The Pillar of Fire; or, Israel in Bondage

by J. H. Ingraham

Your visit to the temple of Tammuz, at Sareptha, recalls a legend which, singularly enough, I first heard in Egypt, of the origin of the rites to that deity.

The books of the priests here, relating to Phœnician, Sabæan, Persian, and Chaldean ceremonies (for the learning of the Egyptians seems to embrace a knowledge of books of all countries), relate that Tammuz was a "certain idolatrous prophet of the Sabæan Fire-worshippers, who called upon King Ossynœces, our remote ancestor, and commanded him to worship the Seven Planets and the Twelve Signs of the constellations. The king, in reply, ordered him to be put to death. On the same night on which he was slain," continues the book from which I write, "a great gathering of all the images of the gods of the whole earth was held at the palace, where the huge golden image of the sun was suspended; whereupon this image of the sun related what had happened to his prophet, weeping and mourning as he spoke to them. Then all the lesser gods present likewise commenced weeping and mourning, which they continued until daylight, when they all departed through the air, returning to their respective temples in the most distant regions of the earth." Such, dear mother, is the tradition here of the origin of the weeping for Tammuz, the observance of which now forms so important a feature in our Phœnician worship, although introduced, as it was, from the Sabæans themselves.

But the more I have conversed with the wise and virtuous Prince Remeses, the more I feel the gross nature of our mythology, O mother, and that images and myths, such as form the ground and expression of our national worship, and that rest wholly in the material figure itself, are unworthy the reverence of an intelligent mind. It is true, we can look at them, and honor that which they represent,—as I daily look at your picture, which I wear over my heart, and kissing it from love for thee, do not worship and adore the ivory, and the colors that mark upon its surface a sweet reflection of your beloved and beautiful countenance. Oh, no! It is you far away I think of, kiss, love, and in a manner adore. Yet an Egyptian of the lowest order, seeing me almost worshipping your picture, would believe I was adoring an effigy of my tutelar goddess. And he would be right, so far as my heart and thought, and you are concerned, my mother. In this representative way, I am now sure that Remeses regards all images, looking through and beyond them up to the Supreme Infinite. I also have imbibed his lofty spirit of worship, and have come to adore the statues as I worship your picture. But where, O mother, is the Infinite? When I think of you, I can send my soul towards you, on wings that bear me to your feet, either in your private chamber at needle-work, or with your royal scribe as you are dictating laws for the realm, or upon your throne giving judgment. In memory and imagination, I can instantly send my thoughts out to you, and behold you as you are. But the Infinite, whom Remeses calls GOD, in contradistinction to lesser gods, where does He hide Himself? Why, if He is, does He not reveal Himself? Why does He suffer us to grope after Him, and not find Him? If He be good, and loving, and gracious in His nature, He will desire to make known to His creatures these attributes. But how silent—how impenetrable the mystery that environs Him in the habitation of His throne! Will He forever remain wrapped up in the dark clouds of space? Will He never reveal Himself in His moral nature to man? Will He never of Himself proclaim to the creation His unity—that there is no God but One, and besides Him there is none else? How can He demand obedience and virtue of men when they know not His laws? Yet, consciousness within, visible nature, reason, all demonstrate that there is but one Supreme God, a single First Cause, how numerous soever the inferior deities He may have created to aid in the government of His vast universe; and that to Him an intellectual and spiritual worship should be paid. This is the theory of Remeses, who seems to be infinitely above his people and country in piety and wisdom. Sometimes I fancy that he draws inspiration from this Infinite God whom he worships in his heart, and recognizes through his intellect; for his utterances on these themes are often like the words of a god, so wonderful are the mysteries treated of by him, so elevating to the heart and mind.

But I will repeat part of a conversation we had together, after he had offered in the temple of Apis his sacrifice for the restoration of the queen's health. He said, as we walked away together, along a beautiful and sacred avenue of acacia and delicate, fringe-like ittel or tamarisk trees, alternating with the pomegranate and mimosa:

"Sesostris, doubtless, after all my conversations with you, I seemed an idolater to-day, quite as material and gross, in the offerings and prayers I made, as the galley-rower we saw offering a coarse garland of papyrus-leaves and poppies to the god."

"No, my noble prince," I answered; "I saw in you an intellectual sacrificer, whose bodily eyes indeed beheld the sacred bull, but whose spirit saw the Great Osiris, who once dwelt in the bull when on earth. You honored the house where anciently a god abode."

"No, Sesostris, the bull is nothing to me in any sense, but as the prince of a realm whose laws ordain the worship of Apis in Memphis, of the ram-headed Ammon at Thebes, or the sacred ox at On, I outwardly conform to customs which I dare not and cannot change. Or if I would, what shall I give the people if I take away their gods? My own religion is spiritual, as I believe yours is becoming; but how shall I present a spiritual faith to the Egyptians? In what form—what visible shape, can I offer it to them? for the priests will demand a visible religion—one tangible and material. The people cannot worship an intellectual abstraction, as we can, Sesostris, and as the more intelligent priests pretend they do and can. Yet if, when I come to the throne, by an imperial edict I remodel the theology of the priesthood and the worship of the people—remove the golden sun from the temple in On, slay the sacred bull Apis, and banish the idols from all the thousand temples of the two Egypts, with what shall I replace the religion I depose?"

"With an intellectual and spiritual worship of the Supreme Infinite," I answered.

"But who will enlighten my own ignorance of Him, Sesostris?" he inquired sadly. "What do I know of Him save from an awakened consciousness within my bosom? How can I make others possess that consciousness which is only intuitive, and so incommunicable? I must first know where God is, before I can direct the people whither to look for Him when they pray. I must first cultivate their minds and imaginations, in order to enable them to embrace a purely mental religion, and to worship the Infinite independently of figures, images, and visible mementos or symbols; for, so long as they have these at all, they will rest their faith in them, and will look upon them as their gods. But what do I know of the God I would reveal to them? Absolutely nothing! That there can be but one Supreme God, reason demonstrates; for if there were two equal gods, they would have equal power, equal agency in the creation and upholding of all things, in the government of the world, and in the worship of men! Two equal gods, who in no case differ one from the other, but are in all things one and the same, are virtually but one God. Therefore, as neither two, nor any number of equal gods, can exist without acting as a unit (for otherwise they cannot act), there can be only one God!"

I at once assented to the conclusiveness of the prince's reasoning.