the subjects discussed here. It has been my good fortune to have as
teacher one who in his youth passed much time in both the Athenian and
Alexandrian schools. And he has attempted, not as successfully perhaps
as he could wish, to put his own knowledge into his pupil. What I know I
owe to him and my parents: what I do not know I owe to myself. Certainly
I do not come here because I know so much, but because I know so little.
I hope to enlarge my knowledge, such as it is. In thirty years not a few
changes must have taken place here—new teachers have come to the front,
new ways of presenting and illustrating old truths are used, and it is
barely possible that some things then considered branches of knowledge
are now known to be branches of ignorance. So I hope to profit. Is this
satisfactory? or would the committee like to have me explain a syllogism,
epitomize Plato or Aristotle or Zeno, or expound the astronomy of
Pythagoras?” just the glimmer of an amused expression stealing from his
eye.
“Not either of these,” answered the committee. “Doubtless you are well
prepared on what you voluntarily offer. Allow us to ask you for something
which, as it is wholly unprecedented on such occasions as this, you can
hardly have made special preparation for. We will ask you for an epitome
of the lecture to which we have just listened. This is a compliment we
owe to our venerable teacher who, I think, has never before honored us
with his presence on a similar occasion.”
Turning to Seti, Aleph expressed a hope that he would excuse any
injustice that might be done to his lecture under such a stress of
circumstances, and then proceeded as follows:
“The lecture was on the ethics of truthfulness. It held up to abhorrence
the general character of a liar and hypocrite; and said that men must
tell what seems truth to them whenever they profess to tell it. In war,
hostile forces do not profess to tell the truth to each other, but the
contrary: the very fact of war certifies to all that feints, stratagems,
deceptions of all sorts will be used, and they are just as proper as war
itself. Under certain circumstances one can properly _withhold_ truth
from his neighbor without notice given. No man is bound to tell all he
knows to all sorts of persons without regard to how they will use the
information. A glass house would not be a good one to live in—especially
where stones and sinners are plenty. Silence is often both the privilege
and duty of a man, as well as his wisdom. Deity himself keeps back
much truth permanently from us, and chooses his own times and ways for
revealing other truth. In the interest of justice we can properly make
inquiries which, if their object were known, would not be answered: we
can be silent on what criminals have no right to know. In government, in
business, in social intercourse a measure of reticence is indispensable
to the wisest living, and even to righteousness. Without notice given,
one may never affirm what he thinks to be false: he may without notice
sometimes keep back what he knows to be true. These positions were
defended by considerations drawn from natural conscience, the general
voice of mankind, the testimonies of illustrious teachers, and the grave
difficulties that would arise were the world to accept and act upon other
principles.”
Aleph folded his arms and looked inquiringly at the committee. The
committee looked inquiringly at Seti.
“May we ask the venerable Seti whether this is a satisfactory account of
his lecture?”
He bowed assent: and a general cheer went up from the benches.
“I perceive,” said the master of ceremonies, “that it is the mind of
our community that I pronounce the first part of the examination well
sustained. Accordingly I so pronounce.”
Another round of applause.
The young man continued, addressing Aleph, “As you have doubtless
perceived, our object has been not so much to find out how much you
know as your powers of knowing. I think we have gotten sufficient light
on that point. May we get as much on the point that still remains to
be inquired into, viz., your powers of _doing_. Our community lay
considerable stress on physical accomplishments, and, we think, with good
reason. An efficient mind does its best in an efficient body. We but
follow the traditions of more classical times when we ask whether you
can run and ride and row, can leap and lift and shoot and wrestle and
fence—in short, protect your mother and sisters and such maiden as the
gods may give you.”
“I have had some teaching in all these matters,” replied Aleph: “whether
I have duly profited by the teaching it does not become me to say.”
“Are you willing to appear in our palæstra for a testing; and if so, do
you choose to compete with the good or the better or the best in each
department?”
“I am willing to appear: and defeat would be less mortifying to me at the
hands of the best,” said Aleph with infinite composure.
