NATIONS, I dwell thus singly and exclusively on War, it is because War
is utterly and irreconcilably inconsistent with True Greatness. Thus
far, man has worshipped in Military Glory a phantom idol, compared with
which the colossal images of ancient Babylon or modern Hindostan are
but toys; and we, in this favored land of freedom, in this blessed day
of light, are among the idolaters. The Heaven-descended injunction,
_Know thyself_, still speaks to an unheeding world from the far-off
letters of gold at Delphi: _Know thyself; know that the moral is the
noblest part of man_, transcending far that which is the seat of
passion, strife, and War,--nobler than the intellect itself. And the
human heart, in its untutored, spontaneous homage to the virtues of
Peace, declares the same truth,--admonishing the military idolater that
it is not the bloody combats, even of bravest chiefs, even of gods
themselves, as they echo from the resounding lines of the great Poet
of War, which receive the warmest admiration, but those two scenes
where are painted the gentle, unwarlike affections of our nature, the
Parting of Hector from Andromache, and the Supplication of Priam. In
the definitive election of these peaceful pictures, the soul of man,
inspired by a better wisdom than that of books, and drawn unconsciously
by the heavenly attraction of what is truly great, acknowledges, in
touching instances, the vanity of Military Glory. The Beatitudes
of Christ, which shrink from saying, "Blessed are the War-makers,"
inculcate the same lesson. Reason affirms and repeats what the heart
has prompted and Christianity proclaimed. Suppose War decided by
_Force_, where is the glory? Suppose it decided by _Chance_, where
is the glory? Surely, in other ways True Greatness lies. Nor is it
difficult to tell where.
True Greatness consists in imitating, as nearly as possible for finite
man, the perfections of an Infinite Creator,--above all, in cultivating
those highest perfections, Justice and Love: Justice, which, like that
of St. Louis, does not swerve to the right hand or to the left; Love,
which, like that of William Penn, regards all mankind as of kin. "God
is angry," says Plato, "when any one censures a man like Himself, _or
praises a man of an opposite character_: and the godlike man is the
good man."[112] Again, in another of those lovely dialogues precious
with immortal truth: "Nothing resembles God more than that man among
us who has attained to the highest degree of justice."[113] The True
Greatness of Nations is in those qualities which constitute the
true greatness of the individual. It is not in extent of territory,
or vastness of population, or accumulation of wealth,--not in
fortifications, or armies, or navies,--not in the sulphurous blaze
of battle,--not in Golgothas, though covered by monuments that kiss
the clouds; for all these are creatures and representatives of those
qualities in our nature which are unlike anything in God's nature. Nor
is it in triumphs of the intellect alone,--in literature, learning,
science, or art. The polished Greeks, our masters in the delights of
art, and the commanding Romans, overawing the earth with their power,
were little more than splendid savages. And the age of Louis the
Fourteenth, of France, spanning so long a period of ordinary worldly
magnificence, thronged by marshals bending under military laurels,
enlivened by the unsurpassed comedy of Molière, dignified by the
tragic genius of Corneille, illumined by the splendors of Bossuet, is
degraded by immoralities that cannot be mentioned without a blush, by a
heartlessness in comparison with which the ice of Nova Zembla is warm,
and by a succession of deeds of injustice not to be washed out by the
tears of all the recording angels of Heaven.
[112] Minos, § 12.
[113] Theætetus, § 85.
The True Greatness of a Nation cannot be in triumphs of the intellect
alone. Literature and art may enlarge the sphere of its influence; they
may adorn it; but in their nature they are but accessaries. _The True
Grandeur of Humanity is in moral elevation, sustained, enlightened, and
decorated by the intellect of man._ The surest tokens of this grandeur
in a nation are that Christian Beneficence which diffuses the greatest
happiness among all, and that passionless, godlike Justice which
controls the relations of the nation to other nations, and to all the
people committed to its charge.
