_RESEARCHES IN GALILEE._
The third province of Western Palestine is divided into two
regions--Upper and Lower Galilee. Lower Galilee was surveyed in 1872 and
1875. Upper Galilee was completed in 1877 under the direction of my
companion, Lieutenant Kitchener, R.E., who joined the party in the
autumn of 1875. During this year, when the field party was engaged in
Upper Galilee, I was employed in London in charge of the drawing of the
map, executed by Ordnance Survey draughtsmen, and writing the Memoirs of
the country already surveyed, consisting of five-sixths of the total
area. Upper Galilee, however, I visited in 1873, and again in 1882, and
have thus had occasion to explore almost every important site within its
limits.
The boundaries of Lower Galilee include the great plain of Esdraelon and
the Nazareth hills, with the smaller plains to the north and east, which
stretch to the mountains of Naphtali. No part of Palestine is fuller of
interesting sites, and several important discoveries were here made,
including a synagogue in ruins on Mount Carmel, and the probable remains
of the city of Megiddo.
Before the survey was made, Megiddo--one of the most important places in
Palestine--was supposed to be identical with the Roman city of Legio.
The reason which induced Dr. Robinson to make this suggestion seems to
have been that Megiddo is several times mentioned in the Old Testament
with Taanach, a ruined town near Legio. In other passages, however,
Megiddo is noticed with Bethshean and Ibleam, places east of the great
plain, so that the argument has no great force. There is only one place
in Palestine where a name at all like that of Megiddo exists, namely, at
the large ruin of Mujedd’a, a well-watered site at the foot of Mount
Gilboa, just where the valley of Jezreel opens into the Jordan plain
south-west of Bethshean.
Megiddo appears as an important place very early in history. Thothmes
III. here fought a great battle against the allied Canaanites on his way
to Damascus, and has left us a catalogue of his spoils, which gives a
most vivid picture of Canaanite civilisation. Chariots of silver and
gold, precious stones, bronze armour, Phœnician arms, gold and silver
currency, statues and tables of precious metal, ivory, and cedar, are
mentioned as Canaanite trophies, with wine, incense, corn, sycamore
wood, goats and oxen, mulberries, figs, and “green wood of their fair
forests,”--perhaps referring to the oaks of Mount Tabor. Such, according
to the Egyptian monuments, were the products of Palestine in the
sixteenth century B.C., before the Hebrew invasion under Joshua.
About two centuries later, an Egyptian traveller records how he came
down from the shores of the Sea of Galilee to the “fords of Jordan” and
to the “passage of Megiddo.” In the Bible we find Megiddo to be the
place where Josiah awaited Necho, the Egyptian king, then on his way to
Carchemish, on the Euphrates. In every case this point appears to have
been that where Egyptian invaders fought for the passage of Jordan on
their way to Assyria. There is little now to be seen at Mujedd’a beyond
a mound such as marks the site of many another famous city, but the spot
is one well fitted for a great town, on account of the fine supply of
water from the springs below.[41] The site has a further interest,
because from Megiddo was named the Har-Mageddon, or “Mountain of
Megiddo,” better known as Armageddon (Rev. xvi. 16)--the author of the
Apocalypse evidently referring to the old battle-field of Canaan, which
is also noticed in the Book of Zechariah (xii. 11), in connection with
the mourning of Hadadrimmon.
Above Megiddo on the west are the barren ridges of Gilboa, where Saul
fell in battle, and between this and the Carmel range is the V-shaped
corn plain of Esdraelon. In the north-east corner of this plain is the
volcanic cone of Nebi Dhahy, and beyond this, on the north, the
mole-hill form of Tabor. Nebi Dhahy is named from a little white
saint-house on its summit, sacred to a Moslem hero, whose bones are said
to have been carried hither from the Kishon by his dog. Probably he is
to be connected with Dhahya el Kelbi (Dhahya of the Dog), who was
converted before the Battle of the Ditch, according to Moslem
chronicles. It is curious that sacred dogs occur more than once in
Palestine folk-tales, for the dog is an unclean beast to the Moslem,
while, on the other hand, to the Persians it was amongst the most sacred
of animals. The Tyrian Hercules was accompanied by a dog, and a
sculpture which perhaps represents this group is still to be seen on the
rocks not far from Tyre.
Mount Tabor is one of the few places in Western Palestine where the oak
grows as a forest tree in abundance. There is an oak wood also west of
Nazareth, and an open forest of scattered oak trees in the Sharon plain,
but east of Jordan it is found in Mount Gilead in greater luxuriance. In
the glades of Tabor it is said that the fallow-deer still lingers, but
we never came across one of them. On Carmel, on the other hand, the
roebuck is still hunted, and this species--the existence of which in
Palestine was quite unknown before--we found to bear the name Yahmûr,
which occurs in the Bible as the Hebrew word for a species of deer. I
afterwards found that the Yahmûr was known to the Arabs east of Jordan,
no doubt as a denizen of the oak woods of Mount Gilead.
[Illustration: MOUNT TABOR.]
Tabor has been pointed out from the time when the heretical “Gospel of
the Hebrews” was penned as the site of the Transfiguration. There are
ruins of a great Crusading Church on its summit, dedicated to this
event; but the New Testament clearly points to some part of Hermon as
the site intended. This is not the only instance in which traditions,
dating back even earlier than the fourth century A.D., are in conflict
with the plain reading of the Bible narratives.
The chain of Carmel, a region little visited by tourists, presents one
of the most picturesque districts in Galilee. At one time it seems to
have been fully populated, and traces of vineyards were discovered in
many places. The main ridge runs for fifteen miles, and rises at the
highest point 1700 feet above the Mediterranean. The north slopes are
steep, and in parts precipitous, but on the south-west long spurs run
out towards the sea. A dense brushwood of oak, mastic, and arbutus
covers the greater part of the chain; and of the former villages, only
two are now inhabited by Druze families from the north. The generally
accepted view places the scene of Elijah’s sacrifice on the highest part
of the crest, still called “the place of burning,” but the tradition
represented by a large monastery above the promontory which juts into
the Mediterranean, points to the opposite end of the ridge.
The most interesting discoveries on Carmel were made in 1872, including
the ruins of a small Jewish synagogue and a tomb with a Hebrew
inscription. Inscribed tombs in Palestine are almost unknown, three of
the five as yet discovered being found by my party. That near Ain Sinia
(the ancient Jeshanah), found by Mr. Tyrwhitt Drake, has been already
noticed. The text is probably of about the first century B.C., and
includes the name of “Moses bar Eleazar ... the priest.” A second was in
the Jordan Valley; the third, on the south side of Carmel, records the
name of Eleazar bar Azariah. The forms of the letters are ancient and
peculiar; the name recalls that of a very celebrated Rabbi who died in
Galilee in 135 A.D. There are many gravestones and inscribed sarcophagi
in early square Hebrew characters, both at Jerusalem and at Jaffa, but
no such archaic text has elsewhere been found on a rock-cut tomb. The
letters are rudely cut over the tomb-door, and were originally painted
red to increase their distinctness.
[Illustration: CARMEL.]
A very unpleasant adventure occurred to me in connection with the
exploration of the group of tombs where this inscription was found. As
before said, the region was lawless. I have been stalked by the
“club-bearing” brigand Arabs in the plains to the west, and in many of
the tombs we found skulls of recent date, often with marks of violence.
The rock cemetery near Umm ez Zeinât, to which I now refer, was
remarkable, because the tomb-doors were roughly closed with piled-up
stones. I did not pay much attention to this, or to a skeleton which I
found in one tomb, but I retreated somewhat rapidly from another when,
striking a light, I found myself kneeling in a large chamber, and
surrounded with quite fresh corpses of both sexes. As Moslems are buried
east and west, with the face to Mecca, whereas these bodies lay in
various directions on the floor, it seemed probable that they were those
of murdered persons, or of the victims of some epidemic disease.
The Galilean synagogues are among the most interesting ruins in
Palestine. They were known before the Survey, many having being visited,
and even excavated, by Sir Charles Wilson. The Carmel example was the
only one added to the list, and was much less perfect than some examples
in Upper Galilee. Synagogues are indeed mentioned in the New Testament,
but in Palestine they seem to have become important chiefly after the
destruction of the Temple at Jerusalem. Synagogues are noted in one of
the Psalms (lxxiv. 8) in the English version, but the Hebrew word in
this passage (properly “meeting-places”) is not the same usually applied
to the buildings of a later age in the Talmud. The architectural style
of the synagogues is a curious imitation of Roman architecture of the
Antonine period, and it is to this age that Jewish tradition refers the
building of the Galilean synagogues. It appears to me very doubtful if
any one of these structures was in existence in the time of Christ. The
Hebrew text which occurs on the gateway of the Kefr Bir’im synagogue is
ascribed by competent authority (from the forms of the letters) to the
second or third century of our era. The text runs in a single line under
the semi-classic mouldings of the lintel stone, consisting, as read by
Renan, of the words, “Peace be to this place, and upon all the places of
God. Joseph the Levite, the son of Levi, put up this lintel. A blessing
rest upon his work.”
