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 Ethnocentric
Political Theory
— The Pursuit of Flawed Universals —

BHIKHU PAREKH
International Political Theory

Series Editor
Gary Browning
Oxford Brookes University
Oxford, UK
The Palgrave International Political Theory Series provides students and
scholars with cutting-edge scholarship that explores the ways in which
we theorise the international. Political theory has by tradition implicitly
accepted the bounds of the state, and this series of intellectually rigor-
ous and innovative monographs and edited volumes takes the discipline
forward, reflecting both the burgeoning of IR as a discipline and the
concurrent internationalisation of traditional political theory issues and
concepts. Offering a wide-ranging examination of how International
Politics is to be interpreted, the titles in the series thus bridge the
IR-political theory divide. The aim of the series is to explore interna-
tional issues in analytic, historical and radical ways that complement and
extend common forms of conceiving international relations such as real-
ism, liberalism and constructivism.

More information about this series at

http://www.palgrave.com/gp/series/14842
 Bhikhu Parekh

Ethnocentric Political
Theory
The Pursuit of Flawed Universals
Bhikhu Parekh
Politics and International Relations
University of Hull
Hull, UK

International Political Theory

ISBN 978-3-030-11707-8 ISBN 978-3-030-11708-5 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-11708-5

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018967765

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer
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 Gunvant Shah
Bharti Shah, and
Ashok Pathak
 Acknowledgements

This book brings together several extensively revised essays published

over the last three decades as well as some new ones. They initially
appeared as articles in journals or chapters in anthologies. Essays span-
ning such a long period reflect both continuity and discontinuity of
thought, especially when they cover the same or similar sets of issues.
When the discontinuity was evident, which rather surprisingly was less
than I had thought, I have revised the essays and brought them into har-
mony with my current thinking on the subject.
In the course of thinking about the issues addressed in these chapters
I have benefitted from discussions with Tariq Modood, Varun Uberoi,
Thomas Pantham, Raymond Plant and Thom Brooks, and I am most
grateful to them. I also thank friends and colleagues who have com-
mented on all or most of these chapters and prompted their improve-
ment. They include David McLellan, Jan Nederveen Pieterse, Raphael
Cohen-Almagor, Trevor Smith, Andrew Mason, Rajeev Bhargava, the
late and much missed John Benyon, Ben Barber and Jack Hayward, Tony
Giddens, Gurpreet Mahajan, Rainer Baubock, Raymond Plant, Gunvant
Shah, Gopal Guru, Steve Radford, Steven Kennedy and Dhirubhai Sheth.
To one of my friends who wishes to remain anonymous, I owe a very
special debt. He got me thinking about a subject I had never considered
before and helped me acquire a perspective that influenced my writings.
At a seminar in India where I presented a paper on human rights, he
said I had not discussed one of the most important human rights, the
right to touch and be touched. As an Untouchable child no one outside

vii
viii    Acknowledgements

his family had hugged, embraced, patted or shaken hands with him. At
school his teachers and even friends had avoided all physical contact with
him. And in shops the owner would throw the merchandise and money
at him rather than give them to him properly.
All this he said, had left in him a deep feeling of humiliation, self-
contempt, rejection, and convinced him of two things. Since no state-
ment of human rights lists such elementary and taken-for-granted forms
of social interaction as the right to touch and be touched, which nev-
ertheless affected one’s very humanity, such a statement was inherently
inadequate and at the deepest level even an insult to those excluded from
human contact.
Secondly, the predicament of the Untouchables was, in his view, too
tragic to be captured by the prosaic and seductively reassuring conven-
tional language of human rights, dignity and worth. The higher castes
did not just treat them unequally, deny them justice or even refuse to
respect their dignity. Rather they humiliated, degraded, dehuman-
ised them, treated them as worse than animals which could at least be
touched and patted, and did not even allow them to develop a sense of
dignity. The conventional moral language conveyed no anger, showed
no passion, and evoked no haunting images. One required instead a lan-
guage that measured up to the horrors of inhumanity and liberated the
moral imagination from the structural limits imposed by the conven-
tional moral discourse. This was also true of all other great evils includ-
ing slavery, apartheid, racism and the Holocaust.
This deeply unsettling encounter and some others like it raised ques-
tions about the nature and limits of human rights, inadequacy of our
moral language, the depth of evil human beings do to each other, com-
mon belonging and so on. Thinking about these questions reinforced
my view that political theory needs to be both political and theoretical,
interested in philosophical or theoretical as well as political or practical
issues, and works in it should be judged not only by their philosophi-
cal depth but also their moral sensitivity, range of moral experiences, and
political insights. Some questions of political theory arise from the the-
oretical puzzles and the problems they pose, others from the world of
politics with its injustices and struggles. This dual character of political
theory that both requires and enables it to cross the worlds of thought
and action, the vita contemplativa and the vita activa, informs the con-
tent and orientation of the following essays.
 Contents

1 Introduction 1

2 The Concept of Rights 23

3 Human Rights and Moral Pluralism 41

4 Reason and Identity 59

5 Regulating Hate Speech 73

6 A Misconceived Discourse on Political Obligation 95

7 Liberal Democracy and National Minorities 115

8 A Critique of the Liberal Approach to Violence 131

9 Understanding Humiliation 143

10 Reflections on Multiculturalism 161

11 Common Belonging 187

ix
x    Contents

12 A Multicultural Perspective on Secularism 203

13 Cultural Accommodation and the Criminal Law 221

14 Ethnocentricity of the Nationalist Discourse 235

15 Religious Tolerance in a Comparative Perspective 263

Index 285
 CHAPTER 1

Introduction

It is difficult to imagine a society or a civilisation without political

thought and even political theory. Living in an organised society, human
beings cannot avoid asking questions about its objectives, the basis of
its authority, its relation to other societies and its right and duties. In
the course of answering them they generate a body of ideas or politi-
cal thought which shapes their beliefs and conduct and forms an integral
part of their collective life. Their political thought is never entirely con-
sistent or coherent. It is not the product of a single mind and includes
ideas developed in response to different situations and contexts. They
also conflict and their meanings and implications are not always clear
either. These incoherences and inconsistencies need to be removed not
only for theoretical reasons but also to render the daily life coherent, sta-
ble and manageable. This requires the society to reflect on these ideas
and produce some kind of political theory. Like political thought, polit-
ical theory too is an inseparable dimension of collective life. To imagine
a society or a civilization without some kind of political theory is to
imagine a people happy to muddle through life with a bunch of het-
erogeneous and conflicting ideas and lacking the capacity for reflective
thinking.
While no society is wholly devoid of political theory, the type and
quality of the latter varies a great deal. In some societies it is system-
atic, comprehensive, deeply thought out, conscious of its assumptions,
and sufficiently probing; in others it is far less rigorous and systematic.

