to the name of Mordecai for the antecedent of the
relative; we can read the words thus--"Kish the Benjamite who had been
carried away," etc. In this way all difficulty vanishes. But the
passage still retains a special significance. Mordecai was a true Jew,
of the once royal tribe of Benjamin, a descendant of one of the
captive contemporaries of Jeconiah, and therefore most likely a scion
of a princely house. The preservation of his ancestral record gives us
a hint of the sort of mental pabulum on which the man had been
nurtured. Living in the palace, apparently as a porter, and possibly
as a eunuch of the harem, Mordecai would have been tempted to forget
his people. Nevertheless it is plain that he had cherished traditions
of the sad past, and trained his soul to cling to the story of his
fathers' sufferings in spite of all the distractions and dissipations
of a Persian court life. Though in a humbler sphere, he thus resembled
Artaxerxes' cup-bearer, the great patriot Nehemiah.
[266] Esther ii. 5, 6.
The peculiarity of Mordecai's part in the story is this, that he is
the moving spirit of all that is done for the deliverance of Israel at
a time of desperate peril without being at first a prominent
character. Thus he first appears as the guardian of his young cousin,
whom he has cherished and trained, and whom he now introduces to the
royal harem where she will play her more conspicuous part. Throughout
the whole course of events Mordecai's voice is repeatedly heard, but
usually as that of Esther's prompter. He haunts the precincts of the
harem, if by chance he may catch a glimpse of his foster child. He is
a lonely man now, for he has parted with the light of his home. He has
done this voluntarily, unselfishly--first, to advance the lovely
creature who has been committed to his charge, and secondly, as it
turns out, for the saving of his people. Even now his chief thought is
not for the cheering of his own solitude. His constant aim is to guide
his young cousin in the difficult path of her new career. Subsequently
he receives the highest honours the king can bestow; but he never
seeks them, and he would be quite content to remain in the background
to the end, if only his eager desire for the good of his people could
be accomplished by the queen who has learnt to lean upon his counsel
from her childhood. Such self-effacement is most rare and beautiful. A
subtle temptation to self-regarding ambition besets the path of every
man who attempts some great public work for the good of others in a
way that necessarily brings him under observation. Even though he
believes himself to be inspired by the purest patriotism, it is
impossible for him not to perceive that he is exposing himself to
admiration by the very disinterestedness of his conduct. The rare
thing is to see the same earnestness on the part of a person in an
obscure place, willing that the whole of his energy should be devoted
to the training and guiding of another, who alone is to become the
visible agent of some great work.
The one action in which Mordecai momentarily takes the first place
throws light on another side of his character. There is a secondary
plot in the story. Mordecai saves the king's life by discovering to
him a conspiracy. The value of this service is strikingly illustrated
by the historical fact that, at a later time, just another such
conspiracy issued in the assassination of Xerxes. In the distractions
of his foreign expeditions and his abandonment to self-indulgence at
home, the king forgets the whole affair, and Mordecai goes on his
quiet way as before, never dreaming of the honour with which it is to
be rewarded. Now this incident seems to be introduced to show how the
intricate wheels of Providence all work on for the ultimate
deliverance of Israel. The accidental discovery of Mordecai's
unrequited service when the king is beguiling the long hours of a
sleepless night by listening to the chronicles of his reign leads to
the recognition of Mordecai and the first humiliation of Haman, and
prepares the king for further measures. But the incident reflects a
side light on Mordecai in another direction. The humble porter is
loyal to the great despot. He is a passionately patriotic Jew; but his
patriotism does not make a rebel of him, nor does it permit him to
stand aside silently and see a villainous intrigue go on unmolested,
even though it is aimed at the monarch who is holding his people in
subjection. Mordecai is the humble friend of the great Persian king in
the moment of danger. This is the more remarkable when we compare it
with his ruthless thirst for vengeance against the known enemies of
Israel. It shows that he does not treat Ahasuerus as an enemy of his
people. No doubt the writer of this narrative wished it to be seen
that the most patriotic Jew could be perfectly loyal to a foreign
government. The shining examples of Joseph and Daniel have set the
same idea before the world for the vindication of a grossly maligned
people, who, like the Christians in the days of Tacitus, have been
most unjustly hated as the enemies of the human race. The capacity to
adapt itself loyally to the service of foreign governments, without
abandoning one iota of its religion or its patriotism, is a unique
trait in the genius of this wonderful race. The Zealot is not the
typical Jew-patriot. He is a secretion of diseased and decayed
patriotism. True patriotism is large enough and patient enough to
recognise the duties that lie outside its immediate aims. Its fine
perfection is attained when it can be flexible without becoming
servile.