But War crushes with bloody heel all beneficence, all happiness, all
justice, all that is godlike in man,--suspending every commandment of
the Decalogue, setting at naught every principle of the Gospel, and
silencing all law, human as well as divine, except only that impious
code of its own, the _Laws of War_. If in its dismal annals there
is any cheerful passage, be assured it is not inspired by a martial
Fury. Let it not be forgotten, let it be ever borne in mind, as you
ponder this theme, that the virtues which shed their charm over its
horrors are all borrowed of Peace,--that they are emanations from
the Spirit of Love, which is so strong in the heart of man that it
survives the rudest assault. The flowers of gentleness, kindliness,
fidelity, humanity, which flourish unregarded in the rich meadows of
Peace, receive unwonted admiration when we discern them in War,--like
violets shedding their perfume on the perilous edge of the precipice,
beyond the smiling borders of civilization. God be praised for all the
examples of magnanimous virtue which he has vouchsafed to mankind!
God be praised, that the Roman Emperor, about to start on a distant
expedition of War, encompassed by squadrons of cavalry, and by golden
eagles swaying in the wind, stooped from his saddle to hear the prayer
of a humble widow, demanding justice for the death of her son![114]
God be praised, that Sidney, on the field of battle, gave with dying
hand the cup of cold water to the dying soldier! That single act of
self-forgetful sacrifice has consecrated the deadly field of Zutphen,
far, oh, far beyond its battle; it has consecrated thy name, gallant
Sidney, beyond any feat of thy sword, beyond any triumph of thy pen!
But there are lowly suppliants in other places than the camp; there
are hands outstretched elsewhere than on fields of blood. Everywhere
is opportunity for deeds of like charity. Know well that these are not
the product of War. They do not spring from enmity, hatred, and strife,
but from those benign sentiments whose natural and ripened fruit of joy
and blessing are found only in Peace. If at any time they appear in the
soldier, it is less _because_ than _notwithstanding_ he is the hireling
of battle. Let me not be told, then, of the virtues of War. Let not the
acts of generosity and sacrifice sometimes blossoming on its fields
be invoked in its defence. From such a giant root of bitterness no
true good can spring. The poisonous tree, in Oriental imagery, though
watered by nectar and covered with roses, produces only the fruit of
death.
[114] According to the legends of the Catholic Church, this most
admired instance of justice opened to Trajan, although a heathen, the
gates of salvation. Dante found the scene and the "visible speech"
of the widow and Emperor storied on the walls of Purgatory, and has
transmitted them in a passage which commends itself hardly less than
any in the divine poem.--See _Purgatorio_, Canto X.
Casting our eyes over the history of nations, with horror we discern
the succession of murderous slaughters by which their progress is
marked. Even as the hunter follows the wild beast to his lair by
the drops of blood on the ground, so we follow Man, faint, weary,
staggering with wounds, through the Black Forest of the Past, which he
has reddened with his gore. Oh, let it not be in the future ages as in
those we now contemplate! Let the grandeur of man be discerned, not
in bloody victory or ravenous conquest, but in the blessings he has
secured, in the good he has accomplished, in the triumphs of Justice
and Beneficence, in the establishment of Perpetual Peace!
As ocean washes every shore, and with all-embracing arms clasps every
land, while on its heaving bosom it bears the products of various
climes, so Peace surrounds, protects, and upholds all other blessings.
Without it, commerce is vain, the ardor of industry is restrained,
justice is arrested, happiness is blasted, virtue sickens and dies.
Peace, too, has its own peculiar victories, in comparison with which
Marathon and Bannockburn and Bunker Hill, fields sacred in the history
of human freedom, lose their lustre. Our own Washington rises to a
truly heavenly stature, not when we follow him through the ice of the
Delaware to the capture of Trenton, not when we behold him victorious
over Cornwallis at Yorktown, but when we regard him, in noble deference
to Justice, refusing the kingly crown which a faithless soldiery
proffered, and at a later day upholding the peaceful neutrality of the
country, while he met unmoved the clamor of the people wickedly crying
for War. What glory of battle in England's annals will not fade by the
side of that great act of justice, when her Parliament, at a cost of
one hundred million dollars, gave freedom to eight hundred thousand
slaves? And when the day shall come (may these eyes be gladdened by
its beams!) that shall witness an act of larger justice still,--the
peaceful emancipation of three million fellow-men "guilty of a skin
not colored as our own," now, in this land of jubilant freedom, bound
in gloomy bondage,--then will there be a victory by the side of which
that of Bunker Hill will be as the farthing candle held up to the
sun. That victory will need no monument of stone. It will be written
on the grateful hearts of countless multitudes that shall proclaim it
to the latest generation. It will be one of the famed landmarks of
civilization,--or, better still, a link in the golden chain by which
Humanity connects itself with the throne of God.
