Ben-Hur: A tale of the Christ
philosophy, of eloquence, of poetry, of war: O my brethren, hers is the
glory which must shine forever in perfected letters, by which He we go
to find and proclaim will be made known to all the earth. The land I
speak of is Greece. I am Gaspar, son of Cleanthes the Athenian.
“My people,” he continued, “were given wholly to study, and from them I
derived the same passion. It happens that two of our philosophers, the
very greatest of the many, teach, one the doctrine of a Soul in every
man, and its Immortality; the other the doctrine of One God, infinitely
just. From the multitude of subjects about which the schools were
disputing, I separated them, as alone worth the labor of solution; for
I thought there was a relation between God and the soul as yet unknown.
On this theme the mind can reason to a point, a dead, impassable wall;
arrived there, all that remains is to stand and cry aloud for help. So
I did; but no voice came to me over the wall. In despair, I tore myself
from the cities and the schools.”
At these words a grave smile of approval lighted the gaunt face of the
Hindoo.
“In the northern part of my country—in Thessaly,” the Greek proceeded
to say, “there is a mountain famous as the home of the gods, where
Theus, whom my countrymen believe supreme, has his abode; Olympus is
its name. Thither I betook myself. I found a cave in a hill where the
mountain, coming from the west, bends to the southeast; there I dwelt,
giving myself up to meditation—no, I gave myself up to waiting for what
every breath was a prayer—for revelation. Believing in God, invisible
yet supreme, I also believed it possible so to yearn for him with all
my soul that he would take compassion and give me answer.”
“And he did—he did!” exclaimed the Hindoo, lifting his hands from the
silken cloth upon his lap.
“Hear me, brethren,” said the Greek, calming himself with an effort.
“The door of my hermitage looks over an arm of the sea, over the
Thermaic Gulf. One day I saw a man flung overboard from a ship sailing
by. He swam ashore. I received and took care of him. He was a Jew,
learned in the history and laws of his people; and from him I came to
know that the God of my prayers did indeed exist; and had been for ages
their lawmaker, ruler, and king. What was that but the Revelation I
dreamed of? My faith had not been fruitless; God answered me!”
“As he does all who cry to him with such faith,” said the Hindoo.
“But, alas!” the Egyptian added, “how few are there wise enough to know
when he answers them!”
“That was not all,” the Greek continued. “The man so sent to me told me
more. He said the prophets who, in the ages which followed the first
revelation, walked and talked with God, declared he would come again.
He gave me the names of the prophets, and from the sacred books quoted
their very language. He told me, further, that the second coming was at
hand—was looked for momentarily in Jerusalem.”
The Greek paused, and the brightness of his countenance faded.
“It is true,” he said, after a little—“it is true the man told me that
as God and the revelation of which he spoke had been for the Jews
alone, so it would be again. He that was to come should be King of the
Jews. ‘Had he nothing for the rest of the world?’ I asked. ‘No,’ was
the answer, given in a proud voice—‘No, we are his chosen people.’ The
answer did not crush my hope. Why should such a God limit his love and
benefaction to one land, and, as it were, to one family? I set my heart
upon knowing. At last I broke through the man’s pride, and found that
his fathers had been merely chosen servants to keep the Truth alive,
that the world might at last know it and be saved. When the Jew was
gone, and I was alone again, I chastened my soul with a new prayer—that
I might be permitted to see the King when he was come, and worship him.
One night I sat by the door of my cave trying to get nearer the
mysteries of my existence, knowing which is to know God; suddenly, on
the sea below me, or rather in the darkness that covered its face, I
saw a star begin to burn; slowly it arose and drew nigh, and stood over
the hill and above my door, so that its light shone full upon me. I
fell down, and slept, and in my dream I heard a voice say:
“‘O Gaspar! Thy faith hath conquered! Blessed art thou! With two
others, come from the uttermost parts of the earth, thou shalt see Him
that is promised, and be a witness for him, and the occasion of
testimony in his behalf. In the morning arise, and go meet them, and
keep trust in the Spirit that shall guide thee.’
“And in the morning I awoke with the Spirit as a light within me
surpassing that of the sun. I put off my hermit’s garb, and dressed
myself as of old. From a hiding-place I took the treasure which I had
brought from the city. A ship went sailing past. I hailed it, was taken
aboard, and landed at Antioch. There I bought the camel and his
furniture. Through the gardens and orchards that enamel the banks of
the Orontes, I journeyed to Emesa, Damascus, Bostra, and Philadelphia;
thence hither. And so, O brethren, you have my story. Let me now listen
to you.”
CHAPTER IV
The Egyptian and the Hindoo looked at each other; the former waved his
hand; the latter bowed, and began:
“Our brother has spoken well. May my words be as wise.”