© The Author(s) 2019 1

B. Parekh, Ethnocentric Political Theory,
International Political Theory,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-11708-5_1
2 B. PAREKH

In some societies it is articulated in a body of clearly stated and logi-

cally interrelated propositions; in others it is expressed in stories, myths
and aphorisms and needs to be skilfully teased out and made explicit. In
some societies political theory prizes philosophical sophistication above
everything else and aims to develop an intellectual framework based on
carefully defined and related concepts. In others it has a normative thrust
and places high value on practical recommendations. Since political the-
ory can take different forms, it is a mistake to take one of them as the
model and dismiss the rest as not really political theory or declare them
defective to the extent that they depart from the model. As long as an
attempt is made to analyse, order and relate diverse ideas and offer a gen-
eral perspective on political life, we have a political theory. What defines
political theory is its orientation and level of reflection, not the particular
form it takes.
Political theory took a particular form in classical Athens, the birth-
place of Western political theory. Almost from the very beginning, it was
three dimensional in nature. It was analytical in the sense that it inter-
preted and organized political life in terms of a clearly defined body of
concepts. Concepts were its tools of analysis, and the novelty of a theory
was judged by the novelty of its concepts or its interpretations of them.
Secondly, it was explanatory in the sense that it related its concepts to
the structure of political life, showed how its different parts were related,
and explained its institutions and practices accordingly. Thirdly, political
theory was normative in the sense of articulating a vision of the good
society and providing principles and values to guide choices and actions.
All three were important, and they were all closely related. Conceptual
analysis, for example, was by itself highly formal and even pointless unless
it was part of an explanatory framework, and the normative dimension
was little different from sermonizing that others need not take seriously
unless it was embedded in the analytical and explanatory concerns. The
classical Greek view of the nature and task of political theory formed the
basis of an impressive, what for convenience is called the Western, tra-
dition that has grown up over the past two and a half millennia. Given
its origins and self-understanding the tradition has certain distinguishing
features, such as that it is argumentative, centred on individual thinkers,
focused on the Polis, aware of the continuity of its concerns, and given to
claiming periodic real or imaginary breaks or discontinuities.
The Western tradition of political theory has predictably exercised
considerable influence on the rest of the world, and that influence has
been overwhelming during the past three centuries. Three factors have
 1 INTRODUCTION 3

been largely responsible for this. First, since it had the unique advantage
of being practised almost continuously for over two and a half millennia
by some of the most talented men, it has developed great analytical rig-
our, addressed a wide range of questions, and acquired methodological
self-consciousness not to be found in most other traditions of political
theory.
Second, for almost the past three centuries the West has politically,
economically and culturally dominated the rest of the world and used its
economic, military and political power to propagate its ways of life and
thought. Its ideas travelled with its goods, were sometimes supported
by its military power, and acquired enormous prestige and respectabil-
ity. Almost every non-Western country was a supplicant at the Western
court, and its spokesmen could hardly expect to be heard, let alone
taken seriously, unless they spoke its standard language in an approved
accent.
Third, since the West substantially recreated much of the non-Western
world in its own image, its political ideas were inscribed in and formed
an integral part of the latter’s institutional structure and practices.
Although they were sometimes crossed with the indigenous ways of
thinking and underwent changes, they remained a dominant presence
in the political life of the non-Western world whose political practices
and institutions could not be fully understood without reference to the
Western categories of thought.
All three factors were important. No amount of political and eco-
nomic power would have given Western political theory such influ-
ence if it had not possessed considerable intellectual strength and
vitality. During the colonial struggle for independence it was subjected
to a searching critique by some of the ablest minds of the non-Western
world, and would have been rejected or at least vigorously resisted if it
had been found incapable of defending itself. And neither the intellec-
tual strength of its political theory nor its enormous political and eco-
nomic power would have given the West this degree of influence if its
conceptual framework had been wholly irrelevant to the experiences of
the non-Western world. Indeed the latter would have found it totally
unintelligible.
The hegemonic position of Western political theory has had two
unfortunate consequences. First, many a writer in the non-Western
world either imported the readymade Western conceptual packages with-
out examining their relevance, or ‘indigenised’ them without asking how
the ideas conceived and systematised in one context could be nativised
4 B. PAREKH

and adapted to another quite different. Like the trade in material goods,
the terms of intellectual exchange have largely remained one-sided.
The non-Western world exports the raw material of experiences and
imports the finished theoretical products from the West. As a result its
indigenous traditions of thought largely remain unfertilised by its novel
political experiences. What is more, its past and present either remain
disconnected or are misconnected by the mediation of a relatively alien
mode of thought, leading in one case to historical amnesia and in the
other to ideological schizophrenia.
Second, even as individuals fail to develop their powers of imagination
and critical rigour without constant interaction with their equals, a tra-
dition of thought lacks vitality and capacity for self-criticism without the
probing presence of an independent ‘other’. In the absence of a critical
dialogue with other traditions, Western political theory, despite its great
intellectual achievements, has remained parochial, narrow, Western not
only in its provenance but also its assumptions and concerns. Since it has
enjoyed for the past three centuries the almost divine privilege of shap-
ing the rest of the world in its own image and universalising its forms
of thought without being seriously challenged, it remains unable and
unwilling to allow non-Western experiences to speak to it in their native
tongues and deepen its insights into the range and variety of human
experiences and possibilities. Marxists, feminists, animal rights champions
and others have highlighted its economic, sexist, anthropocentric and
other biases. It is just as important to uncover its deep-seated ethnocen-
tric biases as well.
The term ‘ethnocentric’ does not quite capture what I have in mind,
but it comes nearest to it and should do in the absence of a better alter-
native.1 It is centred on the ethnos, an ethnocultural community. I use
it widely to refer to any kind of community, be it religious. political or
cultural as well as to a body of thought. The term ‘ethnocentrism’, as
used in this book, refers to uncritical generalization of the experiences
and modes of thought of a particular ethnos in my extended sense of the
term, and looking at other communities, cultures, traditions of thought
through their prism. The form of a mode of thought is general but
its content is parochial. No ethnocentrism is involved if no universal
claims are made, or if one is able to show in a noncircular manner that
one’s modes and categories of thought do have universal applicability.
Ethnocentrism occurs when the particular is illegitimately or uncritically
generalized and appears in a universal form, that is, when the concepts,
 1 INTRODUCTION 5

questions, modes of inquiry suited to understanding one’s own or metro-

politan societies are deployed as a grid with which to understand the rest
of the world. For example, to say or to proceed on the assumption that
a religion properly so called must have a deity, a text revealing his will
and a prophet, and that one that does not is not a religion in the ‘true
sense’ of the term, is to universalise a view of religion derived from the
three Abrahamic faiths and to ignore a very different view of it informing
Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism and other dharmic faiths. No noncircular
argument is advanced to justify this view of religion, and those that are
advanced are unconvincing. It is not necessary to belong to a particu-
lar ethnos, culture or religion to universalise its modes of thought as one
might genuinely think them self-evident or have been conditioned into
taking such a view by professional pressure and disciplinary induction.
Ethnocentrism is a common danger in inquiries aiming to make uni-
versally valid statements, political theory being one of them. Political
theory often claims to offer an universally valid understanding of its sub-
ject matter and is articulated in terms of abstract statements from which
all marks of their local provenance are erased. It assumes that the less a
theory refers to anything local and the less time and space bound it is,
the less parochial it is, and conversely that the more it is locally embed-
ded, the more parochial it is. The assumption is false because simply eras-
ing local references does not make a statement or a theory universal. In
fact it conceals its particularity and does not overcome it. It lulls the the-
orist and his readers into thinking that a formally universal statement or
theory is also universal in its content, and that clearly is not the case.
Since much of the past and present political theory does not examine its
ethnocentric biases, it is an uneasy blend of parochial content and univer-
sal form, and is debilitated by their tension.
The limitations and even the dangers of ethnocentrism are too obvi-
ous to need elaboration. It ignores the contingency and particularity of
what it universalises, and in so doing de-historicises and absolutises it.
It makes unsubstantiated universalist claims on behalf of the latter and
turns it into a model all should emulate. Rendered blind to its own limi-
tations, it is unable to take a radically critical view of itself and forecloses
the possibility of a mutually beneficial dialogue with others. As for other
societies and cultures, it assimilates them to its own modes of thought
and shows no respect for their differences and identity. It subjects them
to an alien and often inappropriate conceptual framework, judges them
by irrelevant standards, asks them questions that often make little sense
6 B. PAREKH