As man is higher than the beasts of the field, as the angels are higher
than man, as Christ is higher than Mars, as he that ruleth his spirit
is higher than he that taketh a city,--so are the victories of Peace
higher than the victories of War.
* * * * *
Far be from us, fellow-citizens, on this festival, the pride of
national victory, and the illusion of national freedom, in which we
are too prone to indulge! None of you make rude boast of individual
prosperity or prowess. And here I end as I began. Our country cannot do
what an individual cannot do. Therefore it must not vaunt or be puffed
up. Rather bend to unperformed duties. Independence is not all. We have
but half done, when we have made ourselves free. The scornful taunt
wrung from bitter experience of the great Revolution in France must
not be levelled at us: "They wish to be _free_, but know not how to be
_just_."[115] Nor is priceless Freedom an end in itself, but rather the
means of Justice and Beneficence, where alone is enduring concord, with
that attendant happiness which is the final end and aim of Nations, as
of every human heart. It is not enough to be free. There must be Peace
which cannot fail, and other nations must share the great possession.
For this good must we labor, bearing ever in mind two special objects,
complements of each other: first, the Arbitrament of War must end; and,
secondly, Disarmament must begin. With this ending and this beginning
the great gates of the Future will be opened, and the guardian virtues
will assert a new empire. Alas! until this is done, National Honor and
National Glory will yet longer flaunt in blood, and there can be no
True Grandeur of Nations.
[115] "_Ils veulent être libres, et ne savent pas être justes_," was
the famous exclamation of Sieyès.
To this great work let me summon you. That Future, which filled the
lofty vision of sages and bards in Greece and Rome, which was foretold
by Prophets and heralded by Evangelists, when man, in Happy Isles,
or in a new Paradise, shall confess the loveliness of Peace, may you
secure, if not for yourselves, at least for your children! _Believe_
that you can do it, and you _can_ do it. The true Golden Age is before,
not behind. If man has once been driven from Paradise, while an angel
with flaming sword forbade his return, there is another Paradise,
even on earth, which he may make for himself, by the cultivation
of knowledge, religion, and the kindly virtues of life,--where the
confusion of tongues shall be dissolved in the union of hearts, and
joyous Nature, borrowing prolific charms from prevailing Harmony, shall
spread her lap with unimagined bounty, and there shall be perpetual
jocund Spring, and sweet strains borne on "the odoriferous wing of
gentle gales," through valleys of delight more pleasant than the Vale
of Tempe, richer than the Garden of the Hesperides, with no dragon to
guard its golden fruit.
Is it said that the age does not demand this work? The robber conqueror
of the Past, from fiery sepulchre, demands it; the precious blood of
millions unjustly shed in War, crying from the ground, demands it;
the heart of the good man demands it; the conscience, even of the
soldier, whispers, "Peace!" There are considerations springing from
our situation and condition which fervently invite us to take the
lead. Here should join the patriotic ardor of the land, the ambition
of the statesman, the effort of the scholar, the pervasive influence
of the press, the mild persuasion of the sanctuary, the early teaching
of the school. Here, in ampler ether and diviner air, are untried
fields for exalted triumph, more truly worthy the American name than
any snatched from rivers of blood. War is known as the _Last Reason
of Kings_. Let it be no reason of our Republic. Let us renounce and
throw off forever the yoke of a tyranny most oppressive of all in the
world's annals. As those standing on the mountain-top first discern the
coming beams of morning, so may we, from the vantage-ground of liberal
institutions, first recognize the ascending sun of a new era! Lift high
the gates, and let the King of Glory in,--the King of True Glory,--of
Peace! I catch the last words of music from the lips of innocence and
beauty,[116]--
"And let the whole earth be filled with His Glory!"
[116] The services of the choir on this occasion were performed by the
youthful daughters of the public schools of Boston.