It is easy for those who think only of the destruction of Jerusalem by
Titus and of the persecution of the Jews by Christian emperors to forget
how peaceful and prosperous was the life of the Galilean Rabbis in the
second century under the tolerant Antonines. After the fatal revolt of
Bar Cochebas, the Sanhedrim sat for a while at Jamnia in Philistia, but
gradually the centre was shifted to Galilee, and soon Tiberias became
the central focus of Judaism in Palestine. It was here that the Mishna
was written, and many are the famous teachers of the Talmud whose graves
were made in the Galilean mountains or on the shores of Gennesareth. To
this period of toleration it is therefore natural to attribute the
execution of works as ambitious as are the synagogues still standing in
ruins.
One of the most curious facts connected with these buildings is the
frequent representation of animal forms. In one case I copied two
well-designed lions flanking a vase, and on Carmel a rude repetition of
the same design occurs. In other instances rams’ heads and a hare are
represented in relief; yet there was perhaps no period when the commands
of the Law, which forbade the representation of the likeness of any
living thing, were more rigorously observed. In Moslem art, also, it has
always been considered impious to carve the figures of beasts and birds;
yet I have found on the walls of towns and castles representations of
lions clearly due to Moslem sculptors. In this case there is less
difficulty, because the newly converted Mongols and Turks very probably
rebelled against such restrictions, having long been accustomed to the
use of heraldic crests; but it is hard to reconcile the ornamentation of
the synagogues with the letter of the Law, so strictly enforced by the
Rabbis.
The synagogues are long buildings, divided into walks by rows of
pillars, and having generally the entrance doors on the south; perhaps
because, as we learn from Rabbinical writers, the north side was
considered unlucky. At the doorway end of the building are generally
found two double columns, fitted to give extra support. It was suggested
to me by a gentleman, whose name unfortunately escapes my memory, that
these pillars must have been intended to carry the gallery for the
women; for it was a custom in Israel, even when the Temple was still
standing, to separate the sexes, the women being placed in an upper
balcony, where they could not be seen by the men, just as we find the
mosques of the present day to be arranged, or as the great church of St.
Sophia at Constantinople is built with spacious galleries for women.
Perhaps the best-known spot in Galilee is the brow of the hill above
Nazareth, whence the traveller commands a view of the greater part of
the province. On the north is the high rough chain where Safed stands;
on the east, the plain where the Crusading kingdom was crushed by
Saladin; on the south, Tabor and Gilboa, and Ebal blue in the distance;
on the west, the dark outline of bushy Carmel, the round bay, and the
city of St. Jean d’Acre; in the nearer mid-distance, the great plain of
Issachar and the oak woods of Zebulon. On every side the memory of great
battles rises to the mind. By the springs of Kishon, under Tabor, Barak
defeated the iron chariots of Canaan, which sank in the boggy stream;
farther south, the Philistines defeated Saul; up the valley of Jezreel
came Jehu, driving furiously to Jezreel; and farther down the two
battles of Megiddo were fought. Round Acre the traces of Napoleon’s
siege-works may still be seen; and it was at the battle of Tabor that
the simple-minded Junot won his fame, driving the Turks into the same
swamps in which the forces of Sisera perished. Near Seffurieh, on the
north, the Christian host gathered when it went forth to meet the
Moslems coming up from Tiberias on the fatal day of the battle of
Hattin. There is no region in Syria where great hosts have so frequently
met in great and decisive combats.
When first we look at the map of a country, it is hard to realise how
few are the points where armies can meet; but the student of history and
of geography knows well that simple physical causes, ever present, so
narrow the lines of advance that famous battles constantly recur in the
same places--whether at some mountain pass, by the fords of some
considerable river, or beside the springs on which an army depends for
water. Thus not only have the battle-fields of Palestine proved to be
the same in all ages, but, even with our somewhat changed methods and
new tactics, it is certain that future battles, if they take place in
Syria, must be on the same fields, by Tabor at Megiddo, or farther
north, where the main road crosses the Euphrates, at the old
battle-field of Carchemish.
[Illustration: NAIN.]
There are other memories which this famous view calls up to the mind.
The little town of Nain, where the widow’s son was brought out to meet
the Saviour and His followers; the long road from Shunem to the wilds of
Carmel, pursued by the mother who went to seek Elisha; the paths leading
to Cana and to Bethabarah; the many chapels which recall episodes in the
life of the Christ. These spots have all become sacred within the last
nineteen centuries, and their associations mingle strangely with those
of battle and disaster; but Galilee always holds a different place in
our minds from any other part of Palestine, because it is the cradle of
Christianity and the chief scene of the Gospel narratives.
Of Nazareth itself there is little to be said. It was always a secluded
and unimportant place, and probably at the present day is larger and
more important than even when it was the see of a Latin bishop. The
cave-cisterns, which have been traditionally regarded for many centuries
as the “Holy House,” of which part was carried by angels to Loretto, are
enclosed in a modern church on the foundations of a Byzantine chapel,
converted later into a Crusading cathedral. The Greek church farther
north, over the spring head, is the reputed site of the Annunciation,
according to the Eastern belief. Another Christian sect was busy, when I
first visited Nazareth, in consecrating a round table of rock, which
seemed to be newly hewn, but which was to be revered as the Mensa
Christi, where Jesus had once sat with His disciples. Such sites have
little claim to attention, since no hint is to be found in the Gospels
of their locality or preservation. Nor are the mediæval legends
connected with the “Leap of our Lord,” at the cliff where the road runs
up to Nazareth from the great plain, of interest, save to the student of
the curious Crusading chronicles. Antoninus, the pious pilgrim of the
time of Justinian, says that “in this city the beauty of the Hebrew
women is so great that no more beautiful women are found among the
Hebrews, and this, they say, was granted them by the Blessed Mary, who
they say was their mother.” The same is said in our own times of the
Christian women of the town, and of those in Bethlehem also. Certainly
their type of beauty is very superior to that of the peasant women of
Moslem villages. The Nazareth girls are more Italian than Arab in
feature, and often very comely; but there are many ways of explaining
this besides the theory of Crusading ancestry. We must not forget that
in Syria mixed types, half Aryan, have long existed, due to Greek, or
Italian, or Frankish forefathers, and the blue eyes sometimes seen in
Syria may be due to yet later admixture of European blood. More weight
is, I think, to be given to such facts than to a comparison with blue
and green eyes in the faded pictures at Karnak, which represent the
Canaanites. The fairness of the Nazareth women is denied by Père
Lievin’s orthodox guide-book, and by the Franciscan fathers--mainly
Italians--who have monasteries at Nazareth and at Bethlehem.
North of Nazareth lie the two sites which have at various times been
regarded as representing Cana of Galilee. It is curious that Robinson,
usually so careful, has confused them together. The one is the Christian
village of Kefr Kenna, which was certainly regarded, before the
Crusaders arrived, as the true site. Thus Antoninus places it three
miles from Sepphoris, which can only apply to Kefr Kenna. The other site
is the ruin of Kânah, four miles farther north. The distances given by
writers of the twelfth century show most clearly that this was the
supposed site in Crusading times. Robinson has twisted the earlier
traditions, making them to apply to the more distant ruin; but the
reader can measure the distances on the map for himself. This is not the
only case in which the views of the Frankish monks of the Latin kingdom
differed from the earlier traditions of the Eastern Church, but it is
hard to say which is in this case the more reliable, though the opinion
of most writers is in favour of Kefr Kenna.[42]
The Buttauf plain is for the most part arable land, well cultivated, but
towards the north there is a pestilent swamp surrounded by reeds--whence
the name Kânah, from the “canes.” Camping on the borders of this
unhealthy morass, we suffered from the inevitable fever, as well as from
the most notable mosquitoes in Palestine. The delay at this spot was,
however, unavoidable, since the line of levels had to be carried across
this plain from the Mediterranean to the Sea of Galilee, and accurate
levelling is not rapidly completed in any country. Here also we
examined, more closely than our predecessors, one of the smaller
synagogues, and I was interested to find that its dimensions were
multiples of a cubit of sixteen inches, as are also many dimensions of
the Jerusalem Temple. The researches of the great Jewish writer
Maimonides point to this length for the Jewish unit of measurement,
which was not the same as the Egyptian cubit of about twenty-one
inches--a question which is of no little importance in the study of
Jewish antiquities.