“But one thing remains to be attended to here,” continued Publius
Cornelius (for this was the name of the young Roman who acted as master
of ceremonies). “According to our rules, when a young man has elected
the best competitors—which indeed rarely happens—it is necessary that
he stand face to face with them in our presence, that he may fully
understand what he undertakes, and have an opportunity to recede from his
choice if he thinks best: also that we may judge whether his choice is
a reasonable one. Our best will now please present themselves with the
candidate in front of the bema.”
A number of young men rose in different parts of the hall, and made their
way to the open space before Seti. Aleph also advanced and stood near,
facing them.
There was a profound silence for a few moments as the confronting parties
surveyed each other, and were closely surveyed and compared by the rest
(many standing on their seats for the purpose). Then burst out an almost
deafening cheer.
The fact was that as long as Aleph stood by himself his extraordinary
physical advantages had not fully displayed themselves. But when he came
to stand with others everybody at once saw that in that group there was
no face so noble and winning, no figure so majestic and exquisitely
proportioned, no bearing so lofty and poised and full of suggestion of
power and leadership as Aleph’s. So evident was all this to the “best”
themselves that they could not prevent the consciousness of it from
appearing in their uneasy faces and attitudes—especially after that
spontaneous cheer which they well understood.
“Well?” inquired Cornelius, looking at Aleph.
Aleph again passed his eyes naturally and serenely through the group
before him, resting them for an instant on one taller and brawnier than
the rest, and then said quietly, “I adhere to my choice.”
A young man started up. “Our president has stated that we are to judge
of the reasonableness of this choice. It seems to me a very unreasonable
one. The advantages are too much on one side. Unless the gods interfere
(and somehow they are not apt to do so in these days) there can be
but one result to such an unequal competition. It is foreordained. I
therefore propose, in the interest of our Best, that the candidate be
at once passed to his matriculation with all the honors and with no
conditions whatever. This course, it is true, is unprecedented; but then
the circumstances are unprecedented. Those of us who know a good thing
when we see it, are, I think, quite prepared for this action.”
_Action_, _Action_ was exclaimed from all parts of the hall.
Cornelius stepped on a bench, and looking about the assembly called out,
“Is there any objection on the part of any to the course which Quintius
Fabius proposes?”
After waiting a moment for responses that did not come, the president
proceeded, “Let every one who regards the examination as already
sufficient, and would at once admit the candidate to full membership in
our body, stretch forth his hand.”
And _such_ a showing of hands! They flew out and up as if from a
catapult. Some voted with two hands. Some, not content with a simple
uplifting, made their hands shake and triumph in the air. Even the Best
voted with the rest.
“Your mind is clear,” cried the president. “By your vote, and without
dissent, this gentleman is now a member in full of this university. In
your name” (as he advanced toward Aleph with outstretched hand) “I,
Publius Cornelius, offer greetings and fellowship to”—and he hesitated.
“Aleph the Chaldean,” said Aleph, as he gracefully took the proffered
hand.
Seti remained sitting for a while longer, keenly watching, as many
of the young men gathered about Aleph and were introduced to him by
Cornelius. Among these were the Best; who were at first somewhat backward
and awkward, but whom Aleph so welcomed with frank and unpretending
cordiality that they were soon quite at ease. Seti watched and admired.
He saw that the young man had quite won those who might easily have
become his enemies—in short had fairly conquered the position he had
coveted for him.
Aleph lingered till the other students had left that he might inquire of
Seti whether he had heard from Miriam that morning. He had not; but was
not sure but that he might hear something by going to his rooms. Would
not Aleph and his friend accompany him?
As they approached the apartments of the high-priest they saw before
them in the distance what seemed the fluttering of female robes: and, as
soon as Seti had opened his door, he found himself in the arms of his
granddaughter.
“Mother-father” (this was her favorite style of address), she exclaimed,
looking up fondly into his face, “are you not very tired after such a
long session? But what a good lecture that was, and then....”
“Ah, child,” he hastily interrupted as he patted her cheek, “what a
flatterer you are! Why not begin to practice on my lecture by telling
me the truth? Tired! Antiquity is never tired. The tired ones are your
moderns—such young men as you may see behind me.”
