In spite of the well-known influence which Greek culture and Greek thought exercised over a portion of the Jews under Alexander the Great’s successors, the mass of the Hebrew nation never took kindly to Hellenism. Alexander proved himself as great a statesman as he was a warrior. An apostle of Hellenism though he was, he did not seek to consolidate his Empire by enforcing uniformity of cult and custom, as short-sighted despots have done since, but by encouraging friendly intercourse between the Greeks and the various peoples that came under his sceptre. Gifted with rare imagination, he entered into the feelings of races as diverse as the Egyptian and the Jewish. To the latter he allotted the border-lands which had long been the bone of contention between themselves and the Samaritans. He relieved them from taxation during the unproductive Sabbath year. He respected their prejudices, honoured their religion, and appreciated their conscientious scruples. While, out of deference to Chaldean religious feeling, he ordered the Temple of Bel to be rebuilt in Babylon, he forgave the Jewish soldiers their refusal to obey his command as contrary to the teaching of their faith. Conciliation was the principle of Alexander’s imperialism and the secret of his success. ♦301 B.C.♦ The Ptolemies, to whose share, on the partition of the Macedonian Empire, Palestine ultimately fell, inherited Alexander’s enlightened policy. The High Priest of the Jews was recognised as the head of the nation, and it was through him that the tribute was paid. So fared the Jews at home.

Abroad their lot was equally enviable. Some modern critics had doubted the settlement of Jews in Egypt until the third century. But recent discoveries (notably Mr. R. Mond’s Aramaic Papyri) prove that a Jewish community existed in Egypt even in the centuries preceding Alexander. Now persuasion and the hope of profit drew many thousands of them to Alexandria, Cyrene, and other centres of Hellenistic culture. In all these places they lived on terms of perfect equality with the Greek colonists. The newly-built city on the mouth of the Nile soon became a seat of Jewish influence and a school of learning for the Jewish nation. Under the benign rule of the Ptolemies the Jews prospered, multiplied, and attained success in every walk of life, public no less than private. Of the five divisions of Alexandria they occupied nearly two. Egypt was then the granary of Europe, and the corn trade lay largely in Jewish hands. Refinement came in the train of riches, and freedom begot tolerance. The Jews cultivated Greek letters, and some of them became deeply imbued with the spirit of Greek philosophy and even of art. This friendly understanding between the Jewish and the Greek mind gave to the world the mystic union of Moses and Plato in the works of Philo and the Septuagint translation of the Old Testament, which was to prepare the way for the advent of Christianity. And yet the bulk of the Alexandrian Jews remained a peculiar people. Greeks and Egyptians had fused their religions into a common form of worship. But the Jews were still separated from both races by the invincible barriers of belief, law, and custom. They still looked upon Jerusalem as their metropolis, and upon Alexandria as a mere place of exile. In the midst of paganism they formed a monotheistic colony. Their houses of prayer were also schools of Levitical learning, where the Torah was assiduously studied and expounded. Their one link with the State was their own Ethnarch, who acted as supreme sovereign and judge of his people, and represented it at Court.

Similar conditions prevailed in Palestine. There also Hellenic language, manners, feasts, games, and philosophy effected an entrance through the influence of the Greek colonies on the coast, and a party of Jewish Hellenists was formed. In the land which once rang with the prophetic utterances of an Isaiah and a Jeremiah were now sung the love-poems of Sappho, and were quoted the witty sarcasms of the Athenian Voltaire, Euripides. But the Torah, or Jewish religious law, was bitterly opposed to all innovations, and the anti-Greek section of the people, termed the “Pious” (Chassidim or Assideans), regarded with deep misgiving the inroad of the foreign culture. Hence arose an implacable feud between the Liberals and the Conservatives, who hated, anathematised, and later crucified each other as cordially as brethren only can do. But the Chassidim, though politically worsted, were all-powerful in the affections of the community, and the time was not distant when they were to assume the supreme command.