On the east side of the Buttauf plain, not far north of the curious
cromlech now shown as the scene of “Feeding the Multitude,” rises the
dark crag of the “Horns of Hattin”--a place celebrated for its
connection with the great battle in which Saladin defeated the forces of
Christendom. The story of that battle, of the fatal dissensions among
the Christians, and their lack of strategical skill, their vacillation
and rashness, forms one of the most remarkable incidents in mediæval
history. The unhappy King Guy of Lusignan had lain with his hosts by the
fountains of Sepphoris for many months, awaiting the attack which it was
foreseen would follow the loss of the Castle of Banias and the defeat of
the Grand Master of the Templars near Tiberias. Whether through evil
fortune or because of hidden designs, the Templars seem always to have
been responsible for the great failures of the Latin kingdom. Raymond of
Tripoli gave good and disinterested advice, for though his lady was
besieged in Tiberias, he was willing to lose all, seeing that the only
chance of victory lay in the choice of a battle-field close to the
springs of Sepphoris. “Between this place and Tiberias,” he said, “there
is not a drop of water. We shall all die of thirst before we get there.”
But the Templars prevailed, and on the night of the 1st of July 1187, in
the hottest season of the year, the army moved out over a plain which,
east of Kefr Kenna, is entirely waterless.
The Saracens had, therefore, the advantage, for there were several
springs behind their position. The Arab and Kurdish horsemen harassed
the heavy-armed knights and set fire to the dry grass and stubble,
which, in 1875, I saw in flames sweeping over this plain and destroying
great part of a village by our camp. There was no water for the Franks,
but a hot sun, with clouds of dust, smoke, and flames. The issue of the
day was not long doubtful, and the army melted away as the deserters
threw down their arms and begged for water from their enemies. Only 150
knights gathered round the royal standard on the rocky Horns of Hattin,
and here the chiefs and princes of the kingdom were taken alive. The
Holy Cross was lost, and with it went the Latin kingdom. Only Raymond,
with Balian of Ibelin and his followers, were able to fight their way
from the scene of this great disaster, and thus escaped to Tyre.
Renaud of Chatillon, the proud and treacherous lord of Kerak--his great
castle by the Dead Sea--whose misdeeds were among the chief causes of
the destruction of Crusading power, was the only prisoner whom Saladin
slew, having first offered him his life if he would become a Moslem.
Iced sherbet was ordered for King Guy in the conqueror’s tent, and the
King handed the cup to Renaud. “Thou hast given him drink, not I,” said
Saladin, and so pronounced the doom of a foe more feared by Islam than
any other Christian in the kingdom; for he had sailed with his men
almost to Mecca, and threatened the very centre of Mohammedan faith.
[Illustration: THE SEA OF GALILEE.]
From the neighbourhood of Hattin the eye glances over nearly the whole
of the Sea of Galilee, and the scene, which is unlike any other in
Palestine, is not easily forgotten. Yet familiar though it is from many
descriptions and pictures, it is difficult to bring to the mind of those
who have not seen it. The scenery has not the wild and barren grandeur
of the Dead Sea precipices, nor has it the rich wooded beauty of English
lakes. It is quiet and simple in both outline and colour, and the finest
effects depend on the passing shadow of the thunderstorm or the long
shades of the sunset. The first view is generally from the top of the
steep slope above Tiberias, with the flat plateau of the Hauran above
the cliffs to the east, and the peak of the “Hill of Bashan” in the far
distance. On the north-east are the volcanic cones of the Jaulân; on the
north-west a long slope rises to the Safed ridge. The shore is here
indented with tiny bays and strewn with black basalt stones. The cliffs
of Wady Hamâm above Magdala, and those south of Tiberias on the west
shore, extending to Kerak (Taricheæ) at the Jordan outlet, are among the
boldest features of the scene. The lake itself is pear-shaped, twelve
miles long and eight at its broadest measurement, east and west. The
placid waves reflect the water-worn gullies of the eastern cliffs, save
when tossed by the gusts that sweep down Wady Hamâm before the heavy
thunder-showers which are here frequent in autumn.
The shores of the Sea of Galilee had been surveyed and thoroughly
explored by Sir Charles Wilson before the Survey reached this region,
and no important discovery was added to his exhaustive account. The
sites of several important places, such as Magdala, Chorazin, Tiberias,
Taricheæ, and Sinnabris, with Gamala on the east, are certainly fixed.
Hippos (now Susieh) may now be added to these, with Hammath and
Rakkath.[43]
The three sites on the shore of the lake which are most discussed
represent three conditions of our knowledge of ancient Palestine
topography. Bethsaida is practically unknown. Capernaum is the subject
of controversy, and Chorazin is certain. In the latter case the name
survives at Kerâzeh; in the other two the modern ruins do not preserve
in recognisable form the Hebrew titles.
As regards Bethsaida, a city of that name existed at the mouth where the
Jordan entered the lake; and the point which struck me most on visiting
the ground was that this spot cannot be supposed to be the same at which
the river now opens into the Sea of Galilee. Most rivers, and especially
those like the Jordan, which flow through soft soil, have within
historic times lengthened themselves by the formation of deltas at their
mouths. There is a Jordan delta in the Dead Sea very distinctly marked,
and the north shore of the Sea of Galilee must also have been widened by
Jordan river deposits. Since the time of Ptolemy the Nile Delta has
grown considerably, and since the days of Sennacherib the Euphrates has
become nearly one hundred miles longer. For this reason Bethsaida Julias
must be sought somewhere, as placed by Robinson, near Et Tell.
As regards Capernaum, Sir Charles Wilson has clearly shown that the site
of Tell Hûm has been regarded by all the pilgrims, from the fourth
century downwards, as representing the celebrated city of the Gospels.
Yet, as we have had occasion to remark on previous pages, Christian
tradition is not invariably a safe guide; and, after reading all the
chief discussions of the question, and visiting all the sites, it seems
to me impossible to fix on Tell Hûm as being the place intended by
Josephus or by the Evangelists. I think, rather, that Robinson’s view is
correct, and that the ruin of Minieh not only represents Capernaum, but
preserves the contemptuous Jewish appellation for that town, “The city
of the Minai” or “heretics”--a term by which the Christians were
intended. Within the limits of this volume it is, however, impossible to
detail the reasons which have led me to this view, and which I have
fully explained in previous works.
A very curious legend may be noticed in connection with the Sea of
Galilee. According to some Jewish and Moslem writers, the Messiah is
first to appear in the future, rising from the waters of the lake. This
idea appears to be of Persian origin. At all events, it is found in very
early Persian literature, and it is not recognisable in the Bible. In
one of the Yashts or hymns of the Zendavesta, we read of the lake in the
far east, out of which Saoshyant, the Zoroastrian Messiah, will rise in
the last days. Such recurrence of Persian legends is not uncommon, both
in the Talmud and in the Korân, which borrowed largely from the
Zoroastrian literature.
Before entering Upper Galilee there is one famous site which should be
described, and which is very rarely visited, namely, the mountain
fortress of Gotapata, which Josephus, the celebrated historian, defended
against Vespasian and Titus for forty-seven days during the revolt in
Galilee before the fall of Jerusalem. The ruin stands on a high spur in
the mountains, north of the Buttauf plain, surrounded by deep valleys
and rugged ridges clothed with brushwood. I reached the spot by a
bridle-path from the north-wes in the autumn of 1875, and found that the
various features agreed very closely with Josephus’ description,
although an exaggeration, pardonable in one who wrote at a distance and
many years later, seems to have crept into his account both of the place
and of the events. He speaks of giddy precipices where only rugged
slopes can be found, and one would certainly have expected the site to
have been larger. The hill, over half a mile to the north, where
Vespasian camped, is, however, easily recognised, and the statement that
the city was only approachable on this side agrees with fact.
The Roman energy is well shown by the nature of the mountain up which
they dragged their heavy battering-rams and the iron casings for their
siege towers. The rocky knoll of the fortress of Gotapata is now bare of
ruins, but there are foundations of a tower on the north, where Josephus
built his wall, and cisterns (some still holding water), recalling the
straits of the besieged during the summer, due to the absence of any
supply save that from rain-water.
