Part 12 (1/2)

VIII.

RELIGION AND MYTHOLOGY.--IDOLATRY AND ANTHROPOMORPHISM.--THE CHALDEAN LEGENDS AND THE BOOK OF GENESIS.--RETROSPECT.

1. In speaking of ancient nations, the words ”Religion” and ”Mythology”

are generally used indiscriminately and convertibly. Yet the conceptions they express are essentially and radically different. The broadest difference, and the one from which all others flow, is that the one--Religion--is a thing of the feelings, while the other--Mythology--is a thing of the imagination. In other words, Religion comes from WITHIN--from that consciousness of limited power, that inborn need of superior help and guidance, forbearance and forgiveness, from that longing for absolute goodness and perfection, which make up the distinctively human attribute of ”religiosity,” that attribute which, together with the faculty of articulate speech, sets Man apart from and above all the rest of animated creation. (See p. 149.) Mythology, on the other hand, comes wholly from WITHOUT. It embodies impressions received by the senses from the outer world and transformed by the poetical faculty into images and stories. (See definition of ”Myth” on p. 294.) Professor Max Muller of Oxford has been the first, in his standard work ”The Science of Language,” clearly to define this radical difference between the two conceptions, which he has never since ceased to sound as a keynote through the long series of his works devoted to the study of the religions and mythologies of various nations. A few ill.u.s.trations from the one nation with which we have as yet become familiar will help once for all to establish a thorough understanding on this point, most essential as it is to the comprehension of the workings of the human mind and soul throughout the long roll of struggles, errors and triumphs, achievements and failures which we call the history of mankind.

2. There is no need to repeat here instances of the Shumiro-Accadian and Chaldean myths; the last three or four chapters have been filled with them. But the instances of religious feeling, though scattered in the same field, have to be carefully gleaned out and exhibited, for they belong to that undercurrent of the soul which pursues its way un.o.btrusively and is often apparently lost beneath the brilliant play of poetical fancies. But it is there nevertheless, and every now and then forces its way to the surface s.h.i.+ning forth with a startling purity and beauty. When the Accadian poet invokes the Lord ”who knows lie from truth,” ”who knows the truth that is in the soul of man,” who ”maketh lies to vanish,” who ”turneth wicked plots to a happy issue”--this is religion, not mythology, for this is not _a story_, it is the expression of _a feeling_. That ”the Lord” whose divine omniscience and goodness is thus glorified is really the Sun, makes no difference; _that_ is an error of judgment, a want of knowledge, but the religious feeling is splendidly manifest in the invocation. But when, in the same hymn, the Sun is described as ”stepping forth from the background of the skies, pus.h.i.+ng back the bolts and opening the gate of the brilliant heaven, and raising his head above the land,” etc., (see p. 172) that is only a very beautiful, imaginative description of a glorious natural phenomenon--sunrise; it is magnificent poetry, religious in so far as the sun is considered as a Being, a Divine Person, the object of an intensely devout and grateful feeling; still this is not religion, it is mythology, for it presents a material image to the mind, and one that can be easily turned into narrative, into _a story_,--which, in fact, _suggests_ a hero, a king, and a story. Take, again, the so-called ”Penitential Psalms.” To the specimen given on p. 178, let us add, for greater completeness, the following three remarkable fragments:

I. ”G.o.d, my creator, take hold of my arms! Direct the breath of my mouth, my hands direct, O lord of light.”

II. ”Lord, let not thy servant sink! Amidst the tumultuous waters take hold of his hand!”

III. ”He who fears not his G.o.d, will be cut off even like a reed. He who honors not his G.o.ddess, his bodily strength will waste away; like to a star of heaven, his splendor will pale; he will vanish like to the waters of the night.”

3. All this is religion, of the purest, loftiest kind; fruitful, too, of good, the only real test of true religion. The deep humility, the trustful appeal, the feeling of dependence, the consciousness of weakness, of sin, and the longing for deliverance from them--these are all very different from the pompous phrases of empty praise and sterile admiration; they are things which flow from the heart, not the fancy, which lighten its weight of sorrow and self-reproach, brighten it with hope and good resolutions, in short, make it happier and better--what no mere imaginative poetry, however fine, can do.

