Earlier text: One Hundred and Fifty Thousand Dollar FundThe Influence of Religious Faith upon Civil Government
By J. O. CORLISS
MANY and strange have been the earlier forms of civil government. Indeed, some phases of mediæval rule have been such as almost to challenge our utmost range of credulity. It mattered not what religious sentiment happened to lodge in the brains of leading churchmen of the time, that was quickly formulated into law, and imposed upon all subjects, as fundamental to the protection of life and property. Believing in the “divine right of kings,” as did the people of that age, to rule absolutely over men, they most naturally extended this “right” to their guidance in religious as well as in civil matters. In fact, so little distinction was observed between temporal and spiritual relations, that to most people these amounted to one and the same thing. It will not do to attribute this state of affairs wholly to ignorance; for some of the most ingenious arguments were adduced to maintain such order. Besides, magnifying-glasses are not necessary to discover in our own day those who, with all the advantages of scholastic opportunity, are earnestly advocating the same principles, by somewhat different, yet by more specious lines of logic. Considering how strongly the sentiment of the divine right of kings had permeated human reasoning, it can not be thought so strange that Louis XIV announced from his throne, without fear of defiance, “I am the state.” Consequently this monarch permitted himself to be addressed by idolizing courtiers as Le roi soleil, which means the sun-king. Such hedging about of absolute monarchy with this added dignity, could not fail to lead into distasteful extremes, and sooner or later bring about constrained reaction. Much the same sentiment was rife in England at that time, with the same results. As the great earthquake of the French Revolution, a century and a half later, tore away the mask of rule by divine right, so the Cromwellian era brought to the English nation a brief respite from this soul-destroying theory. Early in the reign of Charles I, opposition to his persecution of the Puritans and the parliament became quite manifest. The question raised took this form: “Who is sovereign of England, parliament or the king?” Notwithstanding that a renewal of magna charta was obtained in 1628, nine years later the king attempted to force upon the Presbyterians of Scotland the use of the Episcopal prayer-book, and the practises of that communion as followed in England. The Scots rose as one man in rebellion against such an innovation. They drew up a national oath, or covenant, by which they pledged themselves to resist to the utmost every attempt to change their religion. War was therefore declared against the recalcitrant Scots, and was won by the Presbyterian Covenanters. Out of the confusion rose Cromwell, a staunch Puritan, who, while opposing the intolerance of England against Covenanters and Puritans, sought to establish a government which would tolerate every belief but the papacy. While constantly affirming that every man ought to be a Christian, and that he ought to be allowed to worship God after his own fashion, Cromwell and his adherents were so short sighted as to see no obligation in civil government, beyond protecting any religion but that of Protestantism. For a time this principle was permitted to include Episcopalians, as well as Presbyterians and Puritans, but so fierce did the religious temper of those times become, that when Episcopalians antagonized Puritanical desires, Cromwell was led to persecute all who held to the Book of Common Prayer. As an example of how far unchecked religious prejudice may carry one beyond the pale of humanity, let us for a moment view Cromwell’s attitude toward the Irish. Near the close of Elizabeth’s reign, an Irish chief named O’Neill, of a northern tribe, led a violent rebellion, which was finally smothered by James I in the early part of the seventeenth century. To celebrate the control thus gained over these insurgents, the king confiscated six counties, in the province of Ulster, and gave them over to English and Scotch colonists. The Irish thus crowded out of home and country, felt toward the English as only bitterly oppressed people can feel toward their oppressors. This was in 1610. Later when the trouble arose between King Charles and his parliament, the Irish fell upon the colonists of Ulster, and murdered all who did not flee before them. The revenge for this act was necessarily delayed until after the murder of Charles, when Cromwell, invested with power, undertook to reconquer Ireland in 1649. His confession reveals that in carrying out his purpose he shed blood “like a common butcher.” Apart from religious considerations, it would be hard to understand why such severe measures were thought necessary. It must be remembered, however, that to a Puritan the Irish were not only national enemies, but being papists, were also enemies of the true faith. As such every Irishman was regarded as standing outside of the law of humanity. The immediate result of this religious fury was the confiscation, for the benefit of the English, of three of the four provinces of Ireland,—Ulster, Leinster, and Munster. Following the battle of the Boyne in 1690, more territory was confiscated, until the Irish became a “landless people on their own soil.” Through succeeding merciless acts of parliament, the people of Erin were gradually reduced to mere tenants, day-laborers, and beggars, and thus they have in a large measure remained to this day, as the legitimate outcome of religious