No soldier reading Josephus’ account can fail to see that it was penned
by one who had experienced war, and in whose memory certain awful
incidents were for ever imprinted. He remembers the terrible fire from
the catapults, the gleam of the Roman spears in the sunlight, the darts
of the Arab and Syrian auxiliary archers, the thud “which the dead
bodies made when they were dashed against the wall” (III. Wars, vii.
23). He delights in recalling his own stratagems and inventions, and has
no scruple in telling how he feared and despaired. Banks were raised in
due form by the Romans, and screens of raw hide by the defenders to
catch the stones and arrows. The spies sent by Josephus crept out in the
dusk among the woods towards the west, covered with sheep-skins, so as
to be taken when seen for straying beasts. At one time the Jewish
general meant to desert his post, but he was overcome by the entreaties
of the poor peasants, who wept and kissed his feet. The heavy armour of
the Romans proved a disadvantage against the sudden attacks of the Jews,
who sallied out even as far as their camp. The silent valleys re-echoed
the cries of the women and of the combatants. “Nor was there anything of
terror wanting.” When, on the fortieth day of the siege, the trumpets of
the legions sounded a general assault, the enemy were met with streams
of boiling oil, which flowed inside the armour, and made the scaling
ladders slippery, Josephus held out yet another week, and Gotapata was
finally surprised at night by Titus himself. The caves, in one of which
Josephus hid, are still to be seen in the rock, recalling his curious
account of many hairbreadth escapes; for those who sought refuge in the
caves cast lots to kill each other, and the lot left Josephus and one
other to the last. These two alone surrendered to Nicanor, a Roman
friend of the historian’s, and but for the throw of a die (if we may
trust his account) we should never have possessed that stirring story of
the wars against Rome which Josephus lived to write, and should have
depended solely on the curt and cynical chronicles of the Jew-hating
Tacitus.
The survey of Upper Galilee was interrupted in the autumn of 1875 by an
attack on the party at Safed. This was our only serious collision with
natives, and it was due to the fanatical intolerance of the Algerine
Moslems, who formed a foreign colony in the town, and held the
unfortunate Jewish population in daily terror.
Our relations with natives of all creeds and races had always been
excellent, and so remained afterwards. A little rigour was occasionally
necessary when my men were pelted with stones, or when the muleteers in
camp fought with knives; but our actions were always legal, and a
Turkish policeman attached to the party was employed to take offenders
before the local magistrates. There were no complaints against any of
the party; and indeed, as we spent money, employed labour, and bought
provisions at a good price, the Survey was always popular in Palestine.
But at Safed a Christian was then rarely seen, and fanaticism always
lives longest in the mountains. It is possible that some imprudent
speech of the dragoman may have enraged the Emir who attacked us.
Certainly a pistol belonging to our party was stolen, and was the
immediate cause of the quarrel; but I never expected it to become
serious until the furious Algerine attacked me with a knife. Few readers
will blame me for knocking him down, and breaking his tooth; but the
result was an attack by his followers with stones, and swords, and aged
guns. Several shots were fired at us, but no one was hit. They, however,
broke my head badly with a club, and I was defended by Lieutenant
Kitchener, while I lay for a few moments stunned. I fear that I broke
the head of the clubman afterwards even worse, but the party was never
out of hand. We were armed with shot-guns and pistols, but we never
fired a shot, and defended our tents without bloodshed until the police
arrived. The enraged Algerines threatened to kill us during the night,
but we kept watch with our guns loaded with ball-cartridge, hastily made
up, and only in the morning did we march off the field in good order.
The worst hurt was that of my groom, who was an old soldier. His head
was laid open with a sword-cut, and had to be sewn up; but he
accompanied us for several years after; and except a cook and a scribe
little accustomed to such scenes, none of the natives in our party
showed any signs of fear in face of the howling mob.
When the Emir was afterwards tried and sentenced to eighteen months’
hard labour, he was asked how the quarrel began. He said that he was
taking an evening walk when we set upon him and beat him. It was
represented to him by the Kadi that this was scarcely credible, as we
were only fifteen in all, in a city where he had hundreds of retainers;
and to this he had no answer. It was to his own furious temper that he
owed the punishment inflicted for breaking the peace with law-abiding
explorers working by express permission of the Sultan.
The negotiations which followed this riot were extremely tedious, and
interfered with our progress. In addition to this, I had caught a
serious attack of fever in the Buttauf marshes, and at one time the
whole expedition was down with fever in the Carmel Monastery, except
Sergeant Armstrong, who nursed us all. My health was so much shaken that
I was unfit for further field work for several years, and, indeed, was
not expected by the doctors to live through the attack of fever,
aggravated by the injuries to my head.
The Turks at first did nothing, for the Emir was a relation of the
venerable and respected Abd-el-Kader, whose acquaintance I was happy to
have made, though this was unknown to his cousin. Afterwards they
dispatched a commission, which adjudicated in our absence, and only
inflicted nominal punishment; finally, my representations at home,
backed by the Foreign Office, led to a proper inquiry, with the result
that several of our assailants underwent terms of imprisonment,
including the Emir, Aly Agha. The Palestine Exploration Fund Committee
were paid the sum of £270 for our broken heads.
The mountains of Upper Galilee rise to a height of 4000 feet above the
Mediterranean at Meirûn, the Jewish town where a wild torchlight dance
of Jews occurs yearly round the tomb of Bar Jochai, the Cabbalist--a
ceremony which I regret never to have witnessed or to have seen fully
described. The ridges of these mountains are crowned by several
important castles, which defended the kingdom of Jerusalem against the
Sultans of Damascus. Toron (now Tibnin) was built as early as 1107 A.D.,
and Belfort (now Kal’at esh Shukif) in or before 1179 A.D. The great
castle above the Jordan springs at Banias was held from 1130 to 1165,
and after its loss the line was protected along the Jordan side of
Galilee by Chateau Neuf, now Hunin, and Belvoir (Kaukab el Hawa), south
of the Sea of Galilee, with another strong fort, built in 1178 A.D., at
the Jordan bridge south of the Huleh Lake. This place William of Tyre
calls “the Ford of Jacob,” and its modern name is Kasr’Atra, near the
“Bridge of Jacob’s Daughters.” The chain of castles ran through Gilead
to Kerak, and thence south to Montreal, which was built in 1115, and
thence to Ahamant and Taphilah; while on the south-west of the kingdom
there were many other forts, such as Blancheward, Chateau Ernuald, the
Castle of the Baths, Darum (near Gaza), Ibelin, Gibilin, and Mirabel,
all of which are marked on the map. Another similar line of strongholds
also protected the county of Tripoli against the Sultan of Aleppo,
including Mont Pelerin at Tripoli, Chastel Blanc, Krak des Chevaliers,
Mont Ferrand, Margat, and Saone, in Northern Syria. In Galilee other
castles were also built in the thirteenth century by the Teutonic Order,
who owned much property between Acre and the Sea of Galilee, acquired by
treaty with the Saracens. Among these later castles Safed was one, and
Chateau du Roi (Malia), with Chateau Judin farther west. The large
castle of Montfort (el Kurein) is also not noticed before 1229 A.D.
[Illustration: KRAK DES CHEVALIERS (KALA’T EL HOSN).]
M. E. Rey, the French explorer, who has specially studied Crusading
castles, points out a difference between those built by the Templars and
those built by the Hospitallers, for most of these strongholds belonged
to the great military orders, and very few were held by the King. The
Templars had eighteen castles in all, including Chateau Pelerin (now
Athlit), built in 1291 A.D. south of Carmel, and Tortosa. The
Hospitallers in the twelfth century had only five great castles, Margat,
Krak des Chevaliers, Chateau Rouge, Gibelin and Beauvoir. The Templar
castles contain polygonal chapels, like the Templum Domini or Dome of
the Rock, whence the Order was named, while the chapels in castles of
the Hospitallers are of the usual form, with nave and aisles. The latter
builders also did not generally make a donjon tower as an inner citadel,
but often had a double line of ramparts with several important towers,
as at Krak des Chevaliers, one of the finest and best preserved of the
castles, which I visited in 1881, or that at Banias, which I explored in
the following year. Krak quite recalls the Norman castles of our own
country, or the early French castles, as it towers above the hamlet on
the rugged slope. In its courtyard the whole population of that hamlet
might have taken refuge in time of war. The proud humility of the
Hospitallers is brought to mind by the text carved in Gothic letters by
the door of the chapel in the inner court--
Sit tibi copia
Sit sapientia
Formaque detur
Inquinat omnia
Sola superbia
Si cometetur.