In 198 B.C. Palestine, after a hundred years’ struggle, passed under the sway of the Graeco-Syrian Seleucids, who, unlike their predecessors, initiated a policy of forcible assimilation, and, aided by the Hellenistic party among the Jews themselves, compelled their subjects to adopt their own civilisation and to pay homage to their own gods. However, neither the tolerance of the Graeco-Egyptian nor the violence of the Graeco-Syrian kings succeeded in reconciling the Jew to the ways of the Gentile. ♦175–164 B.C.♦ Antiochus Epiphanes might banish Jehovah from the Temple of Jerusalem and enthrone Zeus in his stead; he might set up altars to the pagan deities in every town and village; and he might exhaust all the resources of despotism in the cause of conversion. The timorous were coerced into a feigned and transient acquiescence, but the bulk of the nation, baited into stubbornness, preferred exile or martyrdom to apostasy. The defiled temple remained empty and the altars cold, until the smouldering discontent of the outraged people broke out into flame, and passive resistance yielded to fierce rebellion.

The movement was led by the heroic, devout, and fierce house of the Maccabees—a branch of the Hasmonaean family—who, after a long struggle, distinguished by splendid endurance, astuteness, and unspeakable severity, delivered their people from the levelling Hellenism of the foreign rulers, instituted the Sanhedrin (Συνέδριον), and restored the national worship of Jehovah in all its pristine purity and narrowness. ♦163 B.C.♦ The victorious band finally entered Jerusalem “with praise and palm branches and with harps and cymbals and viols and with hymns and with songs,”2 Simon was acclaimed High Priest and Prince of Israel, and a new era was inaugurated. ♦141. May 23.♦ The restoration of the Temple is still celebrated by the Jews in their annual eight days’ Feast of Dedication (Chanukah), when lamps are lit and a hymn is solemnly sung commemorating the miracle of the solitary flask of oil, which escaped pagan pollution and kept the perpetual light burning in the House of the Lord until the day of redemption.

But religious enthusiasm, though a powerful sword, is an awkward sceptre, and it was not long ere the victorious family forgot, as the “Pious” would have said, the cause of God in the pursuit of self-aggrandisement and earthly renown. The conservative elements had been united in the supreme effort to maintain their religious liberty. But the interest in gaining political independence was limited to the ruling family. The Hasmonaeans, having established their dynasty, aimed at conquest abroad and at royal splendour at home. One of them surrounded himself with a foreign bodyguard, and another assumed the title of King. Of their former character they retained only the enthusiast’s ferocity. Their family was torn with feuds and stained with the blood of its own members. This policy of worldly ambition lost them the support of the Chassidim, who could tolerate bloodshed only for the sake of righteousness. Moreover, the Hasmonaeans, in their new position as an established family, had more in common with the priestly aristocracy than with the poor fanatics by whose enthusiasm they had conquered that position. They, therefore, joined the Hellenizing party, and, though a barefaced adoption of the foreign gods was no longer possible, they endeavoured to effect by example what the Seleucids had vainly attempted to achieve by force. They were not altogether unsuccessful. Greek architecture was introduced into Jerusalem. The Greek numerals were adopted. Greek was understood by all the statesmen of Judaea and employed in diplomatic negotiations. Greek names became not uncommon. The Hebrew bards ceased to hang their harps upon the willow-trees. There was no longer need for bitter lamentation or lyric inspiration. Prose, tame but sober, superseded the fiery poetry of olden times. Hymns gave place to history. The Jews were at last enjoying with calm moderation their triumphs, religious and political, over their foreign and domestic enemies.

