“No gods, or gods that care not for mankind.”
CLAUDIAN.
“There surely is some guiding Power
That rightly suffers wrong,
Gives vice to bloom its little hour,
But virtue late and long.”
CAMOENS.
Adonijah, through the courteous kindness of his preserver, viewed the
sumptuous buildings and edifices of Rome. There was much in the survey
to delight and interest a stranger,—one, too, who was familiar with the
historic records of this celebrated city. Nothing, however, surprised
the Hebrew, who was born under the light of revelation, so much as the
number and variety of the idols of Rome. He justly considered this
apostasy from that natural religion which is written in the heart of
every man, as the fruitful source of all the corruption and infamy into
which the inhabitants of the metropolis of the world were sunk. To be
vile was, in reality, to claim an affinity in nature to the very gods
the people worshipped, who appeared to him to be demons or bad men,
deified by fools and knaves, though some attempt had been made to
improve the morals, and inspire the soul with virtue; for the Romans had
raised altars to Concord, Justice, Fortitude, and Filial Piety.
In the writings of the philosophers of the period Adonijah vainly sought
for any allusion to the patriarchal religion which had existed before
the giving of the Law to his own people, and which must once have
subsisted among the Gentile nations. They appeared to have discovered a
First Cause, to whom they paid neither reverence nor worship. His own
religion he found regarded with contempt, its rites derided, and
adherence to its customs styled “a sullen hatred of all mankind;” the
bringing forth of his people from the land of Egypt, disguised and
vilified by the most absurd fables, by men who possessed great wisdom in
treating all other matters, though in this respect they were indeed
fools. To believe in the existence of a God, and yet to assert that He
cares nothing for the creatures He has made, is to liken him to a cruel
father who abandons a child in infancy, leaving him to find his way in
the wilderness of that world through which he is destined to pass,
without a precept and without a guide. “No gods, or gods that care not
for mankind,” was the real creed of many at that period, who, according
to the words of St. Paul, “professing themselves to be wise, became
fools.”
A synagogue beyond the Tiber afforded Adonijah the privilege of
worshipping after the manner of his fathers. The seven-branched
candlestick used by the Jewish congregation has been discovered in
modern times on the spot where once it stood. Adonijah, who had learned
to hate the Christians before he came to Rome, found his detestation
strengthened by his fellow-worshippers. The persecution in the twelfth
year of Nero had banished the converts to the new faith to the dark
recesses of the Arenaria, so that though the sect was known to exist in
Rome it was maintained in the greatest privacy.
As many Roman proselytes had been made in Judea, before the commencement
of the war, to the Jewish religion, Adonijah did not despair of making a
convert of his patron, for whom he had conceived a great affection.
Still, in defiance of his own zeal for religion, and the deep interest
he took in the deadly struggle in which his country was then engaged, he
could not forbear watching for the chariot of the vestal Lucia, or
lingering round the temple of Vesta to catch a glimpse of her figure. As
no image was worshipped in that fane, he hoped that, if he could win the
brother from his unsettled notions, the sister, who appeared to worship
an abstract idea, might be gained over to the true faith. Thus religion,
wherever it exists in a revealed form, is a benevolent principle,
leading its votaries to diffuse its blessings as widely as possible, but
still selecting the dear ties of friendship and kindred as its first
objects.
Although secretly planning the destruction of Nero and the freedom of
his country, Lucius Claudius took much pleasure in the society of
Adonijah. Frank and open in his temper, he boldly avowed his contempt
for his country’s gods; and, though he by no means seemed inclined to
treat the God of Adonijah with more veneration when speaking of Him, he
felt curious respecting a religion whose followers were distinguished
from all people on the face of the earth, by the peculiarity of their
laws and worship. Leaning upon the arm of Adonijah as they walked
together in the delightful gardens of his villa at Tivoli, he suddenly
asked the Hebrew “what evidence he could bring of the actual existence
of the God he worshipped.”
Adonijah naturally quoted those sacred books which contain the earliest
revelations of God to man.
The heathen soldier did not appear to think the evidence he deduced
conclusive, for he demanded a proof that should be at once apparent to
his outward senses and convincing to his understanding.
“Such a demonstration I am prepared to give,” replied the Jew. “‘Behold,
the heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth His
handy work. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth
knowledge: there is no speech nor language where their voice is not
heard.’ It is the hand of Omnipotence that hath placed these lights in
the firmament, and by them still claims the worship due to the Creator
from man.”