We see that in Mordecai the flexibility of Jewish patriotism was
consistent with a proud scorn of the least approach to servility. He
would not kiss the dust at the approach of Haman, grand vizier though
the man was. It may be that he regarded this act of homage as
idolatrous--for it would seem that Persian monarchs were not unwilling
to accept the adulation of Divine honours; and the vain minister was
aping the airs of his royal master. But, perhaps, like those Greeks
who would not humble their pride by prostrating themselves at the
bidding of an Oriental barbarian, Mordecai held himself up from a
sense of self-respect. In either case it must be evident that he
showed a daringly independent spirit. He could not but know that such
an affront as he ventured to offer to Haman would annoy the great man.
But he had not calculated on the unfathomable depths of Haman's
vanity. Nobody who credits his fellows with rational motives would
dream that so simple an offence as this of Mordecai's could provoke so
vast an act of vengeance as the massacre of a nation. When he saw the
outrageous consequences of his mild act of independence, Mordecai must
have felt it doubly incumbent upon him to strain every nerve to save
his people. Their danger was indirectly due to his conduct. Still he
could never have foreseen such a result, and therefore he should not
be held responsible for it. The tremendous disproportion between
motive and action in the behaviour of Haman is like one of those
fantastic freaks that abound in the impossible world of "The Arabian
Nights," but for the occurrence of which we make no provision in real
life, simply because we do not act on the assumption that the universe
is nothing better than a huge lunatic asylum.
The escape from this altogether unexpected danger is due to two
courses of events. One of them--in accordance with the reserved style
of the narrative--appears to be quite accidental. Mordecai got the
reward he never sought in what seems to be the most casual way. He had
no hand in obtaining for himself an honour which looks to us quaintly
childish. For a few brief hours he was paraded through the streets of
the royal city as the man whom the king delighted to honour, with no
less a person than the grand vizier to serve as his groom. It was
Haman's silly vanity that had invented this frivolous proceeding. We
can hardly suppose that Mordecai cared much for it. After the
procession had completed its round, in true Oriental fashion Mordecai
put off his gorgeous robes, like a poor actor returning from the stage
to his garret, and settled down to his lowly office exactly as if
nothing had happened. This must seem to us a foolish business, unless
we can look at it through the magnifying glass of an Oriental
imagination, and even then there is nothing very fascinating in it.
Still it had important consequences. For, in the first place, it
prepared the way for a further recognition of Mordecai in the future.
He was now a marked personage. Ahasuerus knew him, and was gratefully
disposed towards him. The people understood that the king delighted to
honour him. His couch would not be the softer nor his bread the
sweeter; but all sorts of future possibilities lay open before him. To
many men the possibilities of life are more precious than the
actualities. We cannot say, however, that they meant much to
Mordecai, for he was not ambitious, and he had no reason to think that
the kings conscience was not perfectly satisfied with the cheap
settlement of his debt of gratitude. Still the possibilities existed,
and before the end of the tale they had blossomed out to very
brilliant results.
But another consequence of the pageant was that the heart of Haman was
turned to gall. We see him livid with jealousy, inconsolable until his
wife--who evidently knows him well--proposes to satisfy his spite by
another piece of fanciful extravagance. Mordecai shall be impaled on a
mighty stake, so high that all the world shall see the ghastly
spectacle. This may give some comfort to the wounded vanity of the
grand vizier. But consolation to Haman will be death and torment to
Mordecai.
Now we come to the second course of events that issued in the
deliverance and triumph of Israel, and therewith in the escape and
exaltation of Mordecai. Here the watchful porter is at the spring of
all that happens. His fasting, and the earnest counsels he lays upon
Esther, bear witness to the intensity of his nature. Again the
characteristic reserve of the narrative obscures all religious
considerations. But, as we have seen already, Mordecai is persuaded
that deliverance will come to Israel from some quarter, and he
suggests that Esther has been raised to her high position for the
purpose of saving her people. We cannot but feel that these hints veil
a very solid faith in the providence of God with regard to the Jews.
On the surface of them they show faith in the destiny of Israel.
Mordecai not only loves his nation; he believes in it. He is sure it
has a future. It has survived the most awful disasters in the past.
It seems to possess a charmed life. It must emerge safely from the
present crisis. But Mordecai is not a fatalist whose creed paralyses
his energies. He is most distressed and anxious at the prospect of the
great danger that threatens his people. He is most persistent in
pressing for the execution of measures of deliverance. Still in all
this he is buoyed up by a strange faith in his nation's destiny. This
is the faith that the English novelist has transferred to her modern
Mordecai. It cannot be gainsayed that there is much in the marvellous
history of the unique people, whose vitality and energy astonish us
even to-day, to justify the sanguine expectation of prophetic souls
that Israel has yet a great destiny to fulfil in future ages.
The ugly side of Jewish patriotism is also apparent in Mordecai, and
it must not be ignored. The indiscriminate massacre of the "enemies"
of the Jews is a savage act of retaliation that far exceeds the
necessity of self-defence, and Mordecai must bear the chief blame of
this crime. But then the considerations in extenuation of its guilt
which have already come under our notice may be applied to him.[267]
The danger was supreme. The Jews were in a minority. The king was
cruel, fickle, senseless. It was a desperate case. We cannot be
surprised that the remedy was desperate also. There was no moderation
on either side, but then "sweet reasonableness" is the last thing to
be looked for in any of the characters of the Book of Esther. Here
everything is extravagant. The course of events is too grotesque to be
gravely weighed in the scales that are used in the judgment of
average men under average circumstances.