But, if the Hebrew muse was silent for want of themes, the Hebrew genius, which had dictated the ancient psalms and inspired the ancient prophets, was not dead. The national attachment to tradition and strict Judaism was manifested by the revival of Hebrew as a spoken tongue. It was employed on the coinage, in public edicts, and in popular songs. Patriotism was nourished by the celebration of the anniversaries of the national victories over the enemies of Judaism. In one word, the crowd refused to follow the fashions of the Court. The Jew had tasted the fruit of Occidental culture and pronounced it unpalatable. Hellenism had been touched and found base metal; and, notwithstanding his Kings’ efforts—their Greek temples and Greek theatres—the Hebrew remained an Oriental. “Cursed is the man who allows his son to learn the Grecian wisdom” was the verdict of the Talmud, and a Jewish poet many centuries after repeats the anathema in a milder form: “Go not near the Grecian wisdom. It has no fruit, but only blossoms.”3

But, though the bulk of the nation agreed in its attitude towards foreign culture, there now appears an internal division into several parties, differing from one another in the degree of their attachment to the traditions of the past, and in their aspirations for the future. Two of these sects stand out pre-eminently as representative of Hebrew sentiment, and as the exponents of the two attitudes which have continued to divide the Jewish nation through the ages down to our own day. These are the Pharisees and the Sadducees, whose names are first heard under the early Hasmonaean chiefs, but whose views correspond with those of the Hellenistic and national parties of the Seleucid period. The Pharisees were an offshoot of the Assidean party which, as we have seen, had waged a truceless and successful war against Hellenism. After their victory, the most enthusiastic of the “Pious” retired from public life and nursed their piety and disappointment in ascetic seclusion. But the majority of the party were far from considering their mission fulfilled, or from being satisfied with abstract devotion. They regarded it as a duty both to the faith and to the fatherland to take an active part in politics. The preservation of Judaism in its ancient exclusiveness was their programme. All public undertakings, all national acts, as well as all private transactions, were to be measured by the rigid standard of religion. The Law in the hands of the Pharisees became a Procrustean bed upon which the mind of the nation was to be stretched or maimed, according to the requirements of nationalism and the interpretations of the Scribes. This inflexible orthodoxy, with its concomitants of discipline and sacrifice of individuality, was in perfect accord with the Hebrew temperament, and the Pharisees must be regarded as the interpreters of the views dear to the great mass of their compatriots. As time went on, the Pharisaic attitude became more and more hardened into a theological creed, clothed in a web of ceremonial formalities, but vivified by an inspiring devotion to the will of Jehovah, and an ardent belief in the ultimate triumph of His Elect.

Against this teaching arose the sect of the Sadducees, who played towards Pharisaism a part in one respect analogous to that played by Protestantism towards Catholicism, in another to that played by the Cavaliers towards the Roundheads. They derived all their religious tenets from the letter of Scripture, rejecting the lessons of oral tradition and the “legacies of the Scribes.” They refused to believe in angels or in the resurrection of the dead, and they repudiated the fatalistic doctrine that the future of the individual and of the state depends not upon human action but upon the divine will, fixed once for all. They pointed out that, if this were the case, the belief in God’s justice would be reduced to an absurdity, as saint and sinner would be confused in one indiscriminate verdict. The Sadducees held that man is master of his own fortunes. The Pharisees met the objection of their opponents as to divine justice by the non-Scriptural doctrine of the resurrection of the dead, which had crept into Judaism in the latter years of the Babylonian captivity. If the saint and the sinner fared alike in this life, they argued, the balance would be restored in the next. The righteous would then rise up to everlasting bliss, and the wicked to everlasting shame. This and other minor points formed the ground of dogmatic difference between the two sects. Their difference in questions of practical politics and in social views was characteristic of their respective creeds. The Sadducees, far from expecting the salvation of the nation from a miraculous intervention of the Deity, looked to human wisdom for help. They placed the interests of the State above the interests of the Synagogue. They shared in the aristocrat’s well-bred horror of disturbing enthusiasms and of asceticism. Though recognising the authority of the Law, they were temperate in their piety and could not live by unleavened bread alone. They favoured Hellenism and supported the Hasmonaean kings in their efforts to shake off the trammels of ecclesiastical tyranny. ♦40–4 B.C.♦ The liberal and progressive and, at the same time, degenerate tendencies of the Sadducean protestants are seen under their most pronounced form in the sect of the Herodians, who later helped Herod the Great in his endeavour to render pagan culture popular among his subjects by the erection of temples and theatres, by the adoption of heathen fashions of worship, and by the encouragement of the Hellenic games. The party of the Sadducees included the great priestly families, the noble, and the wealthy, that is, the minority. Their opponents interpreted the feelings of the lower priesthood and of the people. Judaism, as understood by the Pharisees, was the idol for which the nation had suffered martyrdom, and the national devotion to that idol had gained new fervour from the recent struggle with Hellenism.