He broke off, reflected a moment, then resumed:
“You may know me, brethren, by the name of Melchior. I speak to you in
a language which, if not the oldest in the world, was at least the
soonest to be reduced to letters—I mean the Sanscrit of India. I am a
Hindoo by birth. My people were the first to walk in the fields of
knowledge, first to divide them, first to make them beautiful. Whatever
may hereafter befall, the four Vedas must live, for they are the primal
fountains of religion and useful intelligence. From them were derived
the Upa-Vedas, which, delivered by Brahma, treat of medicine, archery,
architecture, music, and the four-and-sixty mechanical arts; the
Ved-Angas, revealed by inspired saints, and devoted to astronomy,
grammar, prosody, pronunciation, charms and incantations, religious
rites and ceremonies; the Up-Angas, written by the sage Vyasa, and
given to cosmogony, chronology, and geography; therein also are the
Ramayana and the Mahabharata, heroic poems, designed for the
perpetuation of our gods and demi-gods. Such, O brethren, are the Great
Shastras, or books of sacred ordinances. They are dead to me now; yet
through all time they will serve to illustrate the budding genius of my
race. They were promises of quick perfection. Ask you why the promises
failed? Alas! the books themselves closed all the gates of progress.
Under pretext of care for the creature, their authors imposed the fatal
principle that a man must not address himself to discovery or
invention, as Heaven had provided him all things needful. When that
condition became a sacred law, the lamp of Hindoo genius was let down a
well, where ever since it has lighted narrow walls and bitter waters.
“These allusions, brethren, are not from pride, as you will understand
when I tell you that the Shastras teach a Supreme God called Brahm;
also, that the Puranas, or sacred poems of the Up-Angas, tell us of
Virtue and Good Works, and of the Soul. So, if my brother will permit
the saying”—the speaker bowed deferentially to the Greek—“ages before
his people were known, the two great ideas, God and the Soul, had
absorbed all the forces of the Hindoo mind. In further explanation let
me say that Brahm is taught, by the same sacred books, as a
Triad—Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva. Of these, Brahma is said to have been
the author of our race; which, in course of creation, he divided into
four castes. First, he peopled the worlds below and the heavens above;
next, he made the earth ready for terrestrial spirits; then from his
mouth proceeded the Brahman caste, nearest in likeness to himself,
highest and noblest, sole teachers of the Vedas, which at the same time
flowed from his lips in finished state, perfect in all useful
knowledge. From his arms next issued the Kshatriya, or warriors; from
his breast, the seat of life, came the Vaisya, or producers—shepherds,
farmers, merchants; from his foot, in sign of degradation, sprang the
Sudra, or serviles, doomed to menial duties for the other
classes—serfs, domestics, laborers, artisans. Take notice, further,
that the law, so born with them, forbade a man of one caste becoming a
member of another; the Brahman could not enter a lower order; if he
violated the laws of his own grade, he became an outcast, lost to all
but outcasts like himself.”
At this point, the imagination of the Greek, flashing forward upon all
the consequences of such a degradation, overcame his eager attention,
and he exclaimed, “In such a state, O brethren, what mighty need of a
loving God!”
“Yes,” added the Egyptian, “of a loving God like ours.”
The brows of the Hindoo knit painfully; when the emotion was spent, he
proceeded, in a softened voice.
“I was born a Brahman. My life, consequently, was ordered down to its
least act, its last hour. My first draught of nourishment; the giving
me my compound name; taking me out the first time to see the sun;
investing me with the triple thread by which I became one of the
twice-born; my induction into the first order—were all celebrated with
sacred texts and rigid ceremonies. I might not walk, eat, drink, or
sleep without danger of violating a rule. And the penalty, O brethren,
the penalty was to my soul! According to the degrees of omission, my
soul went to one of the heavens—Indra’s the lowest, Brahma’s the
highest; or it was driven back to become the life of a worm, a fly, a
fish, or a brute. The reward for perfect observance was Beatitude, or
absorption into the being of Brahm, which was not existence as much as
absolute rest.”
The Hindoo gave himself a moment’s thought; proceeding, he said: “The
part of a Brahman’s life called the first order is his student life.
When I was ready to enter the second order—that is to say, when I was
ready to marry and become a householder—I questioned everything, even
Brahm; I was a heretic. From the depths of the well I had discovered a
light above, and yearned to go up and see what all it shone upon. At
last—ah, with what years of toil!—I stood in the perfect day, and
beheld the principle of life, the element of religion, the link between
the soul and God—Love!”
The shrunken face of the good man kindled visibly, and he clasped his
hands with force. A silence ensued, during which the others looked at
him, the Greek through tears. At length he resumed:
“The happiness of love is in action; its test is what one is willing to
do for others. I could not rest. Brahm had filled the world with so
much wretchedness. The Sudra appealed to me, so did the countless
devotees and victims. The island of Ganga Lagor lies where the sacred
waters of the Ganges disappear in the Indian Ocean. Thither I betook
myself. In the shade of the temple built there to the sage Kapila, in a
union of prayers with the disciples whom the sanctified memory of the
holy man keeps around his house, I thought to find rest. But twice
every year came pilgrimages of Hindoos seeking the purification of the
waters. Their misery strengthened my love. Against its impulse to speak
I clenched my jaws; for one word against Brahm or the Triad or the
Shastras would doom me; one act of kindness to the outcast Brahmans who
now and then dragged themselves to die on the burning sands—a blessing
said, a cup of water given—and I became one of them, lost to family,
country, privileges, caste. The love conquered! I spoke to the
disciples in the temple; they drove me out. I spoke to the pilgrims;
they stoned me from the island. On the highways I attempted to preach;