There is, however, another text on the outer wall at Krak in ornamental
Arabic characters and in another style. “In the name of God, merciful
and gracious, the rebuilding of this most favoured castle was ordered in
the reign of our master the Sultan Melek edh Dhaher, the wise, the just,
champion of the holy war, the pious, the defender of frontiers, the
victorious, the pillar of the land and of the faith, the father of
victory, Bibars.” And such indeed was the history of nearly all these
castles, which Bibars took, and afterwards restored and held. The name
of that famous champion of Islam, Melek edh Dhaher, “the victorious
king,” is even now not forgotten by the peasantry of Palestine.
From the mountains of Upper Galilee you look down to the narrow
shore-line of the coast of Phœnicia. In the later Jewish times the
Holy Land was only reckoned to extend along the shore as far as Ecdippa
(ez Zib), north of Acre. From that point it passed over the spurs along
a line which I have traced in detail from the names of places mentioned
in the Talmud, leaving a broad strip of country reckoned as
Phœnician. It is very remarkable that immediately beyond this line we
begin to meet with carvings on the rocks representing human beings. One
of these near Tyre I copied in 1881, and another which I have not seen
is reported to exist near Kanah. It cannot be accidental that no such
sculptures have been found within the borders of the Holy Land, whereas
they occur in Northern Syria near Merash, and in Assyria and Asia Minor.
The explanation is, I believe, to be found in the Hebrew law which
forbade the representation of living things.
If any carved idols of the Canaanites existed on the rocks in Palestine,
they were probably destroyed at some period or other by the pious
Hebrews or Jews. The distinction is, however, one of race, for the Arab
hates carved images as much as did the Jew, while the Turanian
Canaanites were fond of such arts, just as the Turanians of other parts
of Western Asia were the first to adorn temples and houses with
sculpture and painting.
The moment we cross the border into Phœnicia, we also find
Phœnician inscriptions, though not of very great age. At Umm el Amed,
Renan discovered three texts, of which the longest is a dedication to
Baal Shemim, “That I may be remembered and my name good beneath the feet
of my Lord Baal of the Heavens for ever.” The ruins among which these
texts were found include a city (probably the Biblical Hammon) and a
temple. Here I found sculptured sarcophagi and altars still lying on
the hill side, where the French explorers left them, and the foundations
and pillars of a Phœnician temple.
The exploration of Tyre itself was conducted in 1874, in 1877, and in
1881. The famous city is still a fair-sized town, having a few modern
houses with tiled roofs. The population is reckoned at about 5000 souls,
half at least being Metâwileh or Persian schismatics--some of the most
fanatical Moslems in Syria. It was by these new colonists that the town
was raised from its ruins in the eighteenth century.
The old Phœnician capital stood on reefs or islands in the sea, which
together formed an area of about 200 acres. It had two ports, the
Sidonian on the north and the Egyptian on the south, each about twelve
acres in extent, or half the area of the port at Sidon. It is a curious
fact that until 1881 recent explorers have spoken of the Egyptian
harbour as no longer existing. With Lieutenant Mantell’s assistance, I
was able to recover the site of this harbour, but the exploration had to
be conducted in a novel manner by swimming. There are reefs, which seem
to have been regarded as unconnected with any artificial structure,
about 200 yards from the rocky shore of the island. On reaching these,
we found that the rock had been carefully levelled, and in some places
was still covered with remains of cement and concrete. We know that the
Phœnicians used concrete at Carthage, and there was probably at one
time a wall on this reef, which was thrown down when the harbour, like
that of Acre, was filled up with stones, and thus rendered useless. We
were able with some little trouble, walking naked in the sun over the
sharp rocks, to discover the entrance to the harbour at its west end,
and I can only suppose that no one had previously done more than look
at the reefs from the shore.
Another important discovery, which may yet lead to more valuable finds,
was the recovery of the probable site of the old cemetery on the island,
which may, I believe, exist under the present Moslem graveyard. We
squeezed through a narrow fissure in the rocks on the shore, and found
ourselves in a Phœnician tomb of the peculiar character found at both
Tyre and Sidon--a chamber at the bottom of a deep shaft from the
surface. Unfortunately this tomb has been rifled, and the sarcophagus
which it once held now lies on the ground outside the shaft. There may
be other tombs not far off of the same kind which remain to be
discovered, but excavation in a modern cemetery would present
considerable difficulties.
Tyre was already a city on an island in the sea in the fourteenth
century B.C., as we learn from an Egyptian papyrus of that date.
Enumerating the coast towns of Beirût, Sidon, and Sarepta, the Egyptian
traveller adds, “They are nigh to another city on the sea. Tyre, the
double port, is its name; water is carried to it in boats; it is richer
in fish than in sands.” The reference to the want of water is of
interest, for this has always been the weakness of Tyre, which was
somewhat later supplied by an aqueduct from the fine springs on the
shore at Ras el Ain. The joining of the island to the mainland appears
to have been first effected when Alexander the Great besieged the city
and made a causeway to it from the shore, which causeway is now
broadened by the constant drifting of the sands. The so-called “spring
of Tyre” on the causeway is fed, I believe, by the ancient aqueduct,
which we carefully traced. The work seems in great part to be probably
Roman, but I found that in one part “false arches,” like those in
Etruscan and early Greek vaults, occur in this aqueduct, which can only
be attributed to the Phœnicians. The aqueduct probably existed in the
time of Shalmanezer IV., for the inhabitants in 724 B.C. dug cisterns
when the water-supply from the land was cut off.
Although Tyre is perhaps more celebrated than any other Phœnician
city, it is from Sidon that the finest Phœnician remains as yet found
have been recovered, including the celebrated sarcophagus of
Esmunazar--the date of which is still disputed within several
centuries--and the recent large find of sarcophagi and art objects which
remain in the Constantinople Museum, unpublished and only very vaguely
described. These remains are not older, apparently, than the Greek
period, or in some cases, perhaps, of the Persian age. It is sincerely
to be hoped that good accounts of them will be soon forthcoming.
It is still very doubtful what we mean when speaking of Phœnicians.
The alphabet and the language of the Phœnician monuments are Semitic,
and are traced perhaps as early as the time of Solomon. The
representation of the Fenekhu or Phœnicians on Egyptian pictures of
the time of Thothmes III. also presents us with a Semitic type of
bearded aquiline profile. These Semitic people were certainly the
Phœnicians known to the Greeks, and there is no good reason for
doubting the statement of Herodotus that they were emigrants from the
Persian Gulf.
There are, however, many things in Phœnician antiquity which are not
easily explained by the aid of Semitic studies. Thus, for instance, the
gods Tammuz and Nergal were adored in Phœnicia. Even Gesenius is
unable to give a Semitic derivation for these names, and they are very
well known to be Akkadian words, meaning “The spirit of the rising sun”
and “The great lord.” Both these deities were adored in Chaldea, and
their presence in Phœnicia indicates a population of like character
to the Akkadian on the shores of Palestine. Nor is this the only
indication of the kind. The Hebrew language itself contains foreign
words of the same derivation, including a good many of what are known as
“culture words,” relating to architecture, agriculture, and settled
life, indicating the influence of that settled non-Semitic population
which the Hebrews found dwelling in walled cities and tilling the land
when they invaded Canaan.
It is not possible here to enlarge on this subject, though it is one of
very great interest. No scholar who has carefully studied the early
Phœnician seals and cylinders can fail to observe how like they are
to the art of Mesopotamia, not only in general character, but in subject
and in the details of symbolism. Rude monosyllabic words constantly meet
the eye in Phœnician nomenclature, in the names of gods and in short
inscriptions on seals, which it is very difficult to explain as Semitic.
The conclusion at which it seems to me we must arrive is, that in
Phœnicia, as in other parts of Syria, there was from a very early
period a mixed population. The traders and rulers of the cities were of
a race akin to the Hebrews, and spoke a language which is only a Hebrew
dialect; but there must have been also an old element of population
existing perhaps, in this case, chiefly among the lower class, which was
quite distinct, and which belonged to that ancient and wide-spread
“Turanian” race to which the Medes, the Akkadians, and the Hittites also
belonged. It was from this race originally that the Phœnicians
acquired their knowledge of metal-work, of seal-engraving, of sculpture;
and I believe that it was from the syllabaries and older hieroglyphics
of the Hittites that they developed their great invention, the alphabet,
which they bequeathed as a practical benefit to all engaged in commerce
and literature throughout the world; for it is from the Phœnician
alphabet that every other alphabet of Europe or of Asia has sprung.