The hatred of the Jews towards Hellenism may, in one sense, be regarded as a sequel to that older hostility which appears to have embittered the intercourse between Europe and Asia from the very dawn of history. It is an antipathy which under various names and guises continues prevalent to this day—revealing itself now in anti-Semitism, now in anti-Turkism, and again in the exclusion of Asiatic immigrants from English-speaking countries: a sad legacy received from our far-off ancestors and likely to be handed down to a remote posterity. Long before the appearance of the Jew on the stage of European politics this antagonism had manifested itself in the hereditary feud between Hellene and Barbarian which the ingenious Herodotus traced to the reciprocal abductions of ladies by the inhabitants of the two continents, and of which, according to his theory, the Trojan war was the most important and brilliant episode.4 The same feud was in historic times dignified by the Persian king’s gigantic effort to subdue Europe and, at a later period, by Alexander’s success in subduing Asia. Had the father of history been born again to celebrate the exploits of the latter hero, he would, no doubt, have described the Macedonian campaign as part of the chain of enmity the first links of which he had sought and found in the romantic records of mythical gallantry. The modern student, while smiling a superior smile at his great forerunner’s simple faith in legend and traditional gossip, cannot but admit that there was true insight in Herodotus’s comprehensive survey of history; but, examining things by the light of maturer experience and with a less uncritical eye, he will be inclined to regard this venerable strife as the result of a far deeper antagonism between rival civilisations, rival mental and moral attitudes—the attitudes which in their broadest outlines may be defined as Oriental and Occidental respectively; in their narrower aspect, with which we are more immediately concerned, as Hebraic and Hellenic.

The Jew had one quality in common with the Greek. They both saw life clearly and saw it as a harmonious whole. But they each saw it from an opposite standpoint. The thoroughness, consistency, and unity of each ideal by itself only rendered its incompatibility with the other more complete. It is to this incompatibility that must be attributed the failure of Hellenism in Western Asia generally and among the Jews in particular. A system of life reared upon a purely intellectual basis had no charm for a race essentially spiritual. The cold language of reason conveyed no message to the mind of the Hebrew who, in common with most Orientals, looks to revealed religion alone for guidance in matters of belief and conduct. The Oriental never feels happy except in a creed, and the Hellene offered him nothing better than an ethical code. How mean and how earthy must this code have appeared in the eyes of men accustomed to the splendid terrors of the Mosaic Law! Again, the intellectual freedom—the privilege of investigating all and testing all before accepting anything as true—which the Greek has claimed from all time as man’s inalienable birthright, and upon which he has built his noble civilisation, was repugnant to a people swathed in the bands of tradition and distrusting all things that are not sanctioned by authority. The Greek had no word for Faith as distinct from Conviction. He revered intelligence and scorned intuition. What man’s mental eye could not see clearly was not worth seeing, or rather did not exist for him. Palestine was the home of Revelation; Hellas of Speculation. The one country has given us Philosophy and the Platonic Dialogues; the other the Prophets and the Mosaic Decalogue: the former all argument, the latter all commandment.

The following conversation between two representatives of the two worlds brings their respective attitudes into vivid relief. One is Justin Martyr, the other a mysterious personage—probably a fictitious character—who sowed in Justin’s mind the seed of the new religion.