intolerance. This paper is already too far advanced to notice the insidious steps by which these consequences were reached. But suffice it to say that, so insistent was religious emotion in controlling civil rulers, that when Charles II, under the lead of Louis XIV, embraced Catholicism, he dared not announce his sentiment in the ear of parliament, but hypocritically posed before that body as an Episcopalian. Henry of Navarre, a Protestant by birth and custom, until his progress to the throne of France was debarred thereby, solemnly abjured his religion, and, as a purely political matter, united with the Catholic faith. “Paris is well worth a mass,” was the comment he tendered his friends in explanation of his conduct. The historian artlessly remarks that “under these circumstances, since his Protestantism and his Catholicism were morally of equal value, it was perhaps wholly a wise thing to drop the religious pretense, which alone separated his country from a desired peace.” However this may be, it still remains to be seen that religious beliefs controlled civil governments in their actions then, to the detriment of men’s consciences. Should the same influence mark the control of modern civil government, would not the result be the same? Since human nature is the same in all ages, what could possibly hinder the repetition of this history? Already there may be seen omens of the return of mediæval methods in governmental affairs. But let those who know the history of past religious legislation beware, lest they encourage its growth in these later days. Faith Sets the Boundaries
“You can not believe little things and do great things; you can not believe in half successes and accomplish whole ones. A man’s faith sets the boundaries of his work. He will do what he believes, and accomplish what he believes can be accomplished.” Historical quotations and extracts from various writers which may assist the thoughtful student of the Scriptures. The Division and Fulfilment of the Seventy Weeks
THE whole period of seventy weeks is divided into three successive periods, seven, sixty-two, one, and the last week is subdivided into two halves. It is self-evident that, since these parts—seven, sixty-two, one—are equal to the whole, viz., seventy, it was intended that they should be. Every writer wishes to be understood; the vision is announced at the beginning as one which is, on thought, to be understood. “I am come to give thee skill and understanding; . . . therefore understand the matter, and consider the vision.” Yet, on this self-evident fact that the sum of the parts is intended to be the same as the whole, every attempt to explain the prophecy so that it should end in Antiochus Epiphanes, or in any other than our Lord (as we shall see), shivers. On the other hand, the subordinate periods, as well as the whole, fit in with the Christian interpretation. It were not of any account if we could not interpret these minor details. “De minimis non curat lex.” When the whole distance is spanned over, it matters not whether we can make out some lesser details. Men believe that Mount Athos was severed, because they can trace here and there a portion of the canal. Science assumes, as certain, whatever is presupposed by what it knows already. But in the prophecy of the seventy weeks, the portions also can be traced. The words are, “From the going forth of a commandment to restore and to build Jerusalem, unto Messiah the Prince, shall be seven weeks, and threescore and two weeks; street and wall shall be restored and builded; and in strait of times. And after threescore and two weeks shall Messiah be cut off.” Obviously, unless there had been a meaning in this division, it would have stood, “shall be threescore and nine weeks,” not, “shall be seven weeks, and threescore and two weeks.” For every word in this condensed prophecy has its place and meaning, and the division would be unmeaning unless something were assigned to this first portion. The text does assign it. It says, the street shall be restored and be builded; and that, in troublous times. The books of Ezra and Nehemiah give the explanation. Ezra came to Jerusalem, B. C. 457; he labored in restoring the Jewish polity, within and without, for thirteen years before Nehemiah was sent by Artaxerxes, B. C. 444. Nehemiah, as governor, labored together with Ezra for twelve years, from the twentieth year even unto the two and thirtieth year of Artaxerxes the king, twelve years. Then he returned to the king, and after an undefined time, “at the end of days,” he says, “obtained I leave of the king, and came to Jerusalem.” The interval probably was not short; for there had been time for corruptions to creep in, nor is the king likely to have sent him back soon; else why should he have returned at all? The mention of Eliashib’s son, Joiada, being high priest then, in place of his deceased father, fixes this second visit probably in the reign of Darius Nothus, in whose eleventh year Eliashib is said to have died. The expulsion of one of his sons who had become son-in-law to Sanballat, and regulation of the wards of the priests and Levites, are among the last acts of reform which Nehemiah mentions in his second visit; with them he closes his book. Now from the seventh year of Artaxerxes to the eleventh of Darius Nothus are forty-five years. But it was in the period of the high priesthood of Joiada, not precisely in the very first year, that this reform took place. We have, anyhow, for the period of the two great restorers of the Jewish polity, Ezra and Nehemiah conjointly, a time somewhat exceeding forty-five years; so that we know that