It is a beautiful picture in Grecian story, that there was at least one
spot, the small island of Delos, dedicated to the gods, and kept at all
times sacred from War. No hostile foot ever pressed this kindly soil,
and citizens of all countries met here, in common worship, beneath
the ægis of inviolable Peace. So let us dedicate our beloved country;
and may the blessed consecration be felt in all its parts, everywhere
throughout its ample domain! The Temple of Honor shall be enclosed
by the Temple of Concord, that it may never more be entered through
any portal of War; the horn of Abundance shall overflow at its gates;
the angel of Religion shall be the guide over its steps of flashing
adamant; while within its happy courts, purged of Violence and Wrong,
JUSTICE, returned to the earth from long exile in the skies, with equal
scales for nations as for men, shall rear her serene and majestic
front; and by her side, greatest of all, CHARITY, sublime in meekness,
hoping all and enduring all, shall divinely temper every righteous
decree, and with words of infinite cheer inspire to those deeds that
cannot vanish away. And the future chief of the Republic, destined to
uphold the glories of a new era, unspotted by human blood, shall be
first in Peace, first in the hearts of his countrymen.
While seeking these fruitful glories for ourselves, let us strive for
their extension to other lands. Let the bugles sound the _Truce of God_
to the whole world forever. Not to one people, but to every people,
let the glad tidings go. The selfish boast of the Spartan women, that
they never saw the smoke of an enemy's camp, must become the universal
chorus of mankind, while the iron belt of War, now encompassing the
globe, is exchanged for the golden cestus of Peace, clothing all
with celestial beauty. History dwells with fondness on the reverent
homage bestowed by massacring soldiers upon the spot occupied by the
sepulchre of the Lord. Vain man! why confine regard to a few feet of
sacred mould? The whole earth is the sepulchre of the Lord; nor can
any righteous man profane any part thereof. Confessing this truth, let
us now, on this Sabbath of the Nation, lay a new and living stone in
the grand Temple of Universal Peace, whose dome shall be lofty as the
firmament of heaven, broad and comprehensive as earth itself.
TRIBUTE OF FRIENDSHIP:
THE LATE JOSEPH STORY.
ARTICLE FROM THE BOSTON DAILY ADVERTISER, SEPTEMBER 16, 1845.
I have just returned from the funeral of this great and good man. Under
that roof where I have so often seen him in health, buoyant with life,
exuberant in kindness, happy in family and friends, I stood by his
mortal remains sunk in eternal rest, and gazed upon those well-loved
features from which even the icy touch of death had not effaced all the
living beauty. The eye was quenched, and the glow of life extinguished;
but the noble brow seemed still to shelter, as under a marble dome, the
spirit that had fled. And is he dead, I asked myself,--whose face was
never turned to me, except in affection,--who has filled the civilized
world with his name, and drawn to his country the homage of foreign
nations,--who was of activity and labor that knew no rest,--who was
connected with so many circles by duties of such various kinds, by
official ties, by sympathy, by friendship and love,--who, according
to the beautiful expression of Wilberforce, "touched life at so many
points,"--has he, indeed, passed away? Upon the small plate on the
coffin was inscribed, JOSEPH STORY, _died September 10th, 1845, aged 66
years_. These few words might apply to the lowly citizen, as to the
illustrious Judge. Thus is the coffin-plate a register of the equality
of men.
At his well-known house we joined in religious worship. The Rev. Dr.
Walker, present head of the University, in earnest prayer, commended
his soul to God who gave it, and invoked upon family and friends a
consecration of their afflictive bereavement. From this service we
followed, in mournful procession, to the resting-place which he had
selected for himself and his family, amidst the beautiful groves of
Mount Auburn. As the procession filed into the cemetery I was moved
by the sight of the numerous pupils of the Law School, with uncovered
heads and countenances of sorrow, ranged on each side of the road
within the gate, testifying by silent and unexpected homage their last
reverence to their departed teacher. Around the grave, as he was laid
in the embrace of the mother earth, were gathered all in our community
most distinguished in law, learning, literature, station,--Judges of
our Courts, Professors of the University, surviving classmates, and
a thick cluster of friends. He was placed among the children taken
from him in early life. _Of such is the kingdom of heaven_ were the
words he had inscribed over their names on the simple marble which now
commemorates alike the children and their father. Nor is there a child
in heaven of more childlike innocence and purity than he, who, full of
years and honors, has gone to mingle with these children.
There is another sentence, inscribed by him on this family stone,
which speaks to us now with a voice of consolation. _Sorrow not as
those without hope_ were the words which brought solace to him in his
bereavements. From his bed beneath he seems to whisper thus among
his mourning family and friends,--most especially to her, the chosen
partner of his life, from whom so much of human comfort is apparently
removed. He is indeed gone; but we shall see him once more forever.
