High overarched, and echoing walks between";
but I rest assured, that, without renouncing any essential qualities of individuality or independence, they may yet, even in our own day, arrange themselves in harmony; as magnetized iron rings,—from which Plato once borrowed an image,—under the influence of potent unseen attraction, while preserving each its own peculiar form, cohere in a united chain of independent circles. From the birth of this new order will spring not only international repose, but domestic quiet also; and Peace will become the permanent rule of civilization. The stone will be rolled away from the sepulchre in which men have laid their Lord, and we shall hear the new-risen voice, saying, in words of blessed truth, "Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world."
Here I might fitly close. Though admonished that I have already occupied more of your time than I could venture to claim, except for the cause, I cannot forbear to consider, for a brief moment, yet one other topic, which I have left thus far untouched, partly because it is not directly connected with the main argument, and therefore seemed inappropriate to any earlier stage, and partly because I wished to impress it with my last words. I refer to that greatest, most preposterous, and most irreligious of earthly vanities, the monstrous reflection of War,—Military Glory.
Let me not disguise the truth. Too true it is that this vanity is still cherished by mankind,—that it is still an object of ambition,—that men follow War, and count its pursuit "honorable,"—that feats of brute force are heralded "brilliant,"—and that a yet prevailing public opinion animates unreflecting mortals to "seek the bubble reputation even in the cannon's mouth." Too true it is that nations persevere in offering praise and thanksgiving—such as no labors of Beneficence can achieve—to the chief whose hands are red with the blood of his fellow-men.
Whatever the usage of the world, whether during the long and dreary Past or in the yet barbarous Present, it must be clear to all who confront this question with candor, and do not turn away from the blaze of truth, that any glory from bloody strife among God's children must be fugitive, evanescent, unreal. It is the offspring of a deluded public sentiment, and will disappear, as we learn to analyze its elements and appreciate its character. Too long has mankind worshipped what St. Augustine called the splendid vices, neglecting the simple virtues,—too long cultivated the flaunting and noxious weeds, careless of the golden corn,—too long been insensible to that commanding law and sacred example which rebuke all the pretensions of military glory.
Look face to face at this "glory." Study it in the growing illumination of history. Regarding War as an established Arbitrament, for the adjudication of controversies among nations,—like the Petty Wars of an earlier period between cities, principalities, and provinces, or like the Trial by Battle between individuals,—the conclusion is irresistible, that an enlightened civilization, when the world has reached that Unity to which it tends, must condemn the partakers in its duels, and their vaunted achievements, precisely as we now condemn the partakers in those wretched contests which disfigure the commencement of modern history. The prowess of the individual is forgotten in disgust at an inglorious barbarism.
Observe this "glory" in the broad sunshine of Christian truth. In all ages, even in Heathen lands, there has been a peculiar reverence for the relation of Brotherhood. Feuds among brothers, from that earliest "mutual-murdering" conflict beneath the walls of Thebes, have been accounted ghastly and abhorred, never to be mentioned without a shudder. This sentiment was revived in modern times, and men sought to extend the circle of its influence. Warriors, like Du Guesclin, rejoiced to hail each other as brothers. Chivalry delighted in fraternities of arms sealed by vow and solemnity. According to curious and savage custom, valiant knights were bled together, that their blood, as it spurted forth, might intermingle, and thus constitute them of one blood, which was drunk by each. So did the powerful emperor of Constantinople confirm an alliance of friendship with a neighbor king. The two monarchs drank of each other's blood; and then their attendants, following the princely example, caught their own flowing life in a wine-cup, and quaffed a mutual pledge, saying, "We are brothers, of one blood."[364]
By such profane devices men sought to establish that relation, whose beauty they perceived, though they failed to discern, that, by the ordinance of God, without any human stratagem, it justly comprehended all their fellow-men. In the midst of Judaism, which hated Gentiles, Christianity proclaimed love to all mankind, and distinctly declared that God had made of one blood all the nations of men. As if to keep this sublime truth ever present, the disciples were taught, in the simple prayer of the Saviour, to address God as Father in heaven,—not in phrase of exclusive worship, "my Father," but in those other words of peculiar Christian import, "our Father,"—with the petition, not merely to "forgive me my trespasses," but with the diviner prayer, to "forgive us our trespasses": thus, in the solitude of the closet, recognizing all alike as children of God, and embracing all alike in the petition for mercy.