the restoration was completed in the latter part of the seventh week of years, and it is probable that it was not closed until the end of it. In regard to “the strait of times,” amid which this restoration was to take place, the books of Ezra and Nehemiah are the commentary. Up to the completion of the walls, there was one succession of vexations on the part of the enemies of the Jews. Their abiding condition they confess in both periods to God: “For our iniquities we have been delivered into the hands of the kings of the lands, to the sword, to captivity, to a spoil, and to confusion of face, as at this day. And now for a little space grace hath been showed from the Lord, to leave us a remnant to escape, . . . to give us a little reviving in our bondage. For bondsmen are we, and in our bondage our God hath not forsaken us.” In Nehemiah’s time, the great public confession of sin closes with the same statement: “Behold we are bondsmen this day, and the land which thou gavest to our fathers, to eat the fruit thereof and the good thereof, behold we are bondsmen in it; and it yieldeth much increase unto the kings which thou hast set over us, because of our sins; and over our bodies they have dominion, and over our cattle at their pleasure, and in great distress are we.” The next division, sixty-two weeks, completes the period up to the time of the Messiah. Its two extreme points were marked, its beginning by the close of the seven weeks or forty-nine years, its end by the coming of the long-looked-for, the Christ. It is in harmony with the other prophecies of Daniel, that what is filled up in one place, is bridged over in another. In the vision of the four empires, the second and third are but slightly touched on; the brief notice is expanded in the seventh and eleventh chapters. Other prophecies had, as their foreground, the events of world empires. The subject of this was the people of God and the Messiah. The ever-recurring character of prophecy is thus apparent here also, that those two points, which concerned them most, are the most prominent;—the restoration of the polity in the nearer future, and, in the distant future, the crowning acts of God’s mercy and judgment, the blessings in Christ and the close of the temporal relation of God to his people. Not in, but after those threescore and two weeks, it is said, Messiah shall be cut off; and there shall not be to him, i. e., as the context implies, the city and the sanctuary shall be his no more. Then follows the subdivision of the last week, or seven years, wherein he was to be cut off, since he was to be cut off, and yet not in the sixty-nine weeks. “He shall make firm a covenant with many during one week; and in the midst of the week he shall make sacrifice and oblation to cease.” He speaks not of a temporary suspension of sacrifices, but of the entire abolition of all which had been offered hitherto, the sacrifice, with the shedding of blood, and the oblation, the unbloody sacrifice which was its complement. These the Messiah was to make to cease three years and a half after that new covenant began, whether this was at first through the ministry of the Baptist or his own. It seems to me absolutely certain that our Lord’s ministry lasted for some period above three years. For S. John mentions by name three Passovers; and S. Matthew’s mention of the disciples rubbing the ears of corn relates to a time near upon a Passover, later than the first (for John had been cast into prison), yet earlier than the last but one, for it preceded the feeding of the five thousand, which itself preceded that Passover. This bears out the opinion, which is in itself nearly certain, that the intermediate feast, mentioned by S. John, is the Passover. Our Lord’s parable of the fig-tree virtually asserts that a period of some three years of special culture of God’s people had preceded: “Behold, these three years I come seeking fruit on this fig-tree and find none;” and that one year remained: “Let it alone this year also.” The cursing of the barren fig-tree and its instant withering, just before his passion and the final pronunciation of its sentence, seems to be the symbolical declaration that that year of respite was over, and its doom was fixed. The city was devoted, the punishment irreversible; the Messiah’s office would be, not with the people as a whole, but with the many who would be saved out of it, with whom the new covenant would be confirmed. The remaining three and one-half years probably mark the time during which the gospel was preached to the Jews, before the preaching to the Samaritans showed that the special privileges of the Jews were at an end, and that the gospel embraced the world.—“Lectures on Daniel the Prophet,” by E. B. Pusey, D. D., London, 1869, pages 172-178. Temperance in the Home
By AUGUSTA C. BAINBRIDGE