The number of Phœnician gems with carved emblems, and of small
Phœnician pottery figures of the gods which fill our museums
contrasts in a very remarkable way with the absence of such remains in
Palestine proper. The only places where such pottery figures have been
found in the south are at Gaza and at Gezer, as far as I can ascertain.
The Jerusalem seals, generally speaking, have only an engraved name,
though a few, said to be Hebrew, have emblems like those of Phœnicia.
There is no apparent reason why these pottery images and other idols
should exist undiscovered in Palestine, for collectors are just as eager
in the south as in the north of Syria, and the tombs have been rifled
equally in all parts. In the Palestine tombs glass tear-bottles are
found, and coins occasionally occur; but the pottery statuettes are
absent. The explanation seems to be that there was a difference of
religion between the Hebrews and their neighbours; that the
Phœnicians, like the Chaldeans or Egyptians, believed in the efficacy
of such figures, symbolic of their many gods, while the Hebrews were
forbidden by the Law to make any such image. The same sort of conclusion
may, as we shall see in a later chapter, be drawn from the absence of
rude stone monuments in Palestine, such monuments being very abundant in
parts of Syria not reached by the zeal of Hezekiah and of Josiah.
The course of our investigation now carries us into the extreme
north-east corner of the Holy Land, to Banias, under the slopes of
Hermon, where the Jordan springs forth a full-grown stream, joining the
Hasbâny river, which geographically, but not historically, is the true
head-water. The fastnesses of this lofty mountain, which forms a
conspicuous background to many a view in Galilee, in Samaria, and even
in Judea, have always formed a remote and isolated region. It was here
that the men of Dan, according to the Book of Judges, came to Laish,
“unto a people that were quiet and secure, and smote them with the edge
of the sword, and burned the city with fire; and there was no deliverer
because it was far from Sidon, and they had no business with any man”
(Judges xviii. 27, 28); and in later ages this mountain was the cradle
of the Druze religion, which at one time had its missionaries in
Afghanistan and in India, as well as in Persia, Arabia, and Egypt.
The Druze race inhabiting Hermon, and now existing in great numbers in
the Hauran, to which some of the chief families have migrated from the
Lebanon since the establishment of Christian rule in that province,
represents one of the finest elements of population in Syria.
Tall, stalwart men, and women with features more delicate than any of
the Arab or Fellahah females, seem to belong to a Persian rather than a
Semitic race, although the language of their literature and of daily
life is Arabic.[44] It is not hard to become acquainted with Druzes of
every class, but to penetrate beneath the surface which they present to
those of other creeds is far more difficult, and our knowledge of their
creed is derived, not from any communications made by themselves, but
from the capture of their sacred books; although even these probably
only reveal the outer aspect of their belief, with one exception.
The Druzes have long been regarded with great interest in Europe, their
bravery and ability having won for them a well-deserved fame. To me they
were the most interesting people in Syria next to the Samaritans, and
what I observed of the manners of their leaders (under very favourable
circumstances in 1873 and 1882) fully agreed with the expectations
raised by what I had read. But, on the other hand, a sort of mystery has
been conceived by some enthusiasts to surround them, which disappears
when the student compares them with other historic sects. They have been
represented as if they were Oriental disciples of Mde. Blavatsky, or
mystics claiming secrets of a supernatural nature. Those who know them
well and have been long familiar with them hold a very different
opinion, and regard them as a very practical and politic people, who may
yet play a part in the history of the Levant, and who, but for their
dissensions, would have become the dominant power in Syria, instead of
the Turks. I have had more than one Druze servant, but they do not prove
satisfactory in that character, being very independent and averse to
regular habits. Their religion allows them to acquiesce in the creed of
the dominant people, wherever they may be; thus to a Christian they
present the Christian aspect of their system, and their Moslem beliefs
to a Moslem. It seems, however, established that they have no rites,
ceremonies, or prayers of their own, and that the gatherings in their
remote chapels or _khalwehs_ are mainly for political and social
purposes.
The accounts of the beauty of their horses, the richness of their dress,
the silver ornaments of saddles, bridles, swords, and guns, I did not
find to be exaggerated; but the curious horned head-dress, worn under
the veil by the women till quite recent times, I have never seen in use,
though such a horn, made of silver filagree-work, was once shown to me.
It is a curious and interesting fact that this head-dress was also worn
by tribes in Central Asia, on the Oxus, near the Caspian; and this
indication agrees with others to be mentioned shortly in indicating that
the original Druzes were probably emigrants from Persia, or from some
region perhaps farther east.
The Druzes are perhaps best described as Moslem Gnostics, and the best
key to their rambling and concrete dogmas is found in a study of Gnostic
systems. They are schismatics, whose chief distinguishing tenet is a
belief that the mad Khalif Hakem, in the eleventh century, was the final
incarnation of the power of God. The appearance of this heresy in Egypt
was due to the fact that the Fatemite Khalifs in that country were of
the Ismailiyeh sect, which was of Persian origin. Other sects of similar
character were independently established in Syria (the Metâwileh, the
Anseiriyeh, and the Ismailiyeh), among which the Druzes probably gained
many recruits.
When the Moslems conquered the Persian dominions, they came in contact
with several religions and with numerous philosophies. The Zoroastrian
established faith, the Christianity of Nestorians and Sabians, the
Judaism of the great Chaldean schools, were firmly rooted in the land;
and in addition to these the Manichean system, which was, in fact, a
combination of the preceding with Buddhist scepticism, had spread on all
sides, even as far as Turkestan. Moslem mystic and philosophic sects
very quickly developed under these influences, and the Sufis represent
the adoption of Buddhist ideas by professing Moslems.
The philosophic sects held the opinion--which is also a Buddhist
view--that the religion of the masses can never be the same as that of
leading minds. The Ismailiyeh and other Moslem societies put this belief
into practice, teaching to their disciples a series of dogmas in which
they had no personal belief. Thus, while they professed to explain a
series of incarnations of the Natek and the Asas, who were in the future
to appear on earth as Ismail and Muhammad, in secret initiation they
taught the more advanced student to discard all belief in either Korân,
or Gospel, or incarnation, and to believe only in two natures (“the
uprising one” and “the abode”), which together were, they said, the only
realities in the universe. This doctrine is closely similar to that of
the Syrian and Persian Gnostics, and to the final initiation of
Eleusinian and other mysteries, as we learn from many detailed accounts.
This simple basis enables us to thread the labyrinth of absurd
allegories which the various sects wove round their concealed
disbelief. These were, as a rule, politic dogmas, framed to bring into
the organisation men from every existing creed, and apparently to
reconcile systems which, in the eyes of the initiated, were all equally
untrue.
The dogmas generally cited as tenets of the Druze religion are those
taught to the lowest and uninitiated class. They are known through the
seizure of sacred books by the Maronites in 1837, during Ibrahim Pasha’s
wars, and again by the French in 1860. The great Orientalist De Sacy at
the earlier period was able to study at leisure the manuscripts in the
National Library at Paris, and Dr. Wortabet added to his results after
1860.
There is no reason here to give the details of this fantastic system.
The Druze doctrines as to Christ, like those in the Korân, are clearly
of Gnostic origin. Their teaching of a paradise for the pious dead in
China, whence also Hakem is to return at the last day, and their dogma
of transmigration of souls, were no doubt learned from Bactrian
Buddhists or from Manicheans. We have already seen that more than one
link connects them with the Manichean and Buddhist Mongols of Turkestan,
though in appearance they approach nearer to Persians and Parsees. They
have celibates among them, and hermits who retire to distant _khalwehs_,
sleeping on mats, with pillows of stone, eating dry bread, and dressed
in wool, with a girdle like that of monks or of the Dervish orders; but
they are also commonly said to celebrate annual orgies, like those of
Gnostics, of Greek pagans, or of the Sakti sects in India. They have
secret emblems whereby they recognise each other, one of which is the
fig, which was also a Manichean emblem, according to Cyril of
Jerusalem. By none of these tenets or customs are they very clearly
distinguished from Anseiriyeh or Ismailiyeh heretics, the divinity of
Hakem being their true point of schism.
There is, however, in existence a work, said to be that of Hamza, the
original Druze teacher, which admits us within the veil of initiation.
It is called the “Hidden Destruction,” and it abolishes both Tawil and
Tenzil, or open and secret dogma as to the Korân. It reduces the Moslem
prayer--the Fetwa--to a cabalistic myth of planets and zodiac. It
abolishes prayer, sacrifice, tithes, fasting, pilgrimage, the holy war,
and even submission; and for these seven cardinal doctrines of Islam it
substitutes seven new laws, which represent truth according to Druze
philosophy.
