Some embrace it through curiosity, others from conviction, many from motives of selfishness. Its power is frequently in a direct proportion to the awe with which it inspires its votaries. As military glory is most admired by the populace, great prestige must of necessity attach to a creed which proselytes by conquest. On the other hand, apotheosis was considered the highest distinction attainable by the heroes and sovereigns of Pagan antiquity. Individuals whose genius had conferred great benefits upon the human race were assigned by public gratitude to a place among the gods. All the Roman emperors from Cæsar to Constantine were deified. An atmosphere of peculiar sanctity invested the eagles grouped in the post of honor in the camp of the legion. The crucifix and the reliquary were borne in the van of crusading armies. A more or less intimate association has thus always existed between the sacerdotal and the military professions. The latter has repeatedly furthered the projects of the former. The priest has rarely refused to absolve the offences of the orthodox soldier. Most religions have, in fact, been established or maintained by force. When we recall the overthrow of Paganism, the successive attempts to recover the Holy Sepulchre, the reconquest of Spain, the Inquisition, the atrocities attending the subjugation of the New World, the utter devastation of Provence and Languedoc, the religious wars of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, we should certainly not subject to invidious scrutiny the polity of Mohammed, whose history is free from the reproach of persecution, and whose supremacy was only partially established by arms.
The examination and criticism of a religion whose canons have been honored with the implicit and reverent obedience of millions of men; whose dogmas have been recognized by the devout of many diverse races as inspirations of the wisdom of Almighty God; a religion which, by the weapons of argument or by the resistless force of enthusiasm, subverted the power and absorbed the leading principles of other creeds whose traditions had hitherto enthralled the world, and which, despite the degeneracy of its practice, the divisions and consequent antagonism of its sectaries, the vicissitudes of many centuries, and the inevitable accidents of war, persecution, and treason, still manifests an astonishing and, to all appearances, an inexhaustible vitality, is a great and arduous undertaking. The story of Islam, by whose influence the natives of the East and West, heretofore hostile, were joined in a bond of fraternal union and guided through a marvellous career of prosperity and glory, is the realization of what would have ordinarily appeared a most extravagant dream of conquest and dominion, and is without parallel in the annals of humanity. In the moral as in the material world, the most perfect and durable forms and systems usually arrive slowly, and by almost imperceptible gradations, at ultimate maturity. But to this rule Islam was a striking exception. It attained the summit of its greatness, and raised the Arabians to an exalted rank in the family of nations, in a shorter period of time than is generally occupied by a people in passing through the primitive stages of their intellectual development.
It refuted the familiar maxim of the Romans, whose foreign policy was based upon the fomenting of dissensions and the subsequent discomfiture of their enemies, and, assailing its adversaries simultaneously on every side, won its way by a series of victories surpassing, in momentous results, the most renowned triumphs of the consuls and the Cæsars. In the traditions relating to the genealogy and history of its Prophet there is much that is enigmatical and much that is romantic. The latter deduced his origin from Ishmael, whom, with his unfortunate mother, Abraham, the acknowledged head of God’s chosen people, had inhumanly abandoned in the Desert to starve.
But in the seventy-one generations which separated Mohammed and Ishmael, a radical change of circumstances had befallen the rival branches of the house of Abraham. The descendants of Isaac, who had been promised the earth for an inheritance, now enslaved or exiled, and proverbial for bad faith, had become reviled and contemned of all men. On the other hand, from Ishmael the vagabond, deserted by his father and renounced by his kindred, had sprung a noble, valiant, and hospitable race, whose destiny was the promotion of civilization and the extension of empire. And in due time the latter, having obtained possession of the opulent regions of the East, tolerated the despised Hebrew only upon payment of tribute, and restricted him to a distinctive costume as a symbol of his degradation. He was compelled, in token of respect, to remove his slippers whenever he passed a mosque, and under penalty of the lash to kneel abjectly in the dust before the haughty Ishmaelite; while the capital of the land from which he had been banished, endeared to him by the memory of his sovereigns and the traditions of his faith, was in the power of his hereditary enemies, whose sacrilegious hands had raised the gilded dome of one of their proudest fanes upon the very spot long consecrated by the most revered associations of his race and his religion. The law of compensation, which controls the fate of man, was at last fulfilled, and retribution, if long delayed, was then exacted with relentless severity.