OUR brains are like seventy-year clocks. The Angel of Life winds them up once for all, then closes the case, and gives the key into the hand of the Angel of the Resurrection.—Oliver Wendell Holmes. “There’s poor old Mike drunk again,” said Nellie. “You can always tell when he’s drunk. He wriggles his fingers, and mumbles and grumbles. Just see him now; he’s trying to turn the corner.” “Well, I wonder why liquor makes people act so queerly, and say and do such strange things. Dear me! how glad I am that none of my folks ever act that way!” said Kate Meyers, as the two girls walked home from school together. “People think with their brains, and all actions proceed from the brain, so it must be that whisky affects the brain,” said Nellie, meditatively. “In our lectures on physiology, Professor Mann told us that the brain is very delicately constructed, and is about four-fifths water, and that the brain cells are constantly wasting and building. Whenever we think, or perceive an odor, or hear a sound, or move, some change takes place in a cell of the nerve tissue of the brain,” said Kate. “So the brain, above every other organ of the body, needs good blood, blood full of nourishment from good food, and oxygen from fresh air.” “O, how glad I’ll be to get in his class, where you learn all these wise things,” said Nellie. “Yes, but it will be easier for you than for many of us, because you get so much of it at home. I never go to your house but I hear something on the life of the body that does me good, and now, to-day, if you were to ask your father or mother the very selfsame question you asked me just now, they could give you an answer equal to anything Professor Mann could say, and very likely, in words that we should understand on hearing them.” “Let us try it. To-day is Thursday, and mama will be at home,” said Nellie. “There she is, picking sweet peas.” “Mrs. Gray,” said Kate, after greetings had been exchanged, “we were wondering about the brain, and the way drunken people act.” “Yes, and you’ve brought your questions to me? Well, lay your books on this bench, and help me sort these sweet peas while we talk. Put the very long-stemmed ones here in this basket, the medium here, and the short ones in this pan,” cheerily answered Mrs. Gray. All the sick folks in town knew of Mrs. Gray’s flower mission, so the girls fell to working and talking, explaining their difficulty, and telling of poor Mike. “Knowing that the brain requires good blood, you can see that it can not act properly when intoxicants are used, because they bring to it poisoned blood, and a very limited supply of oxygen,” said Mrs. Gray. “Then as the brain acts constantly during our waking hours, it is absolutely necessary that the supply of blood be constant, a continuous flow. When intoxicants are used, the nerves regulating this flow become paralyzed, and the blood rushes to the brain, a surging tide, reddening the face, and destroying the power of clear, accurate thought.” “There! I see two things clearly now,” said Kate—“impoverished blood and irregular flow.” “That’s right,” said Mrs. Gray. “Now you may tell me the names of the two parts of the brain.” “The cerebellum, or center for the control of equilibrium, and the cerebrum, which is the seat of our highest mental power,” said Kate, as she had recited in school. “Right! Now, Kate, you may tell me how this poison, this narcotic poison, would affect the cerebellum,” said Mrs. Gray. “It would cause our movements to be uncertain; we could not do things in an orderly way.” “Yes, and now the cerebrum.” “The centers of thought would be overpowered, judgment and reason would lose control, and we would be like animals,” said Kate, slowly and thoughtfully. “There, you have answered your own questions; and further we learn, first, that alcohol, having a great affinity for water, deprives the brain of its due proportion of this useful element, and the result is a hardening or degenerating of its tissues; second, this overcrowding of the blood-vessels weakens them, and they often burst, causing apoplexy; and, third, it impairs the substance of the brain itself,” continued Mrs. Gray. “I suppose one would have to be a hard drinker to reach such a state as that,” said Kate. “No, indeed! The daily use of intoxicants in what is politely called ‘moderation’ will produce them all.” “I think my brain is too precious to me, to run any such risk,” said Kate. “Now, Miss Nellie, you see what it means to have a mother who knows. I wonder what Professor Mann would say if I should put some of this in our next examination in physiology! I’ll try it. Thank you, Mrs. Gray.” “You’re welcome, Kate, and come again. But here, take a bunch of these sweet peas to your mother, and ask her to come to our mothers’ meeting to-morrow. Our subject is ‘Intoxicants in the Home.’” “Thank you, I’ll tell her.” “These long-stemmed ones are for our decorations to-morrow. Are they not handsome?” said Nellie. “And I guess the short ones are for the flower mission, are they not?” “Yes, we do not have to waste any time being sick, so we have time to help others,” said Mrs. Gray. “The children will soon be here.” Who of us know
The heartaches of the men we meet
Each day in passing on the busy street,
The woes and cares that press them,
Forebodings that distress them —
Who of us know? Who of us think
Of how hot tears have traced the smiling cheek
Of some we meet who would not dare to speak
The pangs they feel, the burdens that they bear,
Each hour that passes through the solemn year —
Who of us think? Who of us care
To try to think and know their pain and grief,
And help to bring the breaking hearts relief,
To help to bear the burdens of their care,
By tender word and loving look and prayer —
Who of us care? “Have you ever studied the art of self-defense?” said a young fellow to a man of magnificent physique and noble bearing. The elder man looked at his questioner with a quiet smile, and then answered, thoughtfully: “Yes, I have studied and practised it.” “Ah!” said the other, eagerly. “Whose system did you adopt?” “Solomon’s,” was the reply. Somewhat abashed, the youth stammered out: “Solomon’s! What is the special point of his system of training?” “Briefly this,” replied the other: “‘A soft answer turneth away wrath.’” For the moment the young man felt an inclination to laugh, and looked at his friend anxiously to see whether he was serious. But a glance at the accomplished athlete was enough; and soon a very different set of feelings came over the youth as his muscular companion added, with a quiet emphasis: “Try it.”—Sunday School Times. “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace; . . . that publisheth salvation.” Isa. 52:7. West Coast of Africa
