The sun was rising on the Holy City on the first day of the week, when Iddo took leave of his guests at the Water-gate. They took the road to Jericho, which leads over the mount of Olives. They had before them , or about twenty-four sabbath-days’ journies. Passing the dry bed of the brook Kedron, they walked under the shade of the cedars, till the road wound up the side of the mount and led them through rows of olive-trees over the easternmost of the three summits. It is loftier than any of the hills on which the city stands. As they ascended it, Helon cast back a look of gratitude and regret on the sacred spot, where God had shown him so much good. The summit commanded on one side a view of the temple, the castle Baris, Zion, and the wide-stretched city; on the other, the eye could reach to the Dead Sea and the glittering line of the Jordan’s course, which winds on the other side of the walls of Jericho and falls into the Dead Sea. Towards the east, the exhalations rose from the sea, at the place where once Sodom and Gomorrah stood—a terrible memorial of Jehovah’s vengeance on the transgressors. Towards the west the smoke of the morning-sacrifice was ascending from the altar of burnt-offering in the temple. “See,” said Elisama, as he pointed to Moriah, “the fulfilment of the words of Moses, the glory of the Lord appearing to all the people in the fire that comes from before him and consumes the burnt-offering on the altar.”[[79]] And then turning to the clouds of pitchy smoke that hung over the Dead Sea; “Behold there the fulfilment of another word of Scripture, 'The Lord thy God is a consuming fire and a jealous God.'”[[80]]
They proceeded in silence. At length Helon observed, “When the flame ascends upon our altar of burnt-offering, or the seven-branched candlestick is lighted at evening in the holy place, I cannot but think of Jehovah’s comparison of himself to a light, in our psalms and prophets. Fire is the most ethereal of the elements, and is a symbol as well of the grace of God to the pious, as of his indignation against sinners.”
“Beware,” interrupted Selumiel, “of making to thyself any likeness of God.”
“I understand,” said Helon, “what you mean. Even the doctrine of Zerdusht is superstition, because he has disfigured, by human additions, the knowledge which is handed down in its purity in our sacred writings. Yet it is remarkable that the children of the east have selected precisely this point from the divine wisdom of their forefathers, worshipping, alas, the visible sun, instead of the eternal light.”
“Be satisfied,” said Selumiel, “those whom thou art about to see to-day, have already prayed some hours ago for the return of the heavenly light. They do so every morning, and every morning their prayer is heard. You shall see my Essenes.”
“Thy Essenes!” said Elisama. “Thou hast already thrown out hints of this kind more than once, Selumiel, greatly to my surprise. I remember when we were young together in Egypt, thou hadst a similar passion for the doctrines of the [Therapeutæ]; and an early passion, it seems, never dies.”
“I confess,” said Selumiel, “that in my youth I often looked with veneration towards the hill beside the lake Mareotis, where they had their favourite abode. But at a later period of my life I perceived that the contemplative life of the Therapeutæ, their profound solitude, and their enthusiastic passion for allegory, are not to be compared with the pious but active life led by the Essenes. I could say much to you of this people, but I will reserve it till we have passed through Bethany.”
This was indeed a spot more adapted for seeing than for listening. Bethany was a village on the eastern slope of the mount of Olives, and about two sabbath-days’ journies from Jerusalem. It was a still and lovely spot, surrounded with olives, palm-trees, figs, and dates, so that it seemed to stand in the midst of a large garden. They often turned to look back upon it, when they had passed through it. As they crossed a sparkling brook which ran at the foot of a steep hill, Selumiel exclaimed, “I will first quench my thirst, according to the manner of the Essenes, from this pure stream, and will then tell you, as I proposed just now, what I think of this people.”
A wild and dreary region lay before them, called the desert of Jericho. “I know,” said Selumiel, “that our Sadducees ridicule the Essenes, and our Pharisees curse them. But however the former may ridicule the idea of self-communion and moral strictness, it is certain that there is a deeper foundation for this self-communion at least, than individual inclination or caprice. The aged are generally inclined to it, and I know not what more genuine happiness one who has seen the world can propose to himself, in declining years, than the undisturbed society of persons like minded with himself, engaged in the united worship of Jehovah. And as there is a period of life, in which almost all men feel the disposition to turn the thoughts inward, circumstances may arise to produce this inclination at an earlier period. Calamity and sorrow respect no age; and as it may be said of some men that they are children even in their grey hairs, so is it true of others, that even from their childhood they show the contemplative and serious character of age. Why then should not a whole society, consisting of such youths and such old men, unite to devote themselves to self-communion? It has been said of the Greeks, that they are always children; it may be said with equal truth and more honour of the Essenes, that they are always old men.”
“But,” said Elisama, “they never appear in the temple.” “That is what the Pharisees condemn in them, and I will not undertake to decide upon the question: but thus much is certain, that they fulfil all the other precepts of the law so much the more zealously, and appeal, on this point, to passages of holy writ, which teach the inefficacy of any ritual of sacrifice. But I will not defend them for not coming to mount Moriah; and I am so far from agreeing with them in this respect, that I am, as you know, a punctual visiter at all the festivals. Let us rather consider what both Sadducees and Pharisees blame in them, and see whether this blame does not really redound to their praise. You know that the Sadducees in their folly maintain, that the whole course of the events of life depends upon man’s own free will, that fate has no influence over human affairs, and that it rests with ourselves to be the authors of our own weal or woe. The Pharisees, with more reason, teach that some things in our lives are the work of fate, but not all, and that in some cases it depends upon ourselves whether events shall happen or not. But how many rulers of the world must they then suppose to exist, or how would they contrive to keep this host of rulers in order and in harmony? How much more just and consistent is the doctrine of the Essenes, that fate disposes of all events, that nothing happens to man without its appointment, and that the great and the trifling in events, what is necessary and what is apparently arbitrary, all is alike subject to a predestined order!”