to them, and wholly misunderstands them. Indeed when it has the power
to do so, the ethnocentric tendency seeks to mould other societies and
cultures in its own image and reveals its violent streak. When that is not
so, it involves resorting to subtle or crude forms of intellectual bullying,
and puts them under enormous pressure to conform to its expectations.
India illustrates this point well. Used to the dharmic view of ‘reli-
gion’, its people, especially though not only the Hindus, have tradition-
ally taken an inclusive and relaxed view of religion. One can be both a
Hindu and a Buddhist, a Sikh, a Jain, or even a Muslim or a Christian.
When the colonial rulers introduced the religious census in India, they
relied on the Abrahamic view of religion and asked people to indicate
which particular religion they belonged to. Indians who were used to a
multiple religious identity were required to define themselves in terms
of one exclusive religious identity and asked to make choices that made
little sense to them. Furthermore since they could now be enumerated
in terms of one identity, it led over time to the ideas of Hindu majority
and non-Hindu minorities expected to behave as homogenous wholes.
Furthermore the dominant idea of what a proper religion should be like
led the slighted Hindu leaders to turn theirs into one. They selected
a particular text, be it the Vedas or the Gita as their Bible, a particular
individual, be it Krishna or Rama, as their prophet, reduced the mass of
Hindu beliefs to a few simple doctrines, and so on, leading to the oblit-
eration of the integrity of their ‘religion’. All this encouraged religious
nationalism and the currently dominant Hindutva ideology. Not that the
process was easy and straightforward or that the changes might not have
occurred otherwise, but rather that the alien and inapplicable view of
religion propagated by the ethnocentric Christian missionaries and colo-
nial rulers played an important role. Similar things happened in many
other areas as well such as the ‘proper’ or ‘rational’ form of the state, the
individual, rights, civil society, political party and democracy. Such resist-
ance as was put up in India and elsewhere did not last long because of
several factors such as its own inadequacies, internalisation of what it was
rejecting, and above all relentless external pressures.
A good deal of past and present Western political theory has a strong
ethnocentric orientation evident in its views on human nature, rational-
ity, conceptual framework and methodology. For the Greeks all who did
not speak like them were ‘barbarians’. The Greek modes of reasoning
and speaking were the universal norms by which all human beings and
societies were to be judged. Although less ethnocentric than their latter
 1 INTRODUCTION 7

day successors, they were not free from it and reflected it at cultural,
political and other levels. St. Augustine and Thomas Aquinas judged
other religions in terms of Christianity and found them wanting. The fol-
lowers of other religions were all doomed unless they saw the Christian
light and converted to it, For these philosophers and many others, even
the Jews, the original followers of Christ and from whose ranks he had
emerged, were deeply suspect, and tolerated largely because they pro-
claimed his arrival and could be used to legitimise Christianity.
This tendency to universalize the experiences and forms of thought
of a particular ethnic group, religion or culture became even more pro-
nounced with the rise of modernity, especially the beginning of the
European empires. The experiences that form their point of reference
and the view of human beings in terms of which they are analysed are
basically European in their origin and orientation. History is seen as
a journey with only one destination, and only one route to get there.
Modern European standards of rationality are the ones all human beings
are expected to live up to, the modern Western state is the only way to
organise every polity, and the current form of liberal democracy is the
only true way to run its affairs. Hobbes’ ‘natural’ man presented in uni-
versal terms is largely an uncritical generalisation of the individual emerg-
ing in his society during his period, and the nature attributed to him is
an accentuated version of the desires, fears and attitudes characteristic of
the latter. Those such as the American Indians who do not fit Hobbes’
description are seen as primitive, backward, not entitled to the rights
others enjoy until they have been civilised by their white superiors. Locke
defines human beings in such a way that the American Indians fall out-
side its range, and they neither enjoy collective independence nor does
their land acquire the status of inviolable private property. Bentham’s
‘arithmetical’ view of reason, which is basically unreflective and only at
home in the accountant’s world of addition and subtraction, generalises
that of the petty bourgeois Englishmen of his time, as do his views of
human motivations, attitude to life, and sources of pleasure and pain.
To his credit Montesquieu sympathetically understands other socie-
ties but remains rooted in the European norms. As a result he concen-
trates on aspects of these societies where they differ from Europe and
exoticises them. He highlights their oddities and differences, implies
that nothing better can be expected of them, and says little about
their strengths and virtues. John Stuart Mill values autonomy, free-
dom of criticism, display of energy, go-ahead character and ambition
 1 INTRODUCTION 19