4. The radical distinction, then, between religious feeling and the poetical faculty of mythical creation, is easy to establish and follow out. On the other hand, the two are so constantly blended, so almost inextricably interwoven in the sacred poetry of the ancients, in their views of life and the world, and in their wors.h.i.+p, that it is no wonder they should be so generally confused. The most correct way of putting the case would be, perhaps, to say that the ancient Religions--meaning by the word the whole body of sacred poetry and legends as well as the national forms of wors.h.i.+p--were made up originally in about equal parts of religious feeling and of mythology. In many cases the exuberance of the imagination gained the upper hand, and there was such a riotous growth of mythical imagery and stories that the religious feeling was almost stifled under them. In others, again, the myths themselves suggested religious ideas of the deepest import and loftiest sublimity.

Such was particularly the case with the solar and Chthonic Myths--the poetical presentation of the career of the Sun and the Earth--as connected with the doctrine of the soul's immortality.

5. A curious and significant observation has been made in excavating the most ancient graves in the world, those of the so-called Mound-builders.

This name is not that of any particular race or nation, but is given indiscriminately to all those peoples who lived, on any part of the globe, long before the earliest beginnings of even the remotest times which have been made historical by preserved monuments or inscriptions of any kind. All we know of those peoples is that they used to bury their dead--at least those of special renown or high rank--in deep and s.p.a.cious stone-lined chambers dug in the ground, with a similar gallery leading to them, and covered by a mound of earth, sometimes of gigantic dimensions--a very hill. Hence the name. Of their life, their degree of civilization, what they thought and believed, we have no idea except in so far as the contents of the graves give us some indications. For, like the later, historical races, of which we find the graves in Chaldea and every other country of the ancient world, they used to bury along with the dead a mult.i.tude of things: vessels, containing food and drink; weapons, ornaments, household implements. The greater the power or renown of the dead man, the fuller and more luxurious his funeral outfit. It is indeed by no means rare to find the skeleton of a great chief surrounded by those of several women, and, at a respectful distance, more skeletons--evidently those of slaves--whose fractured skulls more than suggest the ghastly custom of killing wives and servants to do honor to an ill.u.s.trious dead and to keep him company in his narrow underground mansion. Nothing but a belief in the continuation of existence after death could have prompted these practices. For what was the sense of giving him wives and slaves, and domestic articles of all kinds, food and weapons, unless it were for his service and use on his journey to the unknown land where he was to enter on a new stage of existence, which the survivors could not but imagine to be a reproduction, in its simple conditions and needs, of the one he was leaving? There is no race of men, however primitive, however untutored, in which this belief in immortality is not found deeply rooted, positive, unquestioning. The _belief_ is implanted in man by the _wish_; it answers one of the most imperative, unsilenceable longings of human nature. For, in proportion as life is pleasant and precious, death is hideous and repellent. The idea of utter destruction, of ceasing to be, is intolerable to the mind; indeed, the senses revolt against it, the mind refuses to grasp and admit it. Yet death is very real, and it is inevitable; and all human beings that come into the world have to learn to face the thought of it, and the reality too, in others, before they lie down and accept it for themselves. But what if death be _not_ destruction? If it be but a pa.s.sage from this into another world,--distant, unknown and perforce mysterious, but certain nevertheless, a world on the threshold of which the earthly body is dropped as an unnecessary garment? Then were death shorn of half its terrors. Indeed, the only unpleasantness about it would be, for him who goes, the momentary pang and the uncertainty as to what he is going to; and, for those who remain, the separation and the loathsome details--the disfigurement, the corruption. But these are soon gotten over, while the separation is only for a time; for all must go the same way, and the late-comers will find, will join their lost ones gone before. Surely it must be so! It were too horrible if it were not; it _must be_--it _is_!