Cimon was surprised at the magnificent beauty that now disengaged herself
from the arms of Seti and stood blushing before them. Aleph had indeed
spoken of her as beautiful, but with no particularity and effusion: and
so he was not prepared for the lovely vision. It seemed to him for a
moment as if he had before him one of the Hellenic goddesses—a sort of
compound of Aphrodite and Athene and Artemis. As to Aleph—such a look of
glad recognition sprang to his face at the unexpected meeting that she
could not but notice it. It gave her courage to advance and give her hand
to Cimon, saying, “The daughter of Alexander gratefully remembers our
friend of the Diapleuston”—to then turn to Aleph with a welcoming look
and a new flush on her cheek as she said, “You see one has to make much
of her grandfather, especially when she has but one. Perhaps you, too,
have a mother-father and know how good it is to have him.”
“The lady has guessed rightly,” returned the young man. “The last thing
I did when leaving my country was to bow my tearful face on the shoulder
of a white-haired man whose form was not bent, nor eye dim, nor natural
force abated, though he had long passed his century; and who laid his
hand on my head and sent me away with the blessing of a grand sire. God
willing, I shall see him again. The mother-fathers of Chaldea live long.”
“May the God of Chaldean Abraham grant it,” said the maiden devoutly.
“And grant also that I may carry back to him the news he has so long
waited for—that the Desire of all nations has at last come!”
“Amen,” said Rachel; “and, according to my promise, I have something new
to tell you touching that matter. So come with me, all of you—I mean
_you_, mother-father,” and she threw a graceful gesture at Seti as she
led the way to seats near a window.
While the young people had been talking, Seti, with folded arms, had kept
his eyes fastened on them as if by some irresistible attraction. Rousing
himself at the call of Rachel, he said to Cimon with a smile, “In these
days the Egyptian is in bondage to Israel,” and added as he closed the
door and followed, “and is not very discontented—certainly not enough to
make an exodus.”
When they were seated, Rachel said to Aleph, “I promised that if I
obtained any new facts about Jesus I would communicate them to you. And
this is what I have heard this morning.”
She then proceeded to say that on her way to the Serapeum she had seen
Miriam, found that her husband had not appeared, found that she had
improved so much that she was able to tell her sad story since her
marriage. She had first gone with her husband to Tyre, where he professed
to have property. After a few days he removed her to a small house near
the city. This was the first of a succession of removals east and south.
They never stopped long in a place—never lived in any but the poorest
and obscurest part of a place. She never knew her husband do any work,
or seek for any. She often wondered at first how he obtained such scanty
and irregular supplies as they had. Once when she asked him about the
matter, he said that he was living on his property; and accompanied
the information with such a storm of abuse that she never after dared
to refer to the subject. She did not need to do so. He was abroad much
at night; and she noticed that when abroad during the day he shunned
thoroughfares, and sometimes disguised himself. Moreover, the men whom
he brought to the house were of the lowest sort, and she could not well
avoid overhearing enough of their talk to assure her that they agreed in
thinking that property was robbery and might be taken wherever it could
be found. After the first few weeks he cast off all semblance of regard
for her. He would often leave her for weeks without any means of support;
and had it not been for the compassion of the poor people about her she
would have starved. As it was, her suffering from exposure, privation,
and remorse reduced her almost to a skeleton. Ah, what days those were!
She shuddered when she spoke of them. Such wretched living as they had
was gotten by robbery, and sometimes by murder. He no longer pretended
the contrary. She came to know that their frequent changes of place were
made necessary by his crimes. As soon as he found himself an object of
suspicion, he went to a new place and there repeated his thefts and
burglaries until his safety required him to move on. In this way they
slowly drifted from the Phenician coast to the Sea of Galilee.
She now thinks that she could not have lived through that awful
pilgrimage had it not been for one thing. Wherever she went she met with
poor people who had been cured of some incurable ail by the new prophet
Jesus—cured by a touch or a word. Sometimes it was a palsy, sometimes
consumption, sometimes leprosy, sometimes blindness or deafness or a lost
limb, sometimes devils or death. And he asked nothing in return for such
wonderful deliverances. Of course all mouths were full of his praises.