way to achieve such basic values as freedom of conscience and equality,

and the form it takes in a society depends on its history, views on reli-
gion, values and political balance between the different religious com-
munities. We should determine the minimum, the core, that a secular
state should ensure, leaving different societies free to organise around it
their own appropriate political systems. Each society, while sharing some
features in common with others, will obviously need to develop its own
form of secularism. We should speak of secularism in the plural and hope
that their dialogue would benefit them all.
Chapter 13 looks at the vexed question of whether and how cultural
diversity impacts on the criminal justice system, which is supposed to deal
with the universally agreed evils to which culture is taken to be irrele-
vant. I suggest that the opposite view is more convincing. Culture defines
the meaning of an action, and we cannot understand what an individual
was doing when he acted in a particular manner without understanding
his cultural background. An act of scarifying a child’s cheeks could be a
case of causing him grievous bodily harm, but also that of initiating him
in his tribe and doing a socially obligatory act. To ignore the difference is
to do its agent an injustice. Similar considerations are important in deter-
mining an individual’s degree of responsibility, his state of mind, and
whether he acted under duress. Culture can play hermeneutic, explana-
tory and justificatory roles in criminal law. While defending the first two,
I limit its third role and show where it is warranted and where not.
Chapter 14 challenges the dominant view that nationalism is basically
a European phenomenon, first emerging in Europe and then spread-
ing to the rest of the world and taking identical forms. This view gives
Europe both too much importance and too much responsibility for the
world’s ills. Nationalism did emerge in Europe, but every non-European
country conceptualised it and blended it with local ideas in its own way
and gave it a distinct form. In some societies it was based on religion; in
others on ethnicity, language or civilisation. Some had a ‘pan’ element
and that too varied from region to region. In many of these societies
liberalism was not a dominant tradition, and hence nationalism did not
have to come to terms with it or define itself in relation to it All this
means that there were and are multiple nationalisms, each unique but
also sharing some common features with others.
The last chapter analyses the complex concept of tolerance and aims
to do several things. It shows that the concept rests on certain assump-
tions and does not apply to societies where these are not met. In some
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poor Galilean, and even their gravest and most puzzling attacks
upon his wisdom and prudence, turned into an absolute jest against
them,――it was quite clear that the amused and delighted multitude
would soon cease to regard the authority and opinions of their
venerable religious and legal rulers, whose subtleties were so easily
foiled by one of the common, uneducated mass. But the very
circumstances which effected and constituted the evil, were also the
grand obstacles to the removal of it. Jesus was by these means
seated firmly in the love and reverence of the people,――and of the
vast numbers of strangers then in Jerusalem at the feast, there were
very many who would have their feelings strongly excited in his
favor, by the circumstance that they, as well as he, were Galileans,
and would therefore be very apt to make common cause with him in
case of any violent attack. All these obstacles required management;
and after having been very many times foiled in their attempts to
seize him, by the resolute determination of the thousands by whom
he was always encircled, to defend him, they found that they must
contrive some way to get hold of him when he was without the
defenses of this admiring host. This could be done, of course, only
by following him to his secret haunts, and coming quietly upon him
before the multitude could assemble to his aid. But his movements
were altogether beyond their notice. No armed band could follow him
about, as he went from the city to the country in his daily and nightly
walks. They needed some spy who could watch his private
movements when unattended, save by the little band of the twelve,
and give notice of the favorable moment for a seizure, when the
time, the place, and the circumstances, would all conspire to prevent
a rescue. Thus taken, he might be safely lodged in some of the
impregnable fortresses of the temple and city, so as to defy the
momentary burst of popular rage, on finding that their idol had been
taken away. They knew too, the fickle character of the commonalty,
well enough to feel certain, that when the tide of condemnation was
once strongly set against the Nazarene, the lip-worship of
“Hosannas” could be easily turned, by a little management, into the
ferocious yell of deadly denunciation. The mass of the people are
always essentially the same in their modes of action. Mobs were
then managed by the same rules as now, and demagogues were
equally well versed in the tricks of their trade. Besides, when Jesus
had once been formally indicted and presented before the secular
tribunal of the Roman governor, as a rioter and seditious person, no
thought of a rescue from the military force could be thought of; and
however unwilling Pilate might be to minister to the wishes of the
Jews, in an act of unnecessary cruelty, he could not resist a call thus
solemnly made to him, in the character of preserver of the Roman
sway, though he would probably have rejected entirely any
proposition to seize Jesus by a military force, in open day, in the
midst of the multitude, so as to create a troublesome and bloody
tumult, by such an imprudent act. In the full consideration of all these
difficulties, the Jewish dignitaries were sitting in conclave, contriving
means to effect the settlement of their troubles, by the complete
removal of him who was unquestionably the cause of all. At once
their anxious deliberations were happily interrupted by the entrance
of the trusted steward of the company of Jesus, who changed all
their doubts and distant hopes into absolute certainty, by offering, for
a reasonable consideration, to give up Jesus into their hands, a
prisoner, without any disturbance or riot. How much delay and
debate there was about terms, it would be hard to say; but after all,
the bargain made, does not seem to have been greatly to the credit
of the liberality of the Sanhedrim, or the sharpness of Judas. Thirty
of the largest pieces of silver then coined, would make but a poor
price for such an extraordinary service, even making all allowance
for a scarcity of money in those times. And taking into account the
wealth and rank of those concerned, as well as the importance of the
object, it is fair to pronounce them a very mean set of fellows. But
Judas especially seems to forfeit almost all right to the character
given him of acuteness in money matters; and it is only by supposing
him to be quite carried out of his usual prudence, by his woful
abandonment to crime, that so poor a bargain can be made
consistent with the otherwise reasonable view of his character.

Thirty pieces of silver.――The value of these pieces is seemingly as vaguely expressed

in the original as in the translation; but a reference to Hebrew usages throws some light on
the question of definition. The common Hebrew coin thus expressed was the
shekel,――equivalent to the Greek didrachmon, and worth about sixteen cents. In Hebrew
the expression, thirty “shekels of silver,” was not always written out in full; but the name of
the coin being omitted, the expression was always equally definite, because no other coin
was ever left thus to be implied. Just so in English, the phrase, “a million of money,” is
perfectly well understood here, to mean “a million of dollars;” while in England, the current
coin of that country would make the expression mean so many pounds. In the same
manner, to say, in this country, that any thing or any man is worth “thousands,” always
conveys, with perfect definiteness, the idea of “dollars;” and in every other country the same
expression would imply a particular coin. Thirty pieces of silver, each of which was worth
sixteen cents, would amount only to four dollars and eighty cents, which are just one pound
sterling. A small price for the great Jewish Sanhedrim to pay for the ruin of their most
dangerous foe! Yet for this little sum, the Savior of the world was bought and sold!

Having thus settled this business, the cheaply-purchased traitor

returned to the unsuspecting fellowship of the apostles, mingling with
them, as he supposed, without the slightest suspicion on the part of
any one, respecting the horrible treachery which he had contrived for
the bloody ruin of his Lord. But there was an eye, whose power he
had never learned, though dwelling beneath its gaze for
years,――an eye, which saw the vainly hidden results of his
treachery, even as for years it had scanned the base motives which
governed him. Yet no word of reproach or denunciation broke forth
from the lips of the betrayed One; the progress of crime was suffered
unresistedly to bear him onward to the mournfully necessary
fulfilment of his destiny. Judas meanwhile, from day to day, waited
and watched for the most desirable opportunity of meeting his
engagements with his priestly employers. The first day of the feast of
unleavened bread having arrived, Jesus sat down at evening to eat
the Paschal lamb with his twelve disciples, alone. The whole twelve
were there without one exception,――and among those who
reclined around the table, sharing in the social delights of the
entertainment which celebrated the beginning of the grand national
festival, was the dark-souled accuser also, like Satan among the
sons of God. Even here, amid the general joyous hilarity, his great
scheme of villainy formed the grand theme of his
meditations,――and while the rest were entering fully into the natural
enjoyments of the occasion, he was brooding over the best means of
executing his plans. During the supper, after the performance of the
impressive ceremony of washing their feet, Jesus made a sudden
transition from the comments with which he was illustrating it; and, in
a tone of deep and sorrowful emotion, suddenly exclaimed, “I
solemnly assure you, that one of you will betray me.” This surprising
assertion, so emphatically made, excited the most distressful
sensations among the little assembly;――all enjoyment was at an
end; and grieved by the imputation, in which all seemed included
until the individual was pointed out, they each earnestly inquired,
“Lord, is it I?” As they sat thus looking in the most painful doubt
around their lately cheerful circle, the disciple who held the place of
honor and affection at the table, at the request of Peter, whose
position gave him less advantage for familiar and private
conversation,――plainly asked of Jesus, “Who is it, Lord?” Jesus, to
make his reply as deliberate and impressive as possible, said, “It is
he to whom I shall give a sop when I have dipped it.” The design of
all this circumlocution in pointing out the criminal, was, to mark the
enormity of the offense. “He that eateth bread with me, hath lifted up
his heel against me.” It was his familiar friend, his chosen
companion, enjoying with him at that moment the most intimate
social pleasures of the entertainment, and occupying one of the
places nearest to him, at the board. As he promised, after dipping
the sop, he gave it to Judas Iscariot, who, receiving it, was moved to
no change in his dark purpose; but with a new Satanic spirit,
resolved immediately to execute his plan, in spite of this open
exposure, which, he might think, was meant to shame him from his
baseness. Jesus, with an eye still fixed on his most secret inward
movements, said to him, “What thou doest, do quickly.” Judas, utterly
lost to repentance and to shame, coolly obeyed the direction, as if it
had been an ordinary command, in the way of his official duty, and
went out at the words of Jesus. All this, however, was perfectly
without meaning, to the wondering disciples, who, not yet recovered
from their surprise at the very extraordinary announcement which
they had just heard of the expected treachery, could not suppose
that this quiet movement could have anything to do with the
occurrence which preceded it; but concluded that Judas was going
about the business necessary for the preparation of the next day’s
festal entertainment,――or that he was following the directions of
Jesus about the charity to be administered to the poor out of the
funds in his keeping, in accordance with the commendable Hebrew
usage of remembering the poor on great occasions of
enjoyment,――a custom to which, perhaps, the previous words of
Judas, when he rebuked the waste of the ointment by Mary, had
some especial reference, since at that particular time, money was
actually needed for bestowment in alms to the poor. Judas, after
leaving the place where the declaration of Jesus had made him an
object of such suspicion and dislike, went, under the influence of that
evil spirit, to whose direction he was now abandoned, directly to the
chief priests, (who were anxiously waiting the fulfilment of his
promise,) and made known to them that the time was now come.
The band of watchmen and servants, with their swords and cudgels,
were accordingly mustered and put under the guidance of Judas,
who, well knowing the place to which Jesus would of course go from
the feast, conducted his band of low assistants across the brook
Kedron, to the garden of Gethsemane. On the way he arranged with
them the sign by which they should recognize, in spite of the
darkness and confusion, the person whose capture was the grand
object of this expedition. “The man whom I shall kiss is he: seize
him.” Entering the garden, at length, he led them straight to the spot
which his intimate familiarity with Jesus enabled him to know, as his
favorite retreat. Going up to him with the air of friendly confidence,
he saluted him, as if rejoiced to find him, even after this brief
absence,――another instance of the very close intimacy which had
existed between the traitor and the betrayed. Jesus submitted to this
hollow show, without any attempt to repulse the movement which
marked him for destruction, only saying, in mild but expressive
reproach,――“Judas! Betrayest thou the Son of Man with a kiss?”
Without more delay he announced himself in plain terms, to those
who came to seize him; thus showing how little need there was of
artful contrivance in taking one who did not seek to escape. “If ye
seek Jesus of Nazareth, I am he.” The simple majesty with which
these words were uttered, was such as to overawe even the low
officials; and it was not till he himself had again distinctly reminded
them of their object, that they could execute their errand. So vain
was the arrangement of signals, which had been studiously made by
the careful traitor.