1st, The confession of truth, save when such confession may
endanger the safety of the initiate, when silence is allowed. Thus,
too, the Buddhist is taught not to interfere with the common
beliefs of other men.
2d, The duty of mutual help and assistance.
3d, The concealed renunciation of every form of creed or dogma.
4th, A separation from those who live in error.
5th, The unity of “the Power” in all ages.
6th, Contentment with His will.
7th, Resignation to inevitable fate.
This then, I believe, is the true system of Druze initiation. The
fantastic dogmas are but the husk of which this is the kernel. There is
no real mysticism in the system, but simply a concealed scepticism which
renounces even the most negative of religions--that of Muhammad. The
inquirer who expects to discover a secret supernaturalism among these
philosophers deceives himself, and would by them be regarded with
contempt.
In the present chapter we have thus had occasion to refer to four
developments of Moslem religion existing in Syria side by side with the
Sunnee faith (the Metâwileh, the Ismailiyeh, the Anseiriyeh, and the
Druze), and I may perhaps be pardoned a few words in addition on a
question which of late has excited interest in England, namely, the
comparative vitality of Christian and Moslem religion in lands where
both exist together.
On this matter the views of the tourist visitor, however well stored his
mind may be with knowledge obtained from books, have little permanent
value. Nor will conversations, carried on by aid of a dragoman, with
respectable Moslem doctors, or with peasants, really enable the
new-comer to form a true opinion. Islam is not what it appears to be to
the stranger, and Moslems do not, and indeed cannot, give to such a
visitor a comprehensive view of their creed. It is necessary to live for
many years in a Moslem country, and in daily contact with Moslems of all
classes, in order really to know what they and their religion are like;
and such contact will not lead the impartial observer to form a very
high estimate of the practical results of Moslem teaching.
In the first place, Islam can only be regarded as a general term, like
Christendom. There are in Islam as many antagonisms, as much
indifference and disbelief, as many sects mutually hateful, as much
discord and contention over abstract dogmas, as are to be found in the
West. A general reconciliation and union is as impossible in the one
case as in the other. But if we are to judge Christianity and Islam by
their declared moral standards, Islam must stand second. It is,
moreover, the most negative of faiths, distinguished by what it denies,
not by what it maintains. The enthusiasm for Moslem religion which some
writers express is but the natural reaction from that ignorant prejudice
against the “wickedness of the false prophet” which used to mark our
entire want of knowledge of Moslem belief; but this enthusiasm is also
the result of imperfect knowledge, and it dies off as the student of
Moslem life becomes more intimate with actual society in the East.
It is true that Islam spreads with rapid strides in countries where the
Arabs are strong and where Christian teachers are weak. The conquered
are forced to adopt the creed of the conqueror, but the conversion is
not superior to the orthodoxy of Spain under the Inquisition; and the
propaganda is the same as that of the persecuting days of mediæval
Christianity. It is surely no mark of advanced religious culture that
uniformity should be due to terror of the sword.
Islam does (as far as I have been able to observe) absolutely nothing
for the education and raising up of the ignorant and of the poor. The
religion of the so-called Moslem peasant is the paganism of the days
before Islam was preached. He swears by Muhammad, but his real gods are
the buried saints, whose power to punish him by misfortune he dreads. He
lives in fear of the Jân, of the Ghouls, of the Kerâd or “goblins;” he
prays to the holy tree; he believes in magic and in witches. No attempt
is made to educate him. He cannot read or write; he has no doctor save
the charitable European who may chance to pass by. So long as he
proclaims his belief in God and the Prophet, no one troubles himself as
to his fate. The dark places are full of cruelty, and the morality of
the peasant is generally not better than that of the African savage.[45]
The visitor, charmed by the natural dignity and courtesy of Oriental
manners, does not see more than the surface, and it is not till one
incident after another reveals the truth, that it can be recognised that
Islam has done nothing to raise the poor. In the cities usually visited
the traveller finds mosques filled with decent congregations. In the
villages there are no mosques at all. Many peasants cannot repeat the
simple Moslem prayer. They can do nothing more than light a lamp to the
_Nebi_ when child or husband are sick. They dwell in an imaginary
atmosphere of marvels, like that in which the Zulu or the Hindu peasant
passes a lifetime of superstitious fear. We have nothing like it, save
perhaps as a survival in the wilder mountain districts of Britain, where
witches are still feared. The pious doctors and fanatic Imams of Islam
have done nothing to compare to the home-missions of England. This is
not only the case in Syria; it applies equally to the whole Moslem
world.
Among the upper class, too, there are many differences of belief and of
life. The mosque students and doctors represent, as a rule, orthodoxy of
the most conservative type. Yet even among these some survival of the
philosophy of the early Baghdad schools may exist, some tinge of the
influence of Plato and of Aristotle, which led captive for a while the
intellect of Islam. Among these, again, the passionate mysticism of the
Sufis represents an emotional condition not unknown in the West. The
Sufi gives up the riddle of existence to seek the final union with God,
which is the aim of his life. But side by side with these are men
professing Islam, yet breaking its laws, soldiers and diplomatists who
have seen the world unknown to the dweller in mosques or to the literary
professor; men also who drink wine and who neglect prayer; other men who
take bribes and grind the faces of the poor; pitiful ambitions gained by
crooked means; white turbans covering hypocrisy, and successful humbugs
decked with stars.
There is, however, one phase of Moslem life which has no exact
counterpart in the West--a power which is often unsuspected but very
great, namely, that of the Dervish orders. The visitor who sees the
miserable mendicant in the street, who hears the frantic howls of those
performing the _zikr_, or watches the stately dance of the Mawlawîyeh,
little suspects the power which underlies these outward appearances, and
little understands the reason for that reverence which is shown, even by
Turkish officials, for the Dervish beggar. Miserable and ignorant as is
the fanatic who thrusts a sword through his arm, or devours scorpions,
charms snakes, treads on the sick babe laid before him, or bathes in
charcoal embers, he yet belongs to a wide-spread secret organisation,
and has sworn away his private judgment and liberty of action, devoting
himself to fulfil the will of one man, the distant head of his order. A
letter from such a chief will secure the active help of innumerable
associates scattered far and wide, in Turkey, in Egypt, and yet farther
afield. The power which Gnostics, Assassins, Templars, and other secret
orders used to wield is still wielded in a certain measure by the
Dervish leaders: we have only a faint reflex of such a system among
Masons. Yet it cannot be said that the Dervish orders have done much for
Islam: rather have they served to secure the aims and ambitions of
chiefs who, regarded by their ignorant followers as possessed of
marvellous powers, are yet perhaps in reality as sceptical as the Druze
initiates. By pretensions to spiritual knowledge and power they attract
the poor candidate who stands naked at the door begging for admission to
the order. By jugglery and sensational acts they captivate the
imagination of the mob. But they are careful only to admit to their real
counsels those of whose intelligence and trustworthiness they have had
long experience. The Dervishes may lead the populace in religious war,
but chiefly when certain very practical aims are seen by their leaders
to be thereby attainable.
Such considerations, though they have led us far away from Galilee, will
perhaps be allowed as the results of practical acquaintance with Islam,
gained by six years of life in Moslem lands, and may be useful in face
of the somewhat superficial estimates of Moslem religious life which so
often appear before the public as the results of a trip to the more
frequented towns of the Levant and the talk of dragomans and renegade
Turks. I know only one point in which Islam has real advantage over
Christianity, namely, in its direct condemnation of drink. Even Islam is
unable entirely to stamp out this curse; but when we contrast the
sobriety of Palestine with the drink traffic forced on natives of South
Africa by an English-speaking race, whose Government draws a revenue
from the excise, we find that there is one great lesson to be learned in
the East, and one great evil which the voice of Muhammad has always
proclaimed as such. In all other respects--the position of women, the
condition of education among the poor, the sympathy of the upper class
with the ignorant, the love of truth, and of freedom, and of
justice--the lands where Islam is established can never be compared with
those where Christianity is purest.
These reflections have been raised by the remembrance of days spent in
crossing over Hermon, from Banias to Hasbeya, on the road to Damascus,
or in the investigation of the ruined towns and temples on the mountain,
or in toiling to the summit, 9200 feet above the sea, where the Survey
party once spent the night, and took observations of the stars for
latitude. It is one of the wildest and most picturesque parts of Syria.