The process of feeling which arrived at this conclusion and hardened it into absolute faith, is very plain, and we can easily, each of us, reproduce it in our own souls, independently of the teachings we receive from childhood. But the mind is naturally inquiring, and involuntarily the question presents itself: this solution, so beautiful, so acceptable, so universal,--but so abstract--what suggested it? What a.n.a.logy first led up to it from the material world of the senses? To this question we find no reply in so many words, for it is one of those that go to the very roots of our being, and such generally remain unanswered. But the graves dug by those old Mound-Builders present a singular feature, which almost seems to point to the answer. The tenant of the funereal chamber is most frequently found deposited in a crouching att.i.tude, his back leaning against the stone-lined wall, and _with his face turned towards the West, in the direction of the setting sun_.... Here, then, is the suggestion, the a.n.a.logy! The career of the sun is very like that of man. His rising in the east is like the birth of man. During the hours of his power, which we call the Day, he does his allotted work, of giving light and warmth to the world, now riding radiant and triumphant across an azure sky, now obscured by clouds, struggling through mists, or overwhelmed by tempests. How like the vicissitudes that checker the somewhat greater number of hours--or days--of which the sum makes up a human life! Then when his appointed time expires, he sinks down,--lower, lower--and disappears into darkness,--dies. So does man. What is this night, death? Is it destruction, or only a rest, or an absence? It is at all events _not_ destruction. For as surely as we see the sun vanish in the west this evening, feeble and beamless, so surely shall we behold him to-morrow morning rise again in the east, glorious, vigorous and young. What happens to him in the interval? Who knows? Perhaps he sleeps, perhaps he travels through countries we know not of and does other work there; but one thing is sure: that he is not dead, for he will be up again to-morrow. Why should not man, whose career so much resembles the sun's in other respects, resemble him in this? Let the dead, then, be placed with their faces to the west, in token that theirs is but a setting like the sun's, to be followed by another rising, a renewed existence, though in another and unknown world.

6. All this is sheer poetry and mythology. But how great its beauty, how obvious its hopeful suggestiveness, if it could appeal to the groping minds of those primitive men, the old Mound-Builders, and there lay the seed of a faith which has been more and more clung to, as mankind progressed in spiritual culture! For all the n.o.blest races have cherished and worked out the myth of the setting sun in the most manifold ways, as the symbol of the soul's immortality. The poets of ancient India, some three thousand years ago, made the Sun the leader and king of the dead, who, as they said, followed where he had gone first, ”showing the way to many.” The Egyptians, perhaps the wisest and most spiritual of all ancient nations, came to make this myth the keystone of their entire religion, and placed all their burying-places in the west, amidst or beyond the Libyan ridge of hills behind which the sun vanished from the eyes of those who dwelt in the valley of the Nile.

The Greeks imagined a happy residence for their bravest and wisest, which they called the Islands of the Blest, and placed in the furthest West, amidst the waters of the ocean into which the sun descends for his nightly rest.

7. But the sun's course is twofold. If it is complete--beginning and ending--within the given number of hours which makes the day, it is repeated on a larger scale through the cycle of months which makes the year. The alternations of youth and age, triumph and decline, power and feebleness, are there represented and are regularly brought around by the different seasons. But the moral, the symbol, is still the same as regards final immortality. For if summer answers to the heyday of noon, autumn to the milder glow and the extinction of evening, and winter to the joyless dreariness of night, spring, like the morning, ever brings back the G.o.d, the hero, in the perfect splendor of a glorious resurrection. It was the solar-year myth with its magnificent accompaniment of astronomical pageantry, which took the greater hold on the fancy of the scientifically inclined Chaldeans, and which we find embodied with such admirable completeness in their great epic. We shall see, later on, more exclusively imaginative and poetical races showing a marked preference for the career of the sun as the hero of a day, and making the several incidents of the solar-day myth the subject of an infinite variety of stories, brilliant or pathetic, tender or heroic.

But there is in nature another order of phenomena, intimately connected with and dependent on the phases of the sun, that is, the seasons, yet very different in their individual character, though pointing the same way as regards the suggestion of resurrection and immortality--the phenomena of the Earth and the Seed. These may in a more general way be described as Nature's productive power paralyzed during the numbed trance of winter, which is as the sleep of death, when the seed lies in the ground hid from sight and cold, even as a dead thing, but awaking to new life in the good time of spring, when the seed, in which life was never extinct but only dormant, bursts its bonds and breaks into verdant loveliness and bountiful crops. This is the essence and meaning of the Chthonic or Earth-myth, as universal as the Sun-myth, but of which different features have also been unequally developed by different races according to their individual tendencies. In the Chaldean version, the ”Descent of Ishtar,” the particular incident of the seed is quite wanting, unless the name of Dumuzi's month, ”The Boon of the Seed” (”_Le Bienfait de la s.e.m.e.nce._” Lenormant), may be considered as alluding to it. It is her fair young bridegroom, the beautiful Sun-G.o.d, whom the widowed G.o.ddess of Nature mourns and descends to seek among the dead.