They told of his gentle and compassionate ways; how he did not disdain
publicans and sinners, saying that he came to seek and save the lost: how
he took little children in his arms and caressed and blessed them; how
patiently and wisely and wonderfully he taught the humblest as well as
the highest—told of such things till her heart burned and ached to see
him, to be near him, to pour out her oppressed soul into his pitiful ears.
At last her wish was accomplished. One day, while they were living
at Chorasin, after some new tempest of abuse and wickedness from her
husband, she slipped away into the fields to give vent to her grief and
despair. There she saw in the distance a number of people on an eminence:
and, on mounting a rock, she saw that others were moving toward the
eminence from all directions. It flashed upon her that perhaps Jesus
had come, and that now was her opportunity. She at once made for the
hill—determined that if indeed Jesus was there she would get as near
to him as possible. She felt as if some mighty loadstone was drawing
upon her. Being unencumbered, she sped along quickly, passed many who
were carrying sick people or were sick themselves, and was not long in
assuring herself that it was indeed Jesus toward whom all the streams of
infirmity and suffering were setting.
She quickened her steps into a desperate haste. She flew rather than
ran—flew to the side of the hill where the people were fewest, pressed
through them as if on an errand of life and death, saw one who was
plainly the central figure, fell down before him panting, disheveled,
eyes streaming, and tried to look up through her tears into his face. And
she dimly saw there such gentleness, such pity, such insight, such power,
that a great wave of rest swept in on her soul as she murmured, _Lord,
thou knowest_. And he answered, in a voice strangely sweet, that somehow
seemed to penetrate every fibre of her being.
“Yes, I know, thou daughter of many sorrows. Wait patiently for the hour
of deliverance which will come in thy own country by the hands of those
whom I will send. Meanwhile go in peace—thy sins be forgiven thee.”
She rose—all the harshness and bitterness of her soul gone, a calmness
and strength and peace within that were indescribable. She did not
withdraw from the scene; only fell back among the crowd. And there she
saw with her own eyes the wonderful things done of which she had been
hearing ever since she landed in Tyre. It seemed as if the whole country
about had searched out its desperate cases and brought them together to
test his power and pity. And she saw that no case was beyond him. Not
an ail in all the throng but had instant relief as he touched or spoke.
The number and variety of the miracles almost took her breath away. When
the last sufferer had been helped she could no longer contain herself,
but, as if filled and pressed irresistibly by a heavenly breath, burst
forth with song, “O give thanks unto the Lord, for he has done marvellous
things:” and all the people joined their voices to hers till the country
side rang.
She went back to her husband, but not to her misery. The memory of that
look, and that voice, and that promise was like a strong man under her
cross. Her husband was no better; they still drifted from place to place,
but always with a compulsion by circumstances toward the south and west.
Her strength grew less as they approached the seacoast, and quite broke
down at Joppa as she saw her husband, as he was hurrying her aboard a
vessel for Alexandria in the night, rob and kill a man; yet even then the
memory of that divine hour in Galilee was a mighty peace in her heart,
and she felt that she was on her way to deliverance.
Said Seti to Rachel, after the few moments of profound silence that
followed her narrative, “Did you ever notice in Miriam in former days any
tendency to—exaggeration?”
“Never,” she replied. “On the contrary, Miriam was noted for great care
not to overstate facts. You may depend upon it, grandfather, she is fully
up to the standard of your lecture.”
Seti seemed not to notice this sally, and the accompanying shadow of a
smile that flitted across the shining face, but said, “To say nothing of
his marvellous deeds, the attention which Jesus pays to the lowly and
uninfluential, rather than to the great and powerful, is very unlike what
one would expect in a scheming impostor.”
“That he is not that,” said Aleph, “is still further confirmed by what my
preceptor and friend here heard yesterday. I am sure you will agree with
me if he will tell the substance of what Shaphan of the gate of Canopus
related.”
All wished to hear. So Cimon proceeded to relate the story of
Shaphan—omitting, however, the circumstances bearing on Malus, and one or
two other particulars.
When he had finished, Rachel exclaimed, “How wonderful all this is!
Surely there is but one thing to be said, unless we are prepared to
discredit all human testimony! I have heard my father speak of Shaphan as
a very good man: I must see him and ask him many questions.”