With this blessed trust, we may find happiness in dwelling upon his
virtues and fame on earth, till the great consoler, Time, shall come
with healing in his wings.
From the grave of the Judge I walked a few short steps to that of his
classmate and friend, the beloved Channing, who died less than three
years ago, aged sixty-two. Thus these companions in early studies--each
afterwards foremost in important duties, pursuing divergent paths,
yet always drawn towards each other by the attractions of mutual
friendship--again meet and lie down together in the same sweet earth,
in the shadow of kindred trees, through which the same birds sing a
perpetual requiem.
The afternoon was of unusual brilliancy, and the full-orbed sun gilded
with mellow light the funereal stones through which I wound my way,
as I sought the grave of another friend, the first colleague of the
departed Judge in the duties of the Law School,--Professor Ashmun.
After a life crowded with usefulness, he laid down the burden of
disease which he had long borne, at the early age of thirty-three.
I remember listening, in 1833, to the flowing discourse which Story
pronounced, in the College Chapel, over the departed; nor can I forget
his deep emotion, as we stood together at the foot of the grave, while
the earth fell, dust to dust, upon the coffin of his friend.
Wandering through this silent city of the dead, I called to mind those
words of Beaumont on the Tombs in Westminster Abbey:--
"Here's an acre sown indeed
With the richest, royal'st seed
That the earth did e'er suck in
Since the first man died for sin;
Here are sands, ignoble things
Dropt from the ruined sides of kings."
A richer royalty is sown at Mount Auburn. The kings that slumber there
were anointed by more than earthly hand.
Turning again to the newest grave, I found no one but the humble
gardeners, smoothing the sod over the fresh earth. It was late in the
afternoon, and the upper branches of the stately trees that wave over
the sacred spot, after glistening for a while in the golden rays of the
setting sun, were left in the gloom which had already settled on the
grass beneath. Hurrying away, I reached the gate as the porter's curfew
was tolling to forgetful musers like myself the warning to leave.
Moving away from the consecrated field, I thought of the pilgrims
that would come from afar, through successions of generations, to
look upon the last home of the great Jurist. From all parts of our
own country, from all the lands where law is taught as a science, and
where justice prevails, they will come to seek the grave of their
master. Let us guard, then, this precious dust. Let us be happy, that,
though his works and his example belong to the world, his remains are
placed in our peculiar care. To us, also, who saw him face to face,
in the performance of his various duties, and who sustain a loss so
irreparable, is the melancholy pleasure of dwelling with household
affection upon his surpassing excellences.
His death makes a chasm which I shrink from contemplating. He was the
senior Judge of the highest Court of the country, an active Professor
of Law, and a Fellow in the Corporation of Harvard University. He was
in himself a whole triumvirate; and these three distinguished posts,
now vacant, will be filled, in all probability, each by a distinct
successor. It is, however, as the Jurist that he is to take his place
in the history of the world, high in the same firmament where beam
the mild glories of Tribonian, Cujas, Hale, and Mansfield. It was his
fortune, unlike that of many cultivating the law with signal success
on the European continent, to be called as a judge practically to
administer and apply it in the business of life. It thus became to
him not merely a science, whose depths and intricacies he explored
in his closet, but a great and godlike instrument, to be employed in
that grandest of earthly functions, the determination of justice among
men. While the duties of the magistrate were thus illumined by the
studies of the jurist, the latter were tempered to a finer edge by the
experience of the bench.
In the attempt to estimate his character as a Jurist, he may be
regarded in _three_ different aspects,--as Judge, Author, and Teacher
of Jurisprudence, exercising in each a peculiar influence. His lot is
rare who achieves fame in any single department of human action; rarer
still is his who becomes foremost in many. The first impression is of
astonishment, that a single mind, in a single life, should accomplish
so much. Omitting the incalculable labors, of which there is no trace,
except in the knowledge, happiness, and justice they helped to secure,
the bare amount of his written and printed works is enormous beyond
precedent in the annals of the Common Law. His written judgments on his
circuit, and his various commentaries, occupy _twenty-seven_ volumes,
while his judgments in the Supreme Court of the United States form an
important part of no less than _thirty-four_ volumes more. The vast
professional labors of Coke and Eldon, which seem to clothe the walls
of our libraries, must yield to his in extent. He is the Lope de Vega,
or the Walter Scott, of the Common Law.