No further mention is made of Iscariot after the scene of his

treachery, until the next morning, when Jesus had been condemned
by the high court of the Sanhedrim, and dragged away to undergo
punishment from the secular power. The sun of another day had
risen on his crime; and after a very brief interval, he now had time for
cool meditation on the nature and consequences of his act. Spite
and avarice had both now received their full gratification. The thirty
pieces of silver were his, and the Master whose instructions he had
hated for their purity and spirituality, because they had made known
to him the vileness of his own character and motives, was now in the
hands of those who were impelled, by the darkest passions, to
secure his destruction. But after all, now came the thought, and
inquiry, ‘what had the pure and holy Jesus done, to deserve this
reward at his hands?’ He had called him from the sordid pursuits of a
common life, to the high task of aiding in the regeneration of Israel.
He had taught him, labored with him, prayed for him, trusted him as
a near and worthy friend, making him the steward of all the earthly
possessions of his apostolic family, and the organ of his ministrations
of charity to the poor. All this he had done without the prospect of a
reward, surely. And why? To make him an instrument, not of the
base purposes of a low ambition;――not to acquire by this means
the sordid and bloody honors of a conqueror,――but to effect the
moral and spiritual emancipation of a people, suffering far less under
the evils of a foreign sway, than under the debasing dominion of folly
and sin. And was this an occasion to arm against him the darker
feelings of his trusted and loved companions?――to turn the
instruments of his mercy into weapons of death? Ought the mere
disappointment of a worldly-minded spirit, that was ever clinging to
the love of material things, and that would not learn the solemn truth
of the spiritual character of the Messiah’s reign, now to cause it to
vent its regrets at its own errors, in a traitorous attack upon the life of
him who had called it to a purpose whose glories and rewards it
could not appreciate? These and other mournful thoughts would
naturally rise to the repentant traitor’s mind, in the awful revulsion of
feeling which that morning brought with it. But repentance is not
atonement; nor can any change of feeling in the mind of the sinner,
after the perpetration of the sinful act, avail anything for the removal
or expiation of the evil consequences of it. So vain and unprofitable,
both to the injurer and the injured, are the tears of remorse! And
herein lay the difference between the repentance of Judas and of
Peter. The sin of Peter affected no one but himself, and was criminal
only as the manifestation of a base, selfish spirit of deceit, that fell
from truth through a vain-glorious confidence,――and the effusion of
his gushing tears might prove the means of washing away the
pollution of such an offense from his soul. But the sin of Judas had
wrought a work of crime whose evil could not be affected by any
tardy change of feeling in him. Peter’s repentance came too late
indeed, to exonerate him from guilt; because all repentance is too
late for such a purpose, when it comes after the commission of the
sin. The repentance of an evil purpose, coming in time to prevent the
execution of the act, is indeed available for good; but both Peter and
Judas came to the sense of the heinousness of sin, only after its
commission. Peter however, had no evil to repair for
others,――while Judas saw the bloody sequel of his guilt, coming
with most irrevocable certainty upon the blameless One whom he
had betrayed. Overwhelmed with vain regrets, he took the now
hateful, though once-desired price of his villainy, and seeking the
presence of his purchasers, held out to them the money, with the
useless confession of the guilt, which was too accordant with their
schemes and hopes, for them to think of redeeming him from its
consequences. The words of his confession were, “I have sinned, in
betraying innocent blood.” This late protestation was received by the
proud priests, with as much regard as might have been expected
from exulting tyranny, when in the enjoyment of the grand object of
its efforts. With a cold sneer they replied, “What is that to us? See
thou to that!” Maddened with the immovable and remorseless
determination of the haughty condemners of the just, he flung down
the price of his infamy and woe, upon the floor of the temple, and
rushed out of their presence, to seal his crimes and eternal misery
by the act that put him for ever beyond the power of redemption.
Seeking a place removed from the observation of men, he hurried
out of the city, and contriving the fatal means of death for himself,
before the bloody doom of him whom he betrayed had been fulfilled,
the wretched man saved his eyes the renewed horrors of the sight of
the crucifixion, by closing them in the sleep which earthly sights can
not disturb. But even in the mode of his death, new circumstances of
horror occurred. Swinging himself into the air, by falling from a
highth, as the cord tightened around his neck, checking his descent,
the weight of his body produced the rupture of his abdomen, and his
bowels bursting through, made him, as he swung stiffening and
convulsed in the agonies of this doubly horrid death, a disgusting
and appalling spectacle,――a monument of the vengeance of God
on the traitor, and a shocking witness of his own remorse and self-
condemnation.