Justin. Can man achieve a greater triumph than prove that reason reigns supreme over all things, and having captured reason and being borne aloft by it to survey the errors of other men? There is no wisdom except in Philosophy and right reason. It is, therefore, every man’s duty to cultivate Philosophy and to deem that the greatest and most glorious pursuit, all other possessions as of secondary or tertiary value; for, if these are wedded to Philosophy, they are worthy of some acceptance; but, if divorced from Philosophy, they are burdensome and vulgar.

Stranger. What is Philosophy and what the happiness derived therefrom?

Justin. Philosophy is the Knowledge of that which is and is true. The happiness derived therefrom is the prize of that knowledge.

Stranger. How can the Philosophers form a correct notion of God, or teach anything true concerning him, since they have neither seen him nor heard of him?

Justin. God cannot be seen with the eye, but only comprehended by the mind.

Stranger. Has our mind, then, such and so great a power as to perceive that which is not perceptible through the senses? Or can man’s mind ever see God unless it is adorned with the holy spirit?

Justin. To whom can, then, one apply for teaching, if there is no truth in Plato and Pythagoras?

Stranger. There have been men of old, older than any of these reputed philosophers, saintly men and just, beloved of God, who spoke through the divine spirit and predicted the things that were to be. These men are called Prophets. They alone saw the truth and declared it unto men; neither favouring nor fearing any one; not slaves to ambition; but only speaking the things which they heard and saw when filled with holy spirit. Their works are still extant, and the lover of wisdom may find therein all about the beginning and end of things, and every thing that he need know. They had not recourse to proof, for they were above all proof, trustworthy witnesses of the truth. Pray thou above all things that the gates of the light may be opened unto thee.5

This diversity of view reveals itself in every phase of Hebrew and Hellenic life—political, social, religious and artistic. The Greeks very early outgrew the primitive reverence for the tribal chief—the belief that he derived his authority from Heaven, and that he was, on that account, entitled to unlimited obedience on the part of man. Even in the oldest form of the Greek state known to us—the Homeric—the king, though wielding a sceptre “given unto him by Zeus,” is in practice, if not in theory, controlled by the wisdom of a senate and by the will of the people. Monarchy gradually developed into oligarchy, and this gave way to democracy. Nor was the evolution effected until the sacerdotal character, which formed one of the king’s principal claims to reverence and obedience, lost its influence over the Greek mind. In historic times the impersonal authority of human law stood alone and paramount, quite distinct from any religious duty, which was a matter of unwritten tradition and custom. The divorce of the Church from the State in Greece was complete. Now, among the Jews the opposite thing happened. Kingship remained hereditary and indissolubly associated with sacerdotalism. The Semite could not, any more than the Mongol, conceive of a separation between the spiritual and the temporal Government. The King of Israel in the older days always was of the house of David, always anointed, and always wore the double crown of princely and priestly authority. And when, after the return from Babylon, the house of David disappears from sight, its power is bequeathed to the hereditary high-priest. To the Jew Church and State, religion and morality, continued to be synonymous terms; the distinction between the sacred and the secular sides of life was never recognised; all law, political and social, emanated from one Heaven-inspired code; and, while Greece was fast progressing towards ochlocracy, Judaea remained a theocracy.

The Greek was an egoist. He disliked uniformity. Although in the direction of his private life he voluntarily submitted to a variety of state regulations such as the citizen of a modern country would resent as an irksome interference with the liberties of the individual, yet, judged by the standard of antiquity, the Greek was anything but amenable to control, and, as time went on, his attitude became little better than that of a highly civilised anarchist. There were limits beyond which the Greek would never admit his neighbour’s right to dictate his conduct any more than his thoughts. He suffered from an almost morbid fear of having his individuality merged in any social institution. He would rather be poor in his own right than prosper by association with others. Discipline was the least conspicuous trait in his character and self-assertion the strongest. The Greek knew everything except how to obey. The Jew, on the other hand, found his chief happiness in self-effacement and submission. His everyday life, to the minutest details, was regulated by the Law. He was not even allowed to be virtuous after his own fashion. The claims of the individual upon the community were only less great than the claims of the community upon the individual. The strength of Hebraism always lay in its power of combination, the weakness of Hellenism in the lack of it.