This aspect of the myth is almost exclusively developed in the religions of most Canaanitic and Semitic nations of the East, where we shall meet with it often and often. And here it may be remarked, without digressing or antic.i.p.ating too far, that throughout the ancient world, the Solar and Chthonic cycles of myths have been the most universal and important, the very centre and groundwork of many of the ancient mythic religions, and used as vehicles for more or less sublime religious conceptions, according to the higher or lower spiritual level of the wors.h.i.+pping nations.

8. It must be confessed that, amidst the nations of Western Asia, this level was, on the whole, not a very lofty one. Both the Hamitic and Semitic races were, as a rule, of a naturally sensuous disposition; the former being, moreover, distinguished by a very decidedly material turn of mind. The Kus.h.i.+tes, of whom a branch perhaps formed an important portion of the mixed population of Lower Mesopotamia, and especially the Canaanites, who spread themselves over all the country between the great rivers and the Western Sea--the Mediterranean--were no exception to this rule. If their priests--their professed thinkers, the men trained through generations for intellectual pursuits--had groped their way to the perception of One Divine Power ruling the world, they kept it to themselves, or, at least, out of sight, behind a complicated array of cosmogonic myths, nature-myths, symbols and parables, resulting in Chaldea in the highly artificial system which has been sketched above--(see Chapters V. and VI.)--a system singularly beautiful and deeply significant, but of which the ma.s.s of the people did not care to unravel the subtle intricacies, being quite content to accept it entire, in the most literal spirit, elementary nature-G.o.ds, astronomical abstractions, cosmogonical fables and all--questioning nothing, at peace in their mind and righteously self-conscious if they sacrificed at the various time-honored local shrines, and conformed to the prescribed forms and ceremonies. To these they privately added those innumerable practices of conjuring and rites of witchcraft, the heirloom of the older lords of the soil, which we saw the colleges of learned priests compelled, as strangers and comparative newcomers, to tolerate and even sanction by giving them a place, though an inferior one, in their own n.o.bler system (see p. 250). Thus it was that, if a glimmer of Truth did feebly illumine the sanctuary and its immediate ministers, the people at large dwelt in the outer darkness of hopeless polytheism and, worse still, of idolatry. For, in bowing before the altars of their temples and the images in wood, stone or metal in which art strove to express what the sacred writings taught, the unlearned wors.h.i.+ppers did not stop to consider that these were but pieces of human workmans.h.i.+p, deriving their sacredness solely from the subjects they treated and the place they adorned, nor did they strive to keep their thoughts intent on the invisible Beings represented by the images. It was so much simpler, easier and more comfortable to address their adoration to what was visible and near, to the shapes that were so closely within reach of their senses, that seemed so directly to receive their offerings and prayers, that became so dearly familiar from long a.s.sociations. The bulk of the Chaldean nation for a long time remained Turanian, and the materialistic grossness of the original Shumiro-Accadian religion greatly fostered its idolatrous tendencies. The old belief in the talismanic virtues of all images (see p. 162) continued to a.s.sert itself, and was easily transferred to those representing the divinities of the later and more elaborate wors.h.i.+p. Some portion of the divine substance or spirit was supposed somehow to pa.s.s into the material representation and reside therein. This is very clear from the way in which the inscriptions speak of the statues of G.o.ds, as though they were persons. Thus the famous cylinder of the a.s.syrian conqueror a.s.shurbanipal tells how he brought back ”the G.o.ddess Nana,” (i.e., her statue) who at the time of the great Elamite invasion, ”had gone and dwelt in Elam, a place not appointed for her,” and now spoke to him the king, saying: ”From the midst of Elam bring me out and cause me to enter into Bitanna”--her own old sanctuary at Erech, ”which she had delighted in.” Then again the a.s.syrian conquerors take especial pride in carrying off with them the statues of the G.o.ds of the nations they subdue, and never fail to record the fact in these words: ”I carried away _their G.o.ds_,” beyond a doubt with the idea that, in so doing, they put it out of their enemies' power to procure the a.s.sistance of their divine protectors.