A very striking difference is noticeable between the account given by Matthew of the
death of Judas, and that given by Luke in the speech of Peter, Acts i. 18, 19. The various
modes of reconciling these difficulties are found in the ordinary commentaries. In respect to
a single expression in Acts i. 18, there is an ingenious conjecture offered by Granville Penn,
in a very interesting and learned article in the first volume of the transactions of the Royal
Society of Literature, which may very properly be mentioned here, on account of its
originality and plausibility, and because it is found only in an expensive work, hardly ever
seen in this country. Mr. Penn’s view is, that “the word ελακησε (elakese,) in Acts i. 18, is
only an inflection of the Latin verb, laqueo, (to halter or strangle,) rendered insititious in the
Hellenistic Greek, under the form λακεω.” He enters into a very elaborate argument, which
can not be given here, but an extract may be transcribed, in order to enable the learned to
apprehend the nature and force of his views. (Translated by R. S. Lit. Vol. I. P. 2, pp. 51,
52.)

“Those who have been in the southern countries of Europe know, that the operation in
question, as exercised on a criminal, is performed with a great length of cord, with which the
criminal is precipitated from a high beam, and is thus violently laqueated, or snared in a
noose, mid-way――medius or in medio; μεσος, and medius, referring to place as well as to
person; as, μεσος ὑμων ἑστηκεν. (John i. 26.) ‘Considit scopulo medius――――’ (Virgil,
Georgics, iv. 436.) ‘―――― medius prorumpit in hostes.’ (Aeneid, x. 379.)

“Erasmus distinctly perceived this sense in the words πρηνης γενομενος, although he did
not discern it in the word ελακησε, which confirms it: ‘πρηνης Graecis dicitur, qui vultu est in
terram dejecto: expressit autem gestum et habitum laqueo praefocati; alioquin, ex hoc
sane loco non poterat intelligi, quod Judas suspenderit se,’ (in loc.) And so Augustine also
had understood those words, as he shows in his Recit. in Act. Apostol. l. i. col. 474. ‘et
collem sibi alligavit, et dejectus in faciem,’ &c. Hence one MS., cited by Sabatier, for πρηνης
γενομενος, reads αποκρεμαμένος; and Jerom, in his new vulgate, has substituted suspensus
for the pronus factus of the old Latin version, which our old English version of 1542
accordingly renders, and when he was hanged.

“That which follows, and which evidently determined the vulgar interpretation of
ελακησε――εξεχυνθη παντα τα σπλαγχνα αυτου, all his bowels gushed out――states a natural
and probable effect produced, by the sudden interruption in the fall and violent capture in
the noose, in a frame of great corpulency and distension, such as Christian antiquity has
recorded that of the traitor to have been; so that a term to express rupture would have been
altogether unnecessary, and it is therefore equally unnecessary to seek for it in the verb
ελακησε. Had the historian intended to express disruption, we may justly presume that he
would have said, as he had already said in his gospel, v. 6, διερρηγνυτο, or xxiii. 45, εσχισθη
μεσος: it is difficult to conceive, that he would here have traveled into the language of
ancient Greek poetry for a word to express a common idea, when he had common terms at
hand and in practice; but he used the Roman laqueo, λακεω, to mark the infamy of the
death.

“(Πρησθεις επι τοσουτον την σαρκα, ὡστε μη δυνασθαι δειλθειν. Papias, from Routh's
Reliquiæ Sacræ tom. I. p. 9. and Oecumenius, thus rendered by Zegers, Critici Sacri, Acts i.
18, in tantum enim corpore inflatus est ut progredi non posset. The tale transmitted by those
writers of the first and tenth centuries, that Judas was crushed to death by a chariot
proceeding rapidly, from which his unwieldiness rendered him unable to escape, merits no
further attention, after the authenticated descriptions of the traitor’s death which we have
here investigated, than to suggest a possibility that the place where the suicide was
committed might have overhung a public way, and that the body falling by its weight might
have been traversed, after death, by a passing chariot;――from whence might have arisen
the tales transmitted successively by those writers; the first of whom, being an inhabitant of
Asia Minor, and therefore far removed from the theater of Jerusalem, and being also (as
Eusebius witnesses, iii. 39,) a man of a very weak mind――σφοδρα μκρος τον νουν――was
liable to be deceived by false accounts.)

“The words of St. Peter, in the Hellenistic version of St. Luke, will therefore import,
praeceps in ora fusus, laqueavit (i. e. implicuit se laqueo) medius; (i. e. in medio, inter
trabem et terram;) et effusa sunt omnia viscera ejus――throwing himself headlong, he
caught mid-way in the noose, and all his bowels gushed out. And thus the two reporters of
the suicide, from whose respective relations charges of disagreement, and even of
contradiction, have been drawn in consequence of mistaking an insititious Latin word for a
genuine Greek word of corresponding elements, are found, by tracing that insititious word to
its true origin, to report identically the same fact; the one by a single term, the other by a
periphrasis.”

