It is a strange custom; yet it is not so long since it prevailed in at least one part of Europe; for fifty years ago it was the established order of things in Montenegro. We believe that it was the father of the present King Nicholas who first refused to be consecrated bishop, and to refrain[{267}] from marriage, when he acceded to the hereditary chieftainship of the “Black Mountain;” though all his predecessors had done so before him. If the custom went on so long in Europe, one need not wonder overmuch if it still prevails under similar circumstances in a remoter land.
The fact is, that among Christians who are still in the wild tribal stage of evolution, the Episcopate is much too important a thing in the tribe to be allowed out of the House of the Chief. Further, the idea of hereditary high priesthood, or family sanctity at any rate, is thoroughly congruous to Oriental thought. Among the Kurds, Sheikhship, which is hereditary religious chieftainship, is a common thing enough; and the Aaronic high-priesthood is at least a respectable precedent to refer to! Perhaps the Patriarch’s own statement of the case, as made to the writer, gives as good a defence for the custom as can be made. “Of course, we know that this Natar-cursiya system” (the Syriac name for the habit) “is as thoroughly against primitive practice and our own canons as a thing can well be. Tell me though, you who know our people and circumstances, what other way is open to us? Free election by our wild tribesmen? That means a free fight every vacancy. Nomination by the Turkish Government? If we were lucky, we might get some feeble old monk, who had done no harm to anyone, and never would do any good. We should be much more likely, however, to get some supple blackguard, who asked for a bishopric as his pay for some dirty job done for a Turkish Vali. So we have dropped into this hereditary system; and we think that we have as good a chance of a good bishop as others have of a good king.” Really the writer had no reply to make; and could only feel thankful that his Holiness had not the knowledge that would have enabled him to continue, “and you know, however uncanonical and unprimitive it is, it cannot well be more so than nomination by a lay Prime Minister. You maintain that custom because it works fairly well. So do we.”
One result of an hereditary Episcopate is that the bishop is often absurdly young in years. The present holder of the Patriarchate is of the mature age of twenty-three, and[{268}] is in the ninth year of his consecration! That a lad of that age (though admittedly maturity comes quickly in the East) should take himself very seriously as an Archbishop, is too much to be expected. Still he does take himself very seriously as the responsible Head of his nation; as the one to whom all have the right to turn in their need, and who is bound to help them to the limits of his power. Long ago, a poet in this land sketched what an ideal king should be; and the main feature of his portrait was that such an one should “preserve the souls of the poor,” “delivering the poor when he crieth” and counting “their blood dear in his sight.” That is still the ideal of kingship in this land; and this lad (to his credit be it said) has loyally endeavoured to live up to it. It would have been easy for Mar Shimun to make comfortable terms for his House and himself, had he been content to leave his people to look after their own interests. On the contrary, he has habitually sacrificed his own ease and comfort; and has run serious risks again and again, in order that he may try to protect “the sheep whom God has committed to him” either from Kurdish raider, or from the worse oppression of the Ottoman minor official. The Eastern ruler who rules for his people is a rare phenomenon and a high character.
An instance or two of the sort of work this young man has to do, and the spirit in which he undertakes it, will give some idea of the conditions of his life. The writer has known a case, where an important mountain chief brought up an unworthy candidate for priest’s orders, only a few weeks after the lad had himself been consecrated as Patriarch. The request was met with the silence which in the East means refusal. It was repeated more urgently, to be met again by a quiet but decided negative.
“But the man is your own cousin my Lord!” said the astonished chief; “how can you refuse this to him?”
“Malik” (i.e., “chief”) came the answer, delivered without either swagger or fear, “the whole millet is equally ‘the cousin’ of its Patriarch.”
On another occasion, he had to undertake a piece of work most eminently episcopal in character, but hardly usual in[{269}] the West, viz. the reconciliation of a feud between a Kurdish and a Christian tribe.
Preliminaries were arranged by him between the two chiefs; and it was finally agreed that twenty “leading men” from each sept should meet with Mar Shimun in a certain valley, where the last points could be settled at a personal interview, and peace formally made. The Patriarch was prepared, of course, for the fact that every delegate came fully armed; but he had not quite expected that each one of the forty should think it needful for his dignity to come like Vich Ian Vohr, “with his tail on,” accompanied that is by four or five followers, all also armed! Further, each side (as was discovered later) had provided an ambush in a convenient place, so as not to be taken unawares in the event of treachery on the part of the other.
Walking with naked lights in a powder magazine was a safe business compared to that conference; and the Patriarch, having got his parties in two villages, divided by a stream, spent most of the day going to and fro between them, arranging the final details. All was settled at last; and “Now,” said the Patriarch, “leave your guns here in the shade, and come down to the stream and shake hands.”
They came as ordered, without their guns. But it was observed that every man of the forty came down with his right hand on the hilt of his dagger; and when he had to take it away in order to grasp the hand of his opposite number, he put his left hand there instead! However, all passed off well; though the Armenian servant who handed round the coffee that formed the ceremonial hospitality which all had to share, trembled so violently that he upset the cups! For a moment it was a question whether this would be taken as a joke or a bad omen. Then luckily somebody laughed; and a general guffaw saved the situation.