In the throes of one of the terrible revolutions of the worst days
of imperial Rome—when probably the cruelest mob and most licentious
soldiery of all time were raging round the palace of the Cæsars, and
the chances of an hour would decide whether Galba or Otho should rule
the world, the alternative being a violent death—an officer of the
guard, one Julius Atticus, rushed into Galba’s presence with a bloody
sword, boasting that he had slain his rival, Otho. “My comrade, by
whose order?” was his only greeting from the old Pagan chief. And the
story has come down through eighteen centuries, in the terse, strong
sentences of the great historian, Tacitus.
Comrade, who ordered thee? whose will art thou doing? It is the
question which has to be asked of every fighting man, in whatever part
of the great battlefield he comes to the front, and determines the
manliness of soldier, statesman, parson, of every strong man, and
suffering woman.
“Three roots bear up Dominion; knowledge, will,
These two are strong; but stronger still the third,
Obedience: ’tis the great tap-root, which still
Knit round the rock of Duty, is not stirred,
Though storm and tempest spend their utmost skill.”
I think that the more thoroughly we sift and search out this question
the more surely we shall come to this as the conclusion of the whole
matter. Tenacity of will, or wilfulness, lies at the root of all
courage, but courage can only rise into true manliness when the will
is surrendered; and the more absolute the surrender of the will the
more perfect will be the temper of our courage and the strength of our
manliness.
“Strong Son of God, immortal Love,”
the laureate has pleaded, in the moment of his highest inspiration.
“Our wills are ours to make them thine.”
And that strong Son of God to whom this cry has gone up in our day, and
in all days, has left us the secret of his strength in the words, “I am
come to do the will of my Father and your Father.”