The benefits wrought by Mohammedans—especially during the Middle Ages—have, until the end of the last century, been silently ignored or studiously depreciated by historians; in some instances through want of information, but, for the most part, because the phenomenal progress of Islam, when compared with the apathetic condition of other religions, suggested a formidable rivalry. But in this age, insatiable of knowledge and equipped with every means of obtaining it, it is no longer possible for clerical intolerance to obscure the splendid achievements of Moslem science. The day has long since past when the labors of astronomers like Ibn-Junis, of historians like Al-Makkari, of philosophers like Averroes, of physicians like Avicenna, and of botanists like Ibn-Beithar, can be treated with obloquy because they were not authorized by the decree of an Ecumenical Council or approved by a bull of his Holiness the Pope.
The history of a religion, the exposition of a form of faith, is not infrequently the memoir of an individual and the chronicle of a race. As a rule, the union of the offices of Prophet and Lawgiver in a single personage deeply impresses the individuality of that personage upon the character of his nation. The annals of the Hebrews are indissolubly bound up with the Holy Scriptures and the precepts of Mosaic law. The mention of ancient Persia suggests at once the texts of the Zendavesta and the ordinances of Zoroaster. The Koran is practically the biography of Mohammed, the tale of his sorrows, his aspirations, his failures, and his triumphs. And what more noble monument could Arabia boast than the proud distinction of having been the home of a prophet and the cradle of a faith for centuries identified with religious toleration, with princely munificence, with scientific investigation, with literary merit,—all intimately associated with her name and with the varying fortunes of her children? The latter, from the first, devoted themselves to the interests of civilization. They settled colonies of skilled artisans in the wake of their armies. They promoted manufactures, encouraged commerce, and in every department of industrial occupation stimulated the efforts of mechanical ingenuity. They developed the science of astronomy. To them chemistry and pharmacy owe their origin. While persevering botanists explored the flora of many lands, the mathematician, in his secluded retreat, expanded and perfected the science of algebra. When a new region was subjected to their rule, all fruits, plants, and herbs, which examination or experience had found to be either edible or curative, were inscribed upon the lists of tribute, and their importation and distribution became compulsory. They branded idleness with contempt; they ennobled labor; and even royalty did not disdain to follow the example of the Prophet, who, with his own hands, assisted in the erection of the mosque of Medina, the first temple of Islam. They translated and preserved for the pleasure and instruction of posterity the immortal productions of the sages of Greece and Rome. They fostered learning, and encouraged its pursuit by maxim, reward, and example, until it became a matter of popular belief, as firmly grounded as the most sacred tradition, that the diligent cultivation of the mental faculties was an imperative religious duty.
In ancient times, to compel the observance of a salutary law, it was connected with public worship and directly sanctioned by the precepts of religion. In this way, hallowed by divine authority, it acquired a force not obtainable by human enactment, and conclusively indicated the wisdom of the sovereign or lawgiver who promulgated it. It was thus with circumcision among the Jews, with the cultivation of the soil in Mesopotamia, and with irrigation in Egypt, where the Nile was deified as the creator and preserver of the harvests and the source of the material prosperity of the nation. Mohammed was not blind to the advantages to be secured by this theocratic supervision of the affairs of mortals, and, by recourse to it, enforced the adoption and practice of many healthful customs and profitable employments whose effects upon the subjects of his successors were of the greatest importance.
The contagion of superstition, the impression produced by the grandeur of scenery, and the periodical recurrence of mysterious natural phenomena must always be attentively considered in determining the philosophical belief and religious tendencies of a people. Intimate relations with Egypt, sustained for a vast but unknown period of time, have left ineffaceable traces upon the traditions of Arabia. In the religious system of the former country there was one Supreme Being. All other divinities were but manifestations of his majesty and omnipotence concealed under different names. From him emanated the multifarious triads, the personification of the Nile, the countless array of gods to whom the days, the months, and even the very productions of the earth, were sacred. The great secret that these inferior deities were mere abstractions proceeding from a common Essence, to be eventually absorbed into it,—a fate to which even the soul of man, after divers transmigrations, was subject,—was jealously guarded by the Egyptian priesthood, and was the chief of its famous mysteries. The Sabeans of Yemen, instructed through their mercantile relations with the inhabitants of the Valley of the Nile, had long been familiar with the idea of a Supreme God and the personified attributes of His power and dignity. This doctrine had spread from the South, and, at the date of the advent of Mohammed, underlay the idolatrous worship of which Mecca was the centre, and whose ramifications extended in every direction to the borders of the Peninsula. A considerable number of the more intelligent Arabs who professed adherence to the religion of Abraham, yet, in fact, knew nothing of that religion except that it was monotheistic, repudiated all forms of idolatry, and styled themselves Hanifs—a word variously defined as “Incliners” and “Heretics.” The Manichean conception of the Spirit of Darkness—or, in other words, that important and enterprising personage the Persian devil, without whose presence no modern creed would seem to be complete—was also unknown to the ancient inhabitants of Arabia. As the idea was imported,—no branch of the Semitic race having been originally acquainted with it,—it probably travelled in the train of Cambyses when he invaded the Desert; although Iblis, the Arabic name by which this spirit is popularly designated, is evidently of European derivation and a corruption of the Greek Διάβολος.