Such was the end of the twelfth of Jesus Christ’s chosen ones. To
such an end was the intimate friend, the trusted steward, the festal
companion of the Savior, brought by the impulse of some not very
unnatural feelings, excited by occasion, into extraordinary action.
The universal and intense horror which the relation of his crime now
invariably awakens, is by no means favorable to a just and fair
appreciation of his sin and its motives, nor to such an honest
consideration of his course from rectitude to guilt, as is most
desirable for the application of the whole story to the moral
improvement of its readers. Originally not an infamous man, he was
numbered among the twelve as a person of respectable character,
and long held among his fellow-disciples a responsible station, which
is itself a testimony of his unblemished reputation. He was sent forth
with them, as one of the heralds of salvation to the lost sheep of the
house of Israel. He shared with them the counsels, the instructions,
and the prayers of Jesus. If he was stupid in apprehending, and
unspiritual in conceiving the truths of the gospel, so were they. If he
was an unbeliever in the resurrection of Jesus, so were they; and
had he survived till the accomplishment of that prophecy, he could
not have been slower in receiving the evidence of the event, than
they. As it was, he died in his unbelief; while they lived to feel the
glorious removal of all their doubts, the purification of all their gross
conceptions, and the effusion of that spirit of truth, through which, by
the grace of God alone, they afterwards were what they were.
Without a merit, in faith, beyond Judas, they maintained their dim
and doubtful adherence to the truth, only by their nearer
approximation to moral perfection; and by their nobler freedom from
the pollution of sordid and spiteful feeling. Through passion alone he
fell, a victim, not to a want of faith merely,――for therein, the rest
could hardly claim a superiority,――but to the radical deficiency of
true love for Jesus, of that “charity which never faileth,” but “endureth
to the end.” It was their simple, devoted affection, which, through all
their ignorance, their grossness of conception, and their
faithlessness in his word, made them still cling to his name and his
grave, till the full revelations of his resurrection and ascension had
displaced their doubts by the most glorious certainties, and given
their faith an eternal assurance. The great cause of the awful ruin of
Judas Iscariot, then, was the fact, that he did not love Jesus. Herein
was his grand distinction from all the rest; for though their regard
was mingled with so much that was base, there was plainly, in all of
them, a solid foundation of true, deep affection. The most ambitious
and skeptical of them, gave the most unquestionable proofs of this.
Peter, John, both the Jameses, and others, are instances of the
mode in which these seemingly opposite feelings were combined.
But Judas was without this great refining and elevating principle,
which so redeemed the most sordid feelings of his fellows. It was not
merely for the love of money that he was led into this horrid crime.
The love of four dollars and eighty cents! Who can believe that this
was the sole motive? It was rather that his sordidness and
selfishness, and ambition, if he had any, lacked this single, purifying
emotion, which redeemed their characters. Is there not, in this
reflection, a moral which each Christian reader can improve to his
own use? For the lack of the love of Jesus alone, Judas fell from his
high estate, to an infamy as immortal as their fame. Wherever,
through all ages, the high heroic energy of Peter, the ready faith of
Andrew, the martyr-fire of James Boanerges, the soul-absorbing love
of John, the willing obedience of Philip, the guileless purity of
Nathanael, the recorded truth of Matthew, the slow but deep
devotion of Thomas, the blameless righteousness of James the Just,
the appellative zeal of Simon, and the earnest warning eloquence of
Jude, are all commemorated in honor and bright renown,――the
murderous, sordid spite of Iscariot, will insure him an equally lasting
proverbial shame. Truly, “the sin of judas is written with a pen
of iron on a tablet of marble.”
 MATTHIAS.
The events which concern this person’s connection with the
apostolic company, are briefly these. Soon after the ascension of
Jesus, the eleven disciples being assembled in their “upper room,”
with a large company of believers, making in all, together, a meeting
of one hundred and twenty, Peter arose and presented to their
consideration, the propriety and importance of filling, in the apostolic
college, the vacancy caused by the sad defection of Judas Iscariot.
Beginning with what seems to be an apt allusion to the words of
David concerning Ahithophel,――(a quotation very naturally
suggested by the striking similarity between the fate of that ancient
traitor, and that of the base Iscariot,) he referred to the peculiarly
horrid circumstances of the death of this revolted apostle, and also
applied to these occurrences the words of the same Psalmist
concerning those upon whom he invoked the wrath of God, in words
which might with remarkable emphasis be made descriptive of the
ruin of Judas. “Let his habitation be desolate,” and “let another take
his office.” Applying this last quotation more particularly to the
exigency of their circumstances, he pronounced it to be in
accordance with the will of God that they should immediately
proceed to select a person to “take the office” of Judas. He declared
it an essential requisite for this office, moreover, that the person
should be one of those who, though not numbered with the select
twelve, had been among the intimate companions of Jesus, and had
enjoyed the honors and privileges of a familiar discipleship, so that
they could always testify of his great miracles and divine instructions,
from their own personal knowledge as eye-witnesses of his actions,
from the beginning of his divine career at his baptism by John, to the
time of his ascension.
 Agreeably to this counsel of the apostolic chief, the whole
company of the disciples selected two persons from those who had
been witnesses of the great actions of Christ, and nominated them to
the apostles, as equally well qualified for the vacant office. To decide
the question with perfect impartiality, it was resolved, in conformity
with the common ancient practice in such cases, to leave the point
between these two candidates to be settled by lot; and to give this
mode of decision a solemnity proportioned to the importance of the
occasion, they first invoked, in prayer, the aid of God in the
appointment of a person best qualified for his service. They then
drew the lots of the two candidates, and Matthias being thus
selected, was thenceforth enrolled with the eleven apostles.

Of his previous history nothing whatever is known, except that,

according to what is implied in the address of Peter, he must have
been, from the beginning of Christ’s career to his ascension, one of
his constant attendants and hearers. Some have conjectured that he
was one of the seventy, sent forth by Jesus as apostles, in the same
manner as the twelve had gone; and there is nothing unreasonable
in the supposition; but still it is a conjecture merely, without any fact
to support it. The New Testament is perfectly silent with respect to
both his previous and his subsequent life, and not a fact can be
recorded respecting him. Yet the productive imaginations of the
martyrologists of the Roman and Greek churches, have carried him
through a protracted series of adventures, during his alleged
preaching of the gospel, first in Judea, and then in Ethiopia. They
also pretend that he was martyred, though as to the precise mode
there is some difference in the stories,――some relating that he was
crucified, and others, that he was first stoned and then dispatched by
a blow on the head with an axe. But all these are condemned by the
discreet writers even of the Romish church, and the whole life of
Matthias must be included among those many mysteries which can
never be in any way brought to light by the most devoted and
untiring researches of the Apostolic historian; and this dim and
unsatisfactory trace of his life may well conclude the first grand
division of a work, in which the reader will expect to find so much
curious detail of matters commonly unknown, but which no research
nor learning can furnish, for the prevention of his disappointment.
 II. THE HELLENIST APOSTLES.

SAUL,
AFTERWARDS NAMED PAUL.
his country.

On the farthest north-eastern part of the Mediterranean sea,

where its waters are bounded by the great angle made by the
meeting of the Syrian coast with the Asian, there is a peculiarity in
the course of the mountain ranges, which deserves notice in a view
of the countries of that region, modifying as it does, all their most
prominent characteristics. The great chain of Taurus, which can be
traced far eastward in the branching ranges of Singara, Masius and
Niphates, running connectedly also into the distant peaks of mighty
Ararat, here sends off a spur to the shore of the Mediterranean,
which under the name of Mount Amanus meets its waters, just at
their great north-eastern angle in the ancient gulf of Issus, now
called the gulf of Scanderoon. Besides this connection with the
mountain chains of Mesopotamia and Armenia on the northeast,
from the south the great Syrian Lebanon, running very nearly parallel
with the eastern shore of the Mediterranean, at the Issic angle, joins
this common center of convergence, so insensibly losing its
individual character in the Asian ridge, that by many writers, Mount
Amanus itself is considered only a regular continuation of Lebanon.
These, however, are as distinct as any of the chains here uniting,
and the true Libanic mountains cease just at this grand natural
division of Syria from the northern coast of the Mediterranean. A
characteristic of the Syrian mountains is nevertheless prominent in
the northern chain. They all take a general course parallel with the
coast and very near it, occasionally sending out lateral ridges which
mark the projections of the shore with high promontories. Of these,
however, there are much fewer on the southern coast of Asia Minor;
and the western ridge of Taurus, after parting from the grand angle of
convergence, runs exactly parallel to the margin of the sea, in most
parts about seven miles distant. The country thus fenced off by
Taurus, along the southern coast of Asia Minor, is very distinctly
characterized by these circumstances connected with its orography,
and is in a very peculiar manner bounded and inclosed from the rest
of the continent, by these natural features. The great mountain
barrier of Taurus, as above described, stretches along the north,
forming a mighty wall, which is at each end met at right angles by a
lateral ridge, of which the eastern is Amanus, descending within a
few rods of the water, while the western is the true termination of
Taurus in that direction,――the mountains here making a grand
curve from west to south, and stretching out into the sea, in a bold
promontory, which definitely marks the farthest western limit of the
long, narrow section, thus remarkably enclosed. This simple natural
division, in the apostolic age, contained two principal artificial sub-
divisions. On the west, was the province of Pamphylia, occupying
about one fourth of the coast;――and on the east, the rest of the
territory constituted the province of Cilicia, far-famed as the land of
the birth of that great apostle of the Gentiles, whose life is the theme
of these pages.