9. In the population of Chaldea the Semitic element was strongly represented. It is probable that tribes of Semites came into the country at intervals, in successive bands, and for a long time wandered unhindered with their flocks, then gradually amalgamated with the settlers they found in possession, and whose culture they adopted, or else formed separate settlements of their own, not even then, however, quite losing their pastoral habits. Thus the Hebrew tribe, when it left Ur under Terah and Abraham (see page 121), seems to have resumed its nomadic life with the greatest willingness and ease, after dwelling a long time in or near that popular city, the princ.i.p.al capital of Shumir, the then dominant South. Whether this tribe were driven out of Ur, as some will have it,[BJ] or left of their own accord, it is perhaps not too bold to conjecture that the causes of their departure were partly connected with religious motives. For, alone among the Chaldeans and all the surrounding nations, this handful of Semites had disentangled the conception of monotheism from the obscuring wealth of Chaldean mythology, and had grasped it firmly. At least their leaders and elders, the patriarchs, had arrived at the conviction that the One living G.o.d was He whom they called ”the Lord,” and they strove to inspire their people with the same faith, and to detach them from the mythical beliefs, the idolatrous practices which they had adopted from those among whom they lived, and to which they clung with the tenacity of spiritual blindness and long habit. The later Hebrews themselves kept a clear remembrance of their ancestors having been heathen polytheists, and their own historians, writing more than a thousand years after Abraham's times, distinctly state the fact. In a long exhortation to the a.s.sembled tribes of Israel, which they put in the mouth of Joshua, the successor of Moses, they make him say:--”Your fathers dwelt on the other side of the flood” (i.e., the Euphrates, or perhaps the Jordan) ”in old time, even Terah, the father of Abraham and the father of Nachor, _and they served other G.o.ds_.” And further on: ”... Put away _the G.o.ds which your fathers served on the other side of the flood_ and in Egypt, and serve ye the Lord.... Choose you this day whom you will serve, whether the G.o.ds which your fathers served that were on the other side of the flood, or the G.o.ds of the Amorites, in whose land ye dwell; as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” (Joshua, xxiv. 2, 14, 15.) What more probable than that the patriarchs, Terah and Abraham, should have led their people out of the midst of the Chaldeans, away from their great capital Ur, which held some of the oldest and most renowned Chaldean sanctuaries, and forth into the wilderness, partly with the object of removing them from corrupting a.s.sociations. At all events that branch of the Hebrew tribe which remained in Mesopotamia with Nahor, Abraham's brother (see Gen. xxiv. xxix. and ff.), continued heathen and idolatrous, as we see from the detailed narrative in Genesis x.x.xi., of how Rachel ”had stolen _the images that were her father's_” (x.x.xi. 19), when Jacob fled from Laban's house with his family, his cattle and all his goods. No doubt as to the value and meaning attached to these ”images” is left when we see Laban, after having overtaken the fugitives, reprove Jacob in these words:--”And now, though thou wouldst needs be gone, because thou sore longedst for thy father's house, yet wherefore hast thou stolen _my G.o.ds_?” (x.x.xi. 30), to which Jacob, who knows nothing of Rachel's theft, replies:--”With whomsoever _thou findest thy G.o.ds_, let him not live” (x.x.xi. 32). But ”Rachel had taken the images and put them in the camel's furniture, and sat upon them. And Laban searched all the tent, but found them not” (x.x.xi. 34). Now what could have induced Rachel to commit so dishonorable and, moreover, dangerous an action, but the idea that, in carrying away these images, her family's household ”G.o.ds,” she would insure a blessing and prosperity to herself and her house? That by so doing, she would, according to the heathens' notion, rob her father and old home of what she wished to secure herself (see page 344), does not seem to have disturbed her. It is clear from this that, even after she was wedded to Jacob the monotheist, she remained a heathen and idolater, though she concealed the fact from him.