[267] Page 358.
The Book of Esther closes with an account of the establishment of the
Feast of Purim and the exaltation of Mordecai to the vacant place of
Haman. The Israelite porter becomes grand vizier of Persia! This is
the crowning proof of the triumph of the Jews consequent on their
deliverance. The whole process of events that issues so gloriously is
commemorated in the annual Feast of Purim. It is true that doubts have
been thrown on the historical connection between that festival and the
story of Esther. It has been said that the word "Purim" may represent
the portions assigned by lot, but not the lottery itself; that so
trivial an accident as the method followed by Haman in selecting a day
for his massacre of the Jews could not give its name to the
celebration of their escape from the threatened danger; that the feast
was probably more ancient, and was really the festival of the new moon
for the month in which it occurs. With regard to all of these and any
other objections, there is one remark that may be made here. They are
solely of archæological interest. The character and meaning of the
feast as it is known to have been celebrated in historical times is
not touched by them, because it is beyond doubt that throughout the
ages Purim has been inspired with passionate and almost dramatic
reminiscences of the story of Esther. Thus for all the celebrations of
the feast that come within our ken this is its sole significance.
The worthiness of the festival will vary according to the ideas and
feelings that are encouraged in connection with it. When it has been
used as an opportunity for cultivating pride of race, hatred,
contempt, and gleeful vengeance over humiliated foes, its effect must
have been injurious and degrading. When, however, it has been
celebrated in the midst of grievous oppressions, though it has
embittered the spirit of animosity towards the oppressor--the
Christian Haman in most cases--it has been of real service in cheering
a cruelly afflicted people. Even when it has been carried through with
no seriousness of intention, merely as a holiday devoted to music and
dancing and games and all sorts of merry-making, its social effect in
bringing a gleam of light into lives that were as a rule dismally
sordid may have been decidedly healthy.
But deeper thoughts must be stirred in devout hearts when brooding
over the profound significance of the national festival. It celebrates
a famous deliverance of the Jews from a fearful danger. Now
deliverance is the keynote of Jewish history. This note was sounded as
with a trumpet blast at the very birth of the nation, when, emerging
from Egypt no better than a body of fugitive slaves, Israel was led
through the Red Sea and Pharaoh's hosts with their horses and chariots
were overwhelmed in the flood. The echo of the triumphant burst of
praise that swelled out from the exodus pealed down the ages in the
noblest songs of Hebrew Psalmists. Successive deliverances added
volume to this richest note of Jewish poetry. In all who looked up to
God as the Redeemer of Israel the music was inspired by profound
thankfulness, by true religious adoration. And yet Purim never became
the Eucharist of Israel. It never approached the solemn grandeur of
Passover, that prince of festivals, in which the great primitive
deliverance of Israel was celebrated with all the pomp and awe of its
Divine associations. It was always in the main a secular festival,
relegated to the lower plane of social and domestic entertainments,
like an English bank-holiday. Still even on its own lines it could
serve a serious purpose. When Israel is practically idolised by
Israelites, when the glory of the nation is accepted as the highest
ideal to work up to, the true religion of Israel is missed, because
that is nothing less than the worship of God as He is revealed in
Hebrew history. Nevertheless, in their right place, the privileges of
the nation and its destinies may be made the grounds of very exalted
aspirations. The nation is larger than the individual, larger than the
family. An enthusiastic national spirit must exert an expansive
influence on the narrow, cramped lives of the men and women whom it
delivers from selfish, domestic, and parochial limitations. It was a
liberal education for Jews to be taught to love their race, its
history and its future. If--as seems probable--our Lord honoured the
Feast of Purim by taking part in it,[268] He must have credited the
national life of His people with a worthy mission. Himself the purest
and best fruit of the stock of Israel, on the human side of His being,
He realised in His own great mission of redemption the end for which
God had repeatedly redeemed Israel. Thus He showed that God had saved
His people, not simply for their own selfish satisfaction, but that
through Christ they might carry salvation to the world.
[268] John v. 1.
Purged from its base associations of blood and cruelty, Purim may
symbolise to us the triumph of the Church of Christ over her fiercest
foes. The spirit of this triumph must be the very opposite of the
spirit of wild vengeance exhibited by Mordecai and his people in
their brief season of unwonted elation. The Israel of God can never
conquer her enemies by force. The victory of the Church must be the
victory of brotherly love, because brotherly love is the note of the
true Church. But this victory Christ is winning throughout the ages,
and the historical realisation of it is to us the Christian
counterpart of the story of Esther.
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Variations in spelling have been preserved except in obvious cases of
typographical error. Hyphenation is inconsistent.
Page 371: "As in the case of Judas, there is thought to be no call...."
Missing word "is" has been inserted.