“Would it not be better,” said Seti, “to first question some expert
magician as to what he can do by his art? It is not incredible that
there should be beings between the Supreme and ourselves who can do very
wonderful things.”
“No, my dear grandfather; but if these superior beings are good they will
not lend themselves to a great religious imposture; and if they are bad
they would fight against themselves by endorsing such teaching and doing
such works as those of Jesus. Would Satan cast out Satan?”
“Hardly. Still, have not magicians sometimes been good men? Perhaps our
friends here can throw some light on that matter. Time has been when
Chaldea was famous for its magicians”—and Seti looked toward Aleph.
“In my country, as in Egypt,” said Aleph, “the name magicians has always
been used to cover all students of extensive knowledge, especially all
students of the powers and processes of Nature. As to such persons as
profess by certain arts to enlist the powers of mightier spirits in their
service there is, at least at present, but one opinion among us, and
that a very unfavorable one. It is that of the Hebrew Scriptures which
denounce and forbid all magical arts under heavy penalties. However it
may be with others, those who profess to accept these Scriptures and at
the same time use magical arts, it seems to me, cannot be good men, or
other than very bad. This is the case of Jesus. As I understand it, he
professes to hold faithfully by Moses and the prophets. This being so, if
he is a magician he is one of the worst of men—especially as he solemnly
declares that he works his wonders not by magic, but by God.”
“And consequently,” added Cimon, “all evidence we have that he is one of
the best of men is evidence that he is not a magician.”
“And what evidence of this sort have we?” asked Seti.
“At least we can say,” returned the Greek, “that no evidence _against_
Jesus has yet reached us, while we have heard much for him. We have
heard that his miracles are wholly beneficent and his teachings wholly
righteous; and that the worst thing his enemies can say of him is that he
does the very thing the prophets said the Christ would do, viz., stoop
to the humblest while claiming with the highest. For myself, I would
also lay considerable stress on the impression which the mere personal
presence of Jesus makes on such a man as Shaphan. It is plain to me that
this man would profoundly believe in the worth of Jesus, even if he had
not seen a single miracle of his, nor heard from him a single word. Is
this unreasonable? Two or three times in the course of my life, I have
been similarly impressed—I have had merely to look into the eye and
watch for a few moments the play of the features to get an immovable
confidence in the character that lay behind them. Ordinary goodness,
I confess, does not manifest itself in this royal way; nor does
extraordinary, except under certain physical organizations; but there
_are_ organizations through which it is self-revealing—through which it
looks forth as through pure crystal and shines by its own light, as does
any mathematical axiom—through which it is able to put forth a heavenly
atmosphere into which at least a sympathetic soul cannot enter without
feeling its heavenly character.”
“So it seems to me,” said Seti. “I, too, have met a case or two of that
sort.”
“The venerable Seti,” said Aleph; “has doubtless met with many so-called
magicians in this land of the strange and mysterious. May I ask whether
he has ever met one who has _claimed_ to do his prodigies through the
Supreme God, or to do them in such vast variety and magnificence as are
conceded to Jesus?”
“Certainly not,” answered the Egyptian; “and I am quite sure that if we
could get together all the professors of the magical art that are or have
been, they could not, all together, make out such a list of wonders as is
conceded to Jesus.”
“I would also ask of the venerable Seti,” continued Aleph, “if he will
not express his views more fully as to the suggestion of the lady Rachel,
viz., that it is incredible that bad spirits of vast intelligence would
lend their powers to give currency and authority to a system of teaching
whose whole stress they must see to be to defeat and destroy their
influence.”
“It _is_ incredible. She only needs to show that the teaching of Jesus is
plainly and thoroughly against the feelings and objects of evil spirits.”
“Why, my dear grandfather, all the accounts agree that Jesus teaches
altogether in the line of our Scriptures, though with new fullness and
illustrations—and no one knows better than you how holy the teachings of
our Sacred Books are—exposing the devices of Satan, denouncing him and
all his works, calling to watchfulness and prayer against him, rebuking
and casting out his demons, assailing the very foundation of his kingdom
in disloyalty to God, binding our consciences to a perpetual war on sin
in both life and heart, threatening it with the terrors of an avenging
heaven.”