10. On the other hand, wholesale emigration was not sufficient to remove the evil. Had it indeed been a wilderness, unsettled in all its extent, into which the patriarchs led forth their people, they might have succeeded in weaning them completely from the old influences. But, scattered over it and already in possession, were numerous Canaanite tribes, wealthy and powerful under their chiefs--Amorites, and Hivites, and Hitt.i.tes, and many more. In the pithy and picturesque Biblical language, ”the Canaanite was in the land” (Genesis, xii. 6), and the Hebrews constantly came into contact with them, indeed were dependent on their tolerance and large hospitality for the freedom with which they were suffered to enjoy the pastures of ”the land wherein they were strangers,” as the vast region over which they ranged is frequently and pointedly called. Being but a handful of men, they had to be cautious in their dealings and to keep on good terms with the people among whom they were brought. ”I am a stranger and a sojourner with you,” admits Abraham, ”bowing himself down before the people of the land,” (a tribe of Hitt.i.tes near Hebron, west of the Dead Sea), when he offers to buy of them a field, there to inst.i.tute a family burying-place for himself and his race; for he had no legal right to any of the land, not so much as would yield a sepulchre to his dead, even though the ”children of Heth”

treat him with high honor, and, in speaking to him, say, ”My lord,” and ”thou art a mighty prince among us” (Genesis, xxiii.). This transaction, conducted on both sides in a spirit of great courtesy and liberality, is not the only instance of the friendliness with which the Canaanite owners of the soil regarded the strangers, both in Abraham's lifetime and long after his death. His grandson, the patriarch Jacob, and his sons find the same tolerance among the Hivites of Shalem, who thus commune among themselves concerning them:--”These men are peaceable with us; therefore let them dwell in the land and trade therein; for the land, behold it is large enough for them; let us take their daughters for wives, and let us give them our daughters.” And the Hivite prince speaks in this sense to the Hebrew chief:--”The soul of my son longeth for your daughter: I pray you, give her him to wife. And make ye marriages with us, and give your daughters unto us and take our daughters unto you. And ye shall dwell with us, and the land shall be before you; dwell and trade ye therein, and get you possessions therein.”

11. But this question of intermarriage was always a most grievous one; the question of all others at which the Hebrew leaders strictly drew the line of intercourse and good-fellows.h.i.+p; the more stubbornly that their people were naturally much inclined to such unions, since they came and went freely among their hosts, and their daughters went out, unhindered, ”to see the daughters of the land.” Now all the race of Canaan followed religions very similar to that of Chaldea, only grosser still in their details and forms of wors.h.i.+p. Therefore, that the old idolatrous habits might not return strongly upon them under the influence of a heathen household, the patriarchs forbade marriage with the women of the countries through which they pa.s.sed and repa.s.sed with their tents and flocks, and themselves abstained from it. Thus we see Abraham sending his steward all the way back to Mesopotamia to seek a wife for his son Isaac from among his own kinsfolk who had stayed there with his brother Nahor, and makes the old servant solemnly swear ”by the Lord, the G.o.d of heaven and the G.o.d of earth”: ”Thou shalt not take a wife unto my son of the daughters of the Canaanites among whom I dwell.” And when Esau, Isaac's son, took two wives from among the Hitt.i.te women, it is expressly said that they were ”a grief of mind unto Isaac and Rebekah;”

and Isaac's most solemn charge to his other son, Jacob, as he sends him from him with his blessing, is: ”Thou shalt not take a wife of the daughters of Canaan.” Whithersoever the Hebrews came in the course of their long wanderings, which lasted many centuries, the same twofold prohibition was laid on them: of marrying with native women--”for surely,” they are told, ”they will turn away your heart after their G.o.ds,” and of following idolatrous religions, a prohibition enforced by the severest penalties, even to that of death. But nothing could keep them long from breaking the law in both respects. The very frequency and emphasis with which the command is repeated, the violence of the denunciations against offenders, the terrible punishments threatened and often actually inflicted, sufficiently show how imperfectly and unwillingly it was obeyed. Indeed the entire Old Testament is one continuous ill.u.s.tration of the unslackening zeal with which the wise and enlightened men of Israel--its lawgivers, leaders, priests and prophets--pursued their arduous and often almost hopeless task, of keeping their people pure from wors.h.i.+ps and practices which to them, who had realized the fallacy of a belief in many G.o.ds, were the most pernicious abominations. In this spirit and to this end they preached, they fought, they promised, threatened, punished, and in this spirit, in later ages, they wrote.