Equally striking is the contrast discerned between the aesthetic ideals of the two races. Much in Hebrew imagination is couched in forms which would lose all their beauty and freshness, if expressed in colour or marble; much that would look grotesque, if dragged into the daylight of pure reason. Its effect depends entirely on the semi-darkness of emotional suggestion. Now the Greek hated twilight. He had no patience with the vague and the obscure in imagination any more than in thought. Hence artistic expression was nothing to the Jew; everything to the Greek. Judaism shunned pictorial representation; Hellenism worshipped it. And, as art in antiquity was largely the handmaid of religion, this diversity of the aesthetic temperament led to an irreconcilable religious antagonism. The Jew looked upon the pagan’s graven images with abhorrence, and the pagan regarded the Jew’s adoration of the invisible as a proof of atheism.

Not less repugnant to the Hebrew was the Hellenic moral temperament as mirrored in literature, in social life, and in public worship—that temperament which, without being altogether free from pessimism, melancholy, and discontent, yet finds its most natural expression in a healthy enjoyment of life and an equally healthy horror of death. “I would rather be a poor man’s serf on earth than king among the dead!” sighs Achilles in Hades, and the sentiment is one which his whole race has echoed through the ages, and which, despite nineteen centuries of Christianity, is still heard in the folk-songs of modern Greece. The Greek saw the world as it is, and, upon the whole, found it very good. He tasted its pleasures with moderation and bore its pains with a good grace. He perceived beauty in all things; adoring the highest and idealising the meanest. Even the shrill song of the humble grasshopper held sweet music for the Greek. He revelled in the loveliness and colour of life. He was inspired by the glory of the human form. He extolled the majesty of man. The Hebrew mind was nursed by meditation; the Hellenic drew its nourishment from contemplation. Nature was the Greek’s sole guide in taste as well as in conduct; from nature he learnt the canons of the beautiful as well as the laws of right and wrong. Hence no country has produced greater poets than Greece, or fewer saints.

How could this view of things, so sane and yet so earthy, be acceptable to a race oppressed by the sense of human suffering as the fruit of human sin? “Serve the Lord with joy; come before him with singing,” urged the Psalmist in a moment of optimistic cheerfulness. But it was only for a moment.6 The true note of Hebraism is struck in another text: “Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity.” The Greek understood the meaning of the sad refrain; but he did not allow it to depress him. To the Greek life was a joyous reality, or at the worst an interesting problem; to the Jew a bad dream, or at the best an inscrutable mystery. To the Hebrew mind the sun that shines in the sky and the blossoms that adorn the earth are at most but pale symbols of Divine Love, pledges for a bliss which is not of this world. And yet Socrates emptied the cup of death with a smile and a jest, where Job would have filled the world with curses and bitter lamentation. Laughter came as spontaneously to the Greek as breath, and the two things died together. The Jew could not laugh, and would not allow any one else to do so. The truth is that the Greek never grew old, and the Jew was never young.

Another lively illustration of the gulf which separated the two races is offered by the Greek games. These were introduced into Palestine by the Greek rulers and colonists, were adopted by the Hellenizing minority among the Jews themselves, and were denounced with horror by the Conservative majority. Nudity, in the eyes of the latter, was the colophon of shamelessness, while by the Greeks the discarding of false shame was regarded as one of the first steps to true civilisation. Thucydides mentions the athletic habit of racing perfectly naked as an index to the progress achieved by his country and as one of the things that marked off the Hellene from the Barbarian.7 The Greeks were free from that morbid consciousness of sex which troubled the over-clothed Asiatics. Nor were they aware of that imaginary war between the spirit and the flesh which gave rise to the revolting self-torments of Eastern aspirants to heaven.