Cilicia,――opening on the west into Pamphylia,――is elsewhere

inclosed in mountain barriers, impenetrable and impassable, except
in two or three points, which are the only places in which it is
accessible by land, though widely exposed, on the sea, by its long
open coast. Of these two adits, the most important, and the one
through which the vast proportion of its commercial intercourse with
the world, by land, has always been carried on, is the eastern, which
is just at the oft-mentioned great angle of the Mediterranean, where
the mountains descend almost to the waters of the gulf of Issus.
Mount Amanus, coming from the north-east, and stretching along the
eastern boundary of Cilicia an impassable barrier, here advances to
the shore; but just before its base reaches the water, it abruptly
terminates, leaving between the high rocks and the sea a narrow
space, which is capable of being completely commanded and
defended from the mountains which thus guard it; and forming the
only land passage out of Cilicia to the eastern coast of the
Mediterranean, it was thence anciently called “the gates of Syria.”
Through these “gates,” has always passed all the traveling by land
between Asia Minor and Palestine; and it is therefore an important
point in the most celebrated route in apostolic history. The other
main opening in the mountain walls of this region, is the passage
through the Taurus, made by the course of the Sarus, the largest
river of the province, which breaks through the northern ridge, in a
defile that is called “the gates of Cilicia.”

The boundaries of Cilicia are then,――on the north, mountainous

Cappadocia, perfectly cut off by the impenetrable chain of Taurus,
except the narrow pass through “the gates of Cilicia;”――on the
east, equally well guarded by Mount Amanus, Northern Syria, the
only land passages being through the famed “Syrian gates,” and
another defile north of the coast, toward the Euphrates;――on the
south, stretches the long margin of the sea, which in the western
two-thirds of the coast takes the name of “the Cilician strait,”
because it here flows between the mainland and the great island of
Cyprus, which lies off the shore, always in sight, being less than
thirty miles distant, the eastern third of the coast being bounded by
the waters of the gulf of Issus;――and on the west Cilicia ends in the
rough highlands of Pamphylia. The territory itself is distinguished by
natural features, into two divisions,――Rocky Cilicia and “Level
Cilicia,”――the former occupying the western third, and the latter the
eastern part,――each district being abundantly well described by the
term applied to it. Within the latter, lay the opening scenes of the
apostle’s life.
 Thus peculiarly guarded, and shut off from the world, it might be
expected that this remarkable region would nourish, on the narrow
plains of its fertile shores, and the vast rough mountains of its
gigantic barriers, a race strongly marked in mental, as in physical
characteristics. In all parts of the world, the philosophical observer
may notice a relation borne by man to the soil on which he lives, and
to the air which he breathes,――hardly less striking than the
dependence of the inferior orders of created things, on the material
objects which surround them. Man is an animal, and his natural
history displays as many curious correspondences between his
varying peculiarities and the locality which he inhabits, as can be
observed between the physical constitution of inferior creatures, and
the similar circumstances which affect them. The inhabitants of a
wild, broken region, which rises into mighty inland mountains, or
sends its cliffs and vallies into a vast sea, are, in all ages and climes,
characterized by a peculiar energy and quickness of mind, which
often marks them in history as the prominent actors in events of the
highest importance to mankind in all the world. Even the dwellers of
the cities of such regions, share in that peculiar vivacity of their
countrymen, which is especially imbibed in the air of the mountains;
and carry through all the world, till new local influences have again
subjected them, the original characteristics of the land of their birth.
The restless activity and dauntless spirit of Saul, present a striking
instance of this relation of scenery to character. The ever-rolling
waters of the tideless sea on one side presenting a boundless view,
and on the other the blue mountains rearing a mighty barrier to the
vision,――the thousand streams thence rolling to the former,――the
white sands of the long plains, gemmed with the green of shaded
fountains, as well as the active movements of a busy population, all
living under these same inspiring influences,――would each have
their effect on the soul of the young Cilician as he grew up in the
midst of these modifying circumstances.

Along these shores, from the earliest period of Hellenic

colonization, Grecian enterprise had planted its busy centers of
civilization. On each favorable site, where agriculture or commerce
could thrive, cities grew up in the midst of prosperous colonies, in
which wealth and power in their rapid advance brought in the lights
of science, art, literature, and all the refinements and elegances
which Grecian colonization made the invariable accompaniments of
its march,――adorning its solid triumphs with the graceful polish of
all that could exalt the enjoyment of prosperity. Issus, Mopsuestia,
Anchialus, Selinus and others, were among the early seats of
Grecian refinement; and the more modern efforts of the Syro-
Macedonian sway, had blessed Cilicia with the fruits of royal
munificence, in such cities as Cragic Antioch, Seleucia the Rocky,
and Arsinoe; and in still later times, the ever-active and wide-
spreading beneficence of Roman dominion, had still farther
multiplied the peaceful triumphs and trophies of civilization, by here
raising or renewing cities, of which Baiae, Germanicia and
Pompeiopolis are only a specimen. But of all these monuments of
ancient or later refinement, there was none of higher antiquity or
fame than Tarsus, the city where was born this illustrious apostle,
whose life was so greatly instrumental in the triumphs of Christianity.

Tarsus stands north of the point of a wide indentation of the coast

of Cilicia, forming a very open bay, into which, a few miles south,
flow the waters of the classic Cydnus, a narrow stream which runs a
brief course from the barrier of Taurus, directly southward to the sea.
The river’s mouth forms a spacious and convenient harbor, to which
the light vessels of ancient commerce all easily found safe and ready
access, though most of the floating piles in which the productions of
the world are now transported, might find such a harbor altogether
inaccessible to their heavier burden.

Ammianus Marcellinus, the elegant historian of the decline of the

Roman empire, speaks in high descriptive terms, both of the
province, and the city which makes it eminent in Christian history. In
narrating important events here performed during the times whose
history he records, he alludes to the character of the region in a
preliminary description. “After surmounting the peaks of Taurus,
which towards the east rise into higher elevation, Cilicia spreads out
before the observer, in far stretching areas,――a land, rich in all
good things. To its right (that is the west, as the observer looks south
from the summits of Taurus) is joined Isauria,――in equal degree
verdant with palms and many fruits, and intersected by the navigable
river Calycadnus. This, besides many towns, has two
cities,――Seleucia, the work of Seleucus Nicator of Syria, and
Claudiopolis, a colony founded by Claudius Caesar. Isauria however,
once exceedingly powerful, has formerly been desolated for a
destructive rebellion, and therefore shows but very few traces of its
ancient splendor. But Cilicia, which rejoices in the river Cydnus, is
ennobled by Tarsus, a splendid city,――by Anazarbus, and by
Mopsuestia, the dwelling-place of that Mopsus, who accompanied
the Argonauts. These two provinces (Isauria or ‘Cilicia the Rocky,’
and Cilicia proper or ‘level’) being formerly connected with hordes of
plunderers in a piratical war, were subjugated by the proconsul
Servilius, and made tributary. And these regions, placed, as it were,
on a long tongue of land, are separated from the eastern world by
Mount Amanus.”

This account by Ammianus Marcellinus is found in book XIV. of his history, (p. 19, edited
by Vales.)

The native land of Saul was classic ground. Within the limits of
Cilicia, were laid the scenes of some of the most splendid passages
in early Grecian fable; and here too, were acted some of the
grandest events in authentic history, both Greek and Roman. The
very city of his birth, Tarsus, is said to have been founded by
Perseus, the son of Jupiter and Danae, famed for his exploit at
another place on the shore of this part of the Mediterranean. More
authentic history however, refers its earliest foundation to
Sardanapalus, king of Assyria, who built Tarsus and Anchialus in
Cilicia, nine hundred years before Christ. Its origin is by others
ascribed to Triptolemus with an Argive colony, who is represented on
some medals as the founder. These two stories may be made
consistent with each other, on the supposition that the same place
was successively the scene of the civilizing influence of each of