12. It is not until a nation is well established and enjoys a certain measure of prosperity, security and the leisure which accompanies them, that it begins to collect its own traditions and memories and set them down in order, into a continuous narrative. So it was with the Hebrews.

The small tribe became a nation, which ceased from its wanderings and conquered for itself a permanent place on the face of the earth. But to do this took many hundred years, years of memorable adventures and vicissitudes, so that the materials which acc.u.mulated for the future historians, in stories, traditions, songs, were ample and varied. Much, too, must have been written down at a comparatively early period. _How_ early must remain uncertain, since there is unfortunately nothing to show at what time the Hebrews learned the art of writing and their characters thought, like other alphabets, to be borrowed from those of the Phoenicians. However that may be, one thing is sure: that the different books which compose the body of the Hebrew Sacred Scriptures, which we call ”the Old Testament,” were collected from several and different sources, and put into the shape in which they have descended to us at a very late period, some almost as late as the birth of Christ.

The first book of all, that of Genesis, describing the beginnings of the Jewish people,--(”_Genesis_” is a Greek word, which means ”Origin”)--belongs at all events to a somewhat earlier date. It is put together mainly of two narratives, distinct and often different in point of spirit and even fact. The later compiler who had both sources before him to work into a final form, looked on both with too much respect to alter either, and generally contented himself with giving them side by side, (as in the story of Hagar, which is told twice and differently, in Chap. XVI. and Chap. XXI.), or intermixing them throughout, so that it takes much attention and pains to separate them, (as in the story of the Flood, Chap. VI.-VIII.). This latter story is almost identical with the Chaldean Deluge-legend included in the great Izdubar epic, of which it forms the eleventh tablet. (See Chap. VII.) Indeed, every child can see, by comparing the Chaldean cosmogonic and mythical legends with the first chapters of the Book of Genesis, those which relate to the beginnings not so much of the Hebrew people as of the human race and the world in general, that both must originally have flowed from one and the same spring of tradition and priestly lore. The resemblances are too staring, close, continuous, not to exclude all rational surmises as to casual coincidences. The differences are such as most strikingly ill.u.s.trate the transformation which the same material can undergo when treated by two races of different moral standards and spiritual tendencies. Let us briefly examine both, side by side.

13. To begin with the Creation. The description of the primeval chaos--a waste of waters, from which ”the darkness was not lifted,” (see p.

261)--answers very well to that in Genesis, i. 2: ”And the earth was without form and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.” The establishment of the heavenly bodies and the creation of the animals also correspond remarkably in both accounts, and even come in the same order (see p. 264, and Genesis, i. 14-22). The famous cylinder of the British Museum (see No. 62, p. 266) is strong presumption in favor of the ident.i.ty of the Chaldean version of the first couple's disobedience with the Biblical one. We have seen the important position occupied in the Chaldean religion by the symbol of the Sacred Tree, which surely corresponds to the Tree of Life in Eden (see p. 268), and probably also to that of Knowledge, and the different pa.s.sages and names ingeniously collected and confronted by scholars leave no doubt as to the Chaldeans having had the legend of an Eden, a garden of G.o.d (see p. 274). A better preserved copy of the Creation tablets with the now missing pa.s.sages may be recovered any day, and there is no reason to doubt that they will be found as closely parallel to the Biblical narrative as those that have been recovered until now. But even as we have them at present it is very evident that the groundwork, the material, is the same in both. It is the manner, the spirit, which differs. In the Chaldean account, polytheism runs riot. Every element, every power of nature--Heaven, Earth, the Abyss, Atmosphere, etc.--has been personified into an individual divine being actively and severely engaged in the great work.

The Hebrew narrative is severely monotheistic. In it G.o.d does all that ”the G.o.ds” between them do in the other. Every poetical or allegorical turn of phrase is carefully avoided, lest it lead into the evil errors of the sister-nation. The symbolical myths--such as that of Bel's mixing his own blood with the clay out of which he fas.h.i.+ons man,(see p.