The peculiar characteristics of the Hebrew mind found their supreme manifestation in the sect of the Essenes—the extreme wing of the Pharisaic phalanx. The strictness of the Pharisees was laxity when compared with the painful austerity of their brethren. The latter aimed at nothing less than a pitiless immolation of human nature to the demands of an ideal sanctity. Enamoured of this imaginary holiness, the Essenes disdained all the real comforts and joys of life. Their diet was meagre, their dwellings mean, their dress coarse. Colour and ornament were eschewed as Satanic snares. The mere act of moving a vessel, or even obedience to the most elementary calls of nature, on the Sabbath, was accounted a desecration of the holy day. Contact with unhallowed persons or objects was shunned by the Essenes as scrupulously as contact with an infected person or object is shunned by sane people in time of plague. They refused to taste food cooked, or to wear clothes made, by a non-member of the sect, or to use any implement that had not been manufactured by pure hands. Their life in consequence was largely spent in water. For whosoever was not an Essene was, in the eyes of these saints, a source of pollution. Thus godliness developed into misanthropy and cleanliness into a mania. Thus these holy men lived, turning away from the sorrows of the earth to the peace of an ideal heaven; deriving patience with the present from apocalyptic promises of future glory; and waiting for the day when the unrighteous would be smitten to the dust, the dead rise from their graves, and the just be restored to everlasting bliss under the rule of the Redeemer—the Son of Man revealed to the holy and righteous because they have despised this world and hated all its works and ways in the name of the Lord of Spirits. Celibacy, seclusion, communion of goods, distinctive garb, abstinence, discipline and self-mortification, ecstatic rapture, sanctimonious pride and prejudice—all these Oriental traits, gradually matured and subsequently rejected in their exaggerated form from the main current of Judaism, marked the Essenes out as the prototypes of Christian monasticism, and as the most peculiar class of a very peculiar people. Could anything be more diametrically opposed to the genius of Hellas? Despite Pythagorean asceticism and Orphic mysticism, enthusiastic ritual, symbolic purifications and emotional extravagances, Greek life was in the main sober, Greek culture intellectual, and the Greek mind eminently untheological.

Those who delight in tracing racial temperament to physical environment may find in the contrast between the two countries an exceptionally favourable illustration of their theory. There is more variety of scenery in a single district of Greece than in the whole of Palestine. Grey rocks and green valleys, roaring torrents and placid lakes, sombre mountains and smiling vineyards, snow-clad peaks and sun-seared plains, glaring light and deep shade alternately come and go with a bewildering rapidity in the one country. In the other, from end to end, the plain spreads its calm, monotonous beauty to the everlasting sun, and the stately palms rear their heads to the blue heavens from year’s end to year’s end, severe, uniform, immutable. It is easy to understand why the one race should have drawn its inspiration from within and the other from without; why the one should have sunk the individual in the community and the other sacrificed the community to the individual; why the one should have worshipped the form and the other the spirit. It is especially easy to understand the Greek’s inextinguishable thirst for new things and the Jew’s rigid attachment to the past. Everything in Greece suggests progress; everything in Palestine spells permanence.

The result of this fundamental discrepancy of character was such as might have been foreseen. The intense spirituality of the Jew was scandalised at the genial rationalism and sensuousness of the pagan; while the pagan, in his turn, was repelled by the morose mysticism and austerity of the Jew. History never repeats itself in all particulars. But, so far as repetition is possible, it repeated itself many centuries after, when Puritanism—representing the nearest approach to the sad and stern Hebraic conception of life that the Western mind ever achieved—declared itself the enemy of Romanism, mainly because the latter retained so much of the pagan love for form and delight in things sensuous. Cromwell’s Ironsides illustrated this attitude by marching to battle singing the Psalms of the Hebrew bard. It is given to few mortals, blessed with a calm and truly catholic genius, to reconcile the rival attitudes, and, with Matthew Arnold, to recognise that “it is natural that man should take pleasure in his senses. It is natural, also, that he should take refuge in his heart and imagination from his misery.”