The lower slopes are of the sandstone which underlies the Lebanon and
appears on the Moab hills. Above is the hard fossiliferous limestone,
which is a base-bed in Western Palestine. Near the Druze villages great
cascades of bright green foliage deck the mountain slopes, where the
vineyards, already famous in Hebrew times, run terrace above terrace.
Clumps of pines, low thickets of oak and mastic, and hedges of wild rose
rise towards the snowy dome, where the Syrian bears are hiding, and
whence sometimes they venture down to eat the grapes. The costumes of
the Druzes, the white veils, through which one eye only of the Druze
damsels is seen, and the brightly-coloured dress of the men, are equally
picturesque; as are, too, the solitary _khalwehs_ or meeting-places
perched on cliffs remote from other habitations.
The scenery round Banias is also of remarkable beauty. It is well known
to tourists, who generally visit it at its best. Here by the Mound of
Dan is the fine clump of oaks, a familiar resting-place, near which is
the tomb of Sheikh Merzûk, who is said to have been a dog. To the west
the path crosses four rushing brooks, which join the cascades of Banias
to form the Jordan, breaking over stony channels in a plain strewn
everywhere with blocks of black basalt, covered at times with
orange-coloured lichens.
It was here that I discovered a group of dolmens in 1882, which had
previously been overlooked amid the many natural boulders, and which are
no doubt connected with the old worship of the region. Farther east the
town itself still preserves its great Norman wall in parts, and the rush
of the Jordan, shooting down in a foaming torrent between thickets of
low shrubs, with forest trees in groups here and there, and a few
poplars, is that of an Alpine river rather than of a Syrian stream. High
up on the east the ruins of the great castle, which was the bulwark of
Christendom against Damascus, cover a long spur on the side of Hermon.
The great cave of Pan, whence Banias takes its name, has now fallen in,
so that the full effect, which probably was to be remarked when Josephus
wrote, is lost; for the sudden bursting of the river out of the cavern
must have been very striking. A little Moslem chapel is built on the
debris, and dedicated naturally to El Khudr, the mysterious “green one,”
who drank the water of life, and who represents the vivifying power of
moisture in Moslem folk-lore. On the rocks, still half legible, are the
Greek inscriptions of the days of Agrippa, one dedicating an altar to
the nymphs, another recording the name of Agrippa as archon of the
year, a third speaking of the priest of the god Pan. The name of Pan at
this place is perhaps older than the Greek age, and of Canaanite origin,
since the word as a Turanian term, meaning a “spirit,” is found in many
languages of the group to which the Hittite tongue belonged. Looking
southwards over the flat Jordan plain, you see the marshy Huleh lake
shining amid its papyrus swamps. On the east are the fantastic cones of
the Jaulan volcanoes, on the west the bushy range of Naphtali, on the
north the rugged ridges of Hermon. The black camps of the Arabs are
dotted over the plain, their brown cattle wander beside the streams, and
the women in dark flowing robes are churning butter in goatskin bags
beside the “houses of hair.”
Hermon appears in all ages to have been a sacred mountain and a
religious centre. The name is thought by some to mean a “sanctuary,” but
by Gesenius to mean a “mountain spur.” The old Amorite name was Shenir,
of uncertain meaning, and the Sidonians called it Sirion, which is
probably a Turanian word meaning “white” or “snowy.” Long after the
calves of Dan had been overthrown, and before the calf became an emblem
in the Druze _khalwehs_ on the same mountain, the Romans covered its
slopes with little temples. These have been, for the most part, visited
and described. Sir Charles Warren made careful plans of the
best-preserved examples, and nearly all of them I have explored on
different occasions. At Rukhleh, on the north-west slope, there are
remains of such a temple, which has been pulled to pieces apparently to
make a church. The Roman eagle, which one traveller in his enthusiasm
has called Hittite, is here carved in bold relief, as also at Baalbek,
and in the curious temples of the Anseireh mountains; and a great head
of the sun-god is sculptured on another stone. Here, too, occur Greek
inscriptions; one recording the adorning of the temple gates with
silver, another mentioning the Epiarch of Abila. Farther north, at Abila
itself, the ground is strewn with Greek funerary texts, and the rocks
burrowed with tombs, one of which has rude busts in low relief over the
entrance, such as we also found over Roman tombs in Gilead.
On the top of the mountain itself there are some very curious remains. A
sort of peak has here been surrounded by an oval of cut stones carefully
laid, within which we found a quantity of ashes, apparently belonging to
some beacon or sacrificial fire once lighted on the spot. Close to this
circle is a cave hewn in the rock, measuring fifteen feet by
twenty-four, with a roof supported by a rocky pillar. Three steps lead
down into the cave, and the rock above has been levelled, perhaps as the
floor of a building. There is no historic account of the object with
which this curious cave was cut high up on the snowy summit, remote from
all inhabited spots. The Druze hermits are said to retire to Hermon, but
their place of retreat was shown to me farther down the side of the
mountain. The names of Antar and Nimrod are connected with various
buildings on Hermon, and the remains on the top are called “Castle of
the Youths” by the shepherds. It is said that a Greek inscription lies
near the circle round the highest peak. This I was unable to discover.
The rock of the peak has been cut so as to form a sunken trench with a
round shaft--perhaps for water--beside it. The object of these cuttings
is, however, obscure.
By passing the night on the summit, I was able to witness two of the
most interesting scenes imaginable--the sunrise over the plains of
Damascus and the sunset in the sea. These I have fully described in
another work, but, as there is no other point from which such a general
view of Palestine can be gained, I may be allowed to repeat in part what
I saw. We ascended the mountain on the 9th of September, at which time
it was quite free from snow. Indeed, we could not even find snow to melt
for cooking, and had thus great difficulty in getting water.
Beneath us, apparently quite near, lay the calm Sea of Galilee, showing
a light green among its dusky cliffs. Tabor and the Horns of Hattin
appeared to the right, and the chain of the Safed mountains as far as
the Ladder of Tyre. The gorge of the Litany River was clear, with
Belfort on its northern slope, and Tyre itself with its harbours. Carmel
formed the extreme distance on this side, about eighty miles away.
On the east the Syrian desert stretched unbroken towards the Euphrates,
and the white houses and minarets of Damascus were set in a deep border
of green from the surrounding gardens. Farther to the south-east, as on
a map, we looked down into the craters of the Jaulan volcanoes, which
seemed no larger than the hollow cones of the ant-bear. Over the great
brown Bashan plains, so full of ruined Roman cities, of endless Greek
inscriptions, of Nabathean texts scrawled on the rocks, and of dolmen
groups yet older, we saw the great columns of the whirlwinds slowly
stalking in the autumn heat. The Druze villages were at our feet, and a
green valley with a gleaming stream.
On the west the long ridges of the Southern Lebanon reached out to the
great level of the Mediterranean, with dark shadows in the deep ravines.
On the north is Sannin, with its cedar clumps, and grey rocky walls, and
valleys fringed with pines. The glorious flush of the Eastern sunset
bathed all this scene for a few moments, and then, while still in
sunshine ourselves, the steel-blue shadow crept over all the lower
world. The great conical shadow of Hermon crept out eastwards and
swallowed up Damascus, and stretching yet farther for seventy miles over
the desert, stood out against the thick haze on the sky itself.
When the dawn rose, we again stood on the peak, where perhaps the old
sun-worshippers used to await the great orb, which here rises from the
desert horizon. Often in other places have I seen the first white streak
and the glory of the aurora behind mountain ranges; but here, as the red
globe appears in the mists over a boundless plain, the great shadow of
Hermon stretches far across the dim Mediterranean--a sight not often
seen by those who watch the dawn. Wherever a single peak stands out
alone, such a shadow may be seen from the summit. In Teneriffe it
stretches over the Atlantic, and the watchers on other mountains have
seen it; but in Palestine there is nowhere else such a sight or so
glorious a panorama, because nowhere else does a solitary mountain stand
up twice the height of the surrounding hills. The great peak of Monte
Viso, rising above the Italian snowy ranges, has a finer outline, but
Hermon is unlike any mountain with which I am acquainted. It appears as
the centre of every view in northern Palestine, and its snowy dome is
seen from the plains near Jaffa, and from the valley of Jericho; while
on the north its outline is equally impressive from the plains of
Cœle-Syria, or from the heights of Lebanon. It is this scone which
rises in the mind of Hebrew poets in many ages, and which inspires the
Song of Songs: “Look from the top of Amana, from the top of Shenir, even
Hermon, from the lions’ dens, and from the mountains of the leopards.”
[Illustration: JEBEL SANNIN (LEBANON).
_To face page 132._]