Lucius looked up at the glorious starry dome of heaven, and then down on
the enthusiastic countenance of the slave, and smiled sceptically.
“Chance or accident has placed these lights on high, Adonijah, which you
superstitiously ascribe to the hand of an unknown God. This world and
all things it contains, whether animate or inanimate, owes its existence
to a fortuitous union of atoms, mysteriously attracted towards each
other by some incomprehensible influence.”
“What gave rise to the atoms of which thou sayest all things were
compounded, before they arranged themselves into form or being?”
demanded the slave. “Even your belief in matter admits, of necessity, a
First Cause, which you miscall Fate, Chance, Accident, but that the
Hebrews acknowledge as the creative power of God. All that we see was
the work of that Almighty Being whom we Hebrews adore under the name of
Jehovah; worshipping Him by faith, not profaning His glory with likening
Him to anything in heaven or earth, but serving Him according to the
revelation He has made of Himself from the beginning of time; believing
that the same Wisdom that called all things into being supports and
governs them, and will continue to do so for ever.”
“I am ready to allow that you have reason on your side with respect to
the existence of a First Cause, which many of the philosophers of
Greece, with Seneca in our own day, have acknowledged; but then if He
really cares for the creatures He has made, why is a Nero suffered to
prosper while the virtuous and good are slain or sent into exile? What,
then, is the use of worshipping a Being who cares nothing for the
creatures He has made?”
Adonijah started back at the boldness of this speech, with gestures
indicative of horror. “Lucius Claudius,” replied he, “in this world we
often see the good suffer and the bad prosper, but be assured that God
will punish the wicked and recompense the just at that day of final
account, when the dead shall be raised, and the Judge, seated in the
valley of Jehoshaphat, shall call every man to an account for his works
done in the flesh.”
“The dead raised!” exclaimed the Roman; “you speak enigmas, fables. What
Power, Adonijah, can unite the body and soul together again, and form
man anew from his ashes?”
“The Power that first united them, ‘who formed man originally from the
dust of the ground, breathing into him the breath of life, till man
became a living soul.’ Thinkest thou, Lucius, that the spirit of the
murdered Corbulo perished with his body? or, imbibing the cold, joyless
notions of the Greek mythology, dost thou imagine it wandering round its
ashes, seeking in vain its ancient prison? No, Roman, no; it hath gone
to its ‘appointed place, again to be united to the flesh, and to plead
against the murderer at the judgment-seat of God.’ Such is the doctrine
of the Pharisees respecting the resurrection, though even among the Jews
an impious sect hath arisen, holding notions as foolish as the ignorant
Gentiles themselves. The sacred Scriptures can fully inform you
respecting the laws and worship of the true God, and these oracles are
in the hands of the Jews, and our Scribes can fully make them known to
you.”
The belief in the immortality of the soul never appears more reasonable
than when we lament the death of a friend. Though new to Lucius
Claudius, it now appeared strange even to himself that he had never
considered its possibility before. The existence of a Supreme Being, and
his superintending Providence and future judgment, made a deep
impression upon his mind, although these impressions did not quite
amount to absolute conviction. He expressed willingness to become
acquainted with what he called the Jewish records, and Adonijah indulged
the hope that this upright Roman would eventually become a proselyte of
justice and a believer in the one true God.
He obtained from the rulers of the synagogue the rolls containing the
sacred oracles, and commenced reading and explaining them to his patron.
The beauty, the sublimity of the inspired truths thus made known to the
Gentile dispelled the darkness of ignorance from his mind. The great,
the vital doctrine of a Messiah, presented to his view as a point of
faith by the slave so strangely become his teacher, bore little
resemblance to the “Man of sorrows,” whose atonement for sin was pointed
out in the 53rd chapter of Isaiah, and whom the Jewish nation had
obstinately rejected. They interpreted His kingdom as a temporal
kingdom, and, catching at the idea so prevalent at that time that the
ruler of the world was to arise out of Judea, expected their Messiah
presently to appear among his people, to deliver them from the Roman
yoke. Of the real end of the Messiah’s coming, “to put away sin,”
Adonijah was as ignorant as his Gentile convert, who would thankfully
have embraced the sublime doctrine the Pharisee rejected, if it had been
made known to him.