By D. C. BABCOCK
It has been quite a while since I last reported the progress of the cause in this field, but heavy burdens and an overpressure of work have prevented me. Nevertheless, I am cheered to know that the work moves on amid difficulties. Since our arrival in Sierra Leone, there have been many earnest appeals for us to come to Gold Coast (about one thousand miles from Sierra Leone), and again start the work in that field. After several efforts to meet these calls, on the morning of August 5 Mrs. Babcock and I left Freetown, Sierra Leone, for that field. We secured passage on a steamer that called at the ports along the Liberian coast, thus affording us an opportunity to visit that unentered field with the message. Our first call was at Monrovia, the capital. The city is built on a hill, and makes a very pleasing appearance as one nears it on the steamer. Our vessel cast anchor about one mile from the shore, and I boarded the first boat going ashore. I first visited the United States consul, and made inquiries of him concerning Dr. Camphor, to whom I had a letter of introduction from Mr. Minick, of New York City. As Dr. Camphor had left for America just a few days before, by invitation of the United States consul, I was introduced to Dr. Reid, the president of the Methodist Episcopal College. I had the privilege of visiting the different departments of the college, and it was quite interesting to note the advanced steps taken in the educational work in the republic of Liberia. The science of medicine occupies one of the departments of this school. It was with keen interest that I noticed the quietness of the students as they pursued their studies. I could but compare this school with others that I have visited along the west coast of Africa. In most schools, it is only confusion, each one trying to make himself heard. After visiting several places, I made notes on the life of the natives. It will be remembered that Liberia was first settled in 1820 by American negroes. This was accomplished by the organization of the American Colonization Society, in Washington, D. C., in December, 1816. The first emigrants sailed from New York City on the ship “Elizabeth,” Feb. 5, 1820. This vessel carried eighty-eight souls. Their first stop was made on the island of Sherbro, now belonging to the Colony of Sierra Leone. The deadly miasma of this coast soon brought many of them to their graves. The following year, 1821, the second expedition was sent out in the brig “Nautilus.” This expedition joined the first, and all were carried to Fourah Bay, a suburb of Freetown, Sierra Leone. In the month of January, 1822, they were all landed on the little island of Providence, at the mouth of the Mesurado River, just opposite the city of Monrovia, the present capital of Liberia. This little island gave them some protection from invading natives, but trouble soon arose, and war and strife have been the history much of the time since. The principal native tribes in Liberia are the Passies, located about one hundred miles in the hinterland; the Kroos, occupying the coast line; the Vies, inhabiting the territory between the Passies and the Kroos; and on the southern border, the Graboes. The Kroos are, probably, the most active tribe found along the West Coast of Africa. They demand much more for labor than any other tribe. Many of them are semicivilized, but should one pass down the coast from Grand Bassa alone, he is not very likely to return again. Let it be remembered that cannibalism is still practised in several places in West Africa. The Vie tribe has a much wilder temperament, and while they are quite shy, yet they are friendly. This tribe is a split off from the Mendies of Sierra Leone, and their language is quite similar, but there is a vast difference in their disposition. I learned but little of the Passies while there, as they were at war with the republic at that time. The Graboes, located along the southern line of Liberia, and up the Gavalla River bordering on the French Ivory Coast, are quite intelligent in their general appearance. It was among this people that Bishop Taylor did such noble work for dark Africa. One can but be deeply impressed with the diligent work done by this faithful servant of God. Several good schools are in progress in southern Liberia, as the result of his labors. Southern Liberia was settled by the Maryland Colonization Society, organized in Baltimore, U. S. A., and for some years was separate from the republic of Liberia, but has been annexed by mutual agreement. Cape Palmas is the principal seaport, and to my mind, the most pleasing point along the entire Liberian coast. Here I met the vice-president of the republic, two senators, and the commissioner of agriculture. They gave me every encouragement possible to establish our work in the republic. Land was offered us free, if we would establish an industrial school. I had an interview with the king of the Graboes. He had just arrived in town from his home in the interior. He was a man of more than ordinary size, some inches above six feet. His paraphernalia had evidently seen many a severe West African storm, but there was nevertheless something quite pleasant in his general appearance. I placed before him our work, and our wish to be a real help to them. He seemed much pleased, and offered a hearty welcome.