Nor have the physical features of the landscape less to do with the formation of man’s moral impressions, and the direction of his impulses, than the reciprocal interchange of the ideas of contiguous nations. This is apparent in even a greater degree than the influence of soil and climate in the modification of his physical aspect and temperament. The more imposing those features, the more profound the emotions they excite; and, partly for this reason, Asia, which Nature has endowed with the most stupendous manifestations of her energy, has been prolific of those superstitions which have exercised the most extensive and lasting dominion over the human mind.
For more than a century before the birth of Mohammed, the most deplorable ignorance had obscured the face of the Christian world. The gentleness and beauty of the religion of Jesus had been supplanted by the direst fanaticism; its altars had been profaned by heathen sacrifices and the adoration of images; its priesthood had become inconceivably corrupt and immoral. The countless sects evoked by the machinations and worldly ambition of the clergy had, by mutual recrimination, revolting crimes, relentless persecution of their adversaries, and obstinate refusal to listen to any plan of reconciliation, almost destroyed the faith of reasonable men in every religion. Each of these sects had a leader who was regarded by his followers as endowed, to a greater or less degree, with that mysterious power conferred by divine inspiration. Disputes, frequently settled by massacre, were constantly maintained upon abstruse and frivolous questions in their very nature unanswerable; the precepts of justice and the laws of morality were contemptuously disregarded; and the sacerdotal class, instead of setting an example of piety and moderation to its congregations, was conspicuous in the daily saturnalia of rapine, lust, and murder. The Church had long since departed from the simplicity and purity of its original institution. For a century only after the death of the Saviour it had remained free from the influence of schismatic doctrines. While in comparative obscurity and acknowledged weakness, it offered no inducements to the disturbing spirit of fanatical innovators or to the selfish schemes of political aggrandizement and ecclesiastical ambition. In the beginning, divided into a number of federated republics practically independent, yet bound together by a common interest, governed by their own laws, relying upon their own resources, guided by the wisdom of their own ministers, their thoroughly organized polity, their obstinacy, their claims to superior holiness, naturally excited the odium of the Pagan populace, and frequently provoked the wrath and the interference of Imperial authority. From a condition of meekness, humility, and self-abnegation, the Church had become the prey of hostile factions, and was already tainted with scandal. Its synods were polluted with the blood of contending sectaries. Its councils resounded with the unseemly disputes and mutual recriminations of prelates more ambitious for the attainment of supreme power than for the discovery of divine truth. The Trinitarian controversy had nourished prejudices which centuries of apparent tranquillity had failed to eradicate. The spirit of persecution, incomprehensible to the polytheists, the essence of whose creed was universal toleration, and who could not appreciate the motives impelling the Christian to the employment of force to establish his doctrines, had early begun to manifest itself. Monasticism, synonymous with ignorance and intolerance, represented the sentiments and hopes of the most degraded of the populace in every community of the Empire. At Alexandria and Nicea it had forced, by weight of numbers and by turbulent demonstrations of violence, the adoption of some of the most important articles of Christian faith. In every ecclesiastical feud it had invariably espoused the cause of bigotry and imposture. The monk of the sixth century united in his character the inconsistent attributes of the priest and the politician, the saint and the demagogue. His retreat in the solitude of the desert was visited by thousands of weeping penitents, suppliants for the doubtful but cherished privilege of his blessing. With his companions, armed with clubs and stones, he fomented disorder in the streets of great capitals. His voluntary renunciation of the follies of the world was no bar to his greed of power. He dictated the policy of the Church. He settled involved points of casuistry. He formulated canons of ecclesiastical discipline. He enforced the claims of his faction by intrigues, by corruption, by the commission of the most revolting crimes. He aspired to and often attained the episcopal dignity. The superior numbers, the fanatical spirit, the unanimous resolution of his order, gave him a preponderating influence in the Church not to be heedlessly resisted. Before the imperial organization of the Papacy, the monk was the dominant factor in the determination of the laws, the measures, and the regulations of Christendom.