Part 9

Long ago there lived two brothers. The name of the elder was Cain, and of the younger Abel. Cain was a farmer. He toiled in the sweat of his brow, tilling the stubborn ground, taking out stones, building fences. Winter and summer he was up before the sun, and yet, despite all his labor, things did not go well with him. His crops often failed through no fault of his. He never seemed to have an easy time. Moreover, Cain was of a proud disposition. Honest he was, and truthful, but taciturn, not caring much to talk to people whom he met, but rather keeping to himself. Abel, on the other hand, was a shepherd. He led, or seemed to lead, the most delightfully easy life. He followed his flocks from one pasture to another, watching them graze; and at noon he would often lie down in the shade of some leafy tree and play on his flute by the hour. He was a skillful musician, a bright, talkative companion, and universally popular. He was a little selfish too, as happy people sometimes are. He liked to talk about his successes, and, in a perfectly innocent way, which yet stung Cain to the quick, he would rattle on to his brother about the increase of his herds, about his plans and prospects, and the pleasant things that people were saying of him. Cain grew jealous of his brother Abel. He did not like to confess it to himself, but yet it was a fact. He kept comparing his own life of grinding toil with the easy, lazy life of the shepherd--it was not quite so lazy, but so it seemed to Cain--his own poverty with the other's wealth, his own loneliness with Abel's popularity. And a frown would often gather on his brow, and he grew more and more moody and silent. He knew that he was not in the right state of mind. There was a voice within him that said: "Sin is at thy door, but thou canst become master over it." Sin is like a wild beast crouching outside the door of the heart. Open the door ever so little, and it will force its way in, and will have you in its power. Keep the door shut, therefore; do not let the first evil thought enter into your heart. Thus only can you remain master of yourself. But Cain was already too far gone to heed the warning voice. One day he and Abel were walking together in the fields. Abel, no doubt, was chatting in his usual gay and thoughtless manner. The world was full of sunshine to him; and he did not realize in the least what dark shadows were gathering about his brother's soul. Perhaps the conversation ran somewhat as follows: He had just had an addition to his herd, the finest calf one could imagine: would not Cain come to admire it? And then, to-morrow evening he was to play for the dancers on the green, at the village feast: would not Cain join in the merry-making? When the solitary, embittered Cain heard such talk as this the angry feeling in his heart rose up like a flood. Overmastered by his passion, with a few wild, incoherent words of rage he turned upon his brother and struck him one fierce blow. Ah, that was a relief! The pent-up feeling had found vent at last. The braggart had received the chastisement he deserved! And Cain walked on; and for a time continued to enjoy his satisfaction. He had just noticed that Abel, when struck, had staggered and fallen, but he did not mind that. "Let him lie there for a while; he will pick himself up presently. He may be lame for a few days, and his milk-white face may not be so fair at the feast, but that will be all the better for him. It will teach him a lesson." Nevertheless, when he had walked on for some distance he began to feel uneasy. He looked around from time to time to see whether Abel was following him, and the voice of conscience began to be heard, saying, "Cain, where is thy brother?" But he silenced it by saying to himself, "Am I my brother's keeper? Is he such a child that he can not take care of himself--that he can not stand a blow?" But he kept looking back more and more often, and when he saw no one coming, he came at last to a dead halt. His heart was beating violently by this time; the beads of perspiration were gathered on his brow. He turned back to seek his missing brother. Then, as he did not meet him, he began to run, and faster and faster he ran, until at last, panting and out of breath, with a horrible fear hounding him on, he arrived at the place where he had struck the blow. And there he saw--a pool of blood, and the waxen face of his brother, and the glazed, broken eyes! And then he realized what he had done. And it is this situation which the Bible has in view in the words, "Behold, thy brother's blood cries up from the earth against thee." And then as he surveyed his deed in stony despair, he said to himself, "I am accursed from the face of the earth"--I am unworthy to live. The earth has no resting-place for such as I. But a sign was given him to show him that his life would not be required of him. He had not committed willful murder. He had simply given the reins to his violent passion. He must go into another land, where no one knew him, there through years of penance to try to regain his peace of soul. The moral of the story is: Do not harbor evil thoughts in the mind. If you have once given them entrance, the acts to which they lead are beyond your control. Cain's sin consisted in not crushing the feeling of envy in the beginning; in comparing his own lot with that of his more favored brother and dwelling on this comparison, until, in a fit of insane passion, he was led on to the unspeakable crime which, indeed, he had never contemplated, to which he had never given an inward assent. The story also illustrates the vain subterfuges with which we still seek to smother the consciousness of guilt after we have done wrong, until the time comes when our eyes are opened and we are compelled to face the consequences of our deeds and to realize them in all their bearings. The story of Cain and Abel is thus a further development of the theme already treated in simpler fashion in the story of Adam and Eve, only that, while in the latter case the filial duty of obedience to parents is in the foreground, attention is here directed to the duty which a brother owes to a brother. It is a striking tale, striking in the vividness with which it conjures up the circumstances before our minds and the clearness with which the principal motives are delineated; and it contains an awful warning for all time.

The question here presents itself, whether we should arrange the biblical stories according to subjects--e. g., grouping together all those which treat of duty to parents, all those which deal with the relations of brothers to brothers, etc.--or whether we should adopt the chronological arrangement. On the whole, I am in favor of the latter. It is expected that the pupils, as they grow older, will undertake a more comprehensive study of the Bible, and for this they will be better prepared if they have been kept to the chronological order from the outset. Another more practical reason is, that children tire of one subject if it is kept before their minds too long. It is better, therefore, to arrange the stories in groups or cycles, each of which will afford opportunity to touch on a variety of moral topics. It will be impossible to continue to relate _in extenso_ the stories which I have selected, and I shall therefore content myself in the main with giving the points of each story upon which the teacher may lay stress.

_The Story of Noah and his Sons._

Describe the beauty of the vine, and of the purple grapes hanging in clusters amid the green leaves. How sweet is this fruit to the taste! But the juice of it has a dangerous property. Once there lived a man, Noah, who had three sons. He planted a vine, plucked the grapes, but did not know the dangerous property of the juice. The second son, on seeing his father in a state of intoxication, allowed his sense of the ridiculous to overcome his feeling of reverence. But the eldest and the youngest sons acted differently. They took a garment, covered their father with it, and averted their faces so as not to see his disgrace. The moral is quite important. An intelligent child can not help detecting a fault now and then even in the best of parents. But the right course for him to take is to throw the mantle over the fault, and to turn away his face. He should say to himself: Am I the one to judge my parents--I who have been the recipient of so many benefits at their hands, and who see in them so many virtues, so much superior wisdom? By such reasoning the feeling of reverence is even deepened. The momentary superiority which the child feels serves only to bring out his general inferiority.

_The Abraham Cycle._

There is a whole series of stories belonging to this group, illustrating in turn the virtues of brotherly harmony, generosity toward the weak, hospitality toward strangers, and maternal love. Abraham and Lot are near kinsmen. Their servants quarrel, and to avoid strife the former advises a separation. "If thou wilt go to the left," he says, "I will turn to the right; if thou preferrest the land to the right, I will take the left." Abraham, being the older, was entitled to the first choice, but he waived his claim. Lot chose the fairer portion, and Abraham willingly assented. "Let there be no strife between us, for we be brethren." The lesson is, that the older and wiser of two brothers or kinsmen may well yield a part of his rights for harmony's sake.

Abraham's conduct toward the King of Sodom is an instance of generosity. The story of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah may be introduced by describing the Dead Sea and the surrounding scene of desolation. The moral lies in the circumstance that ill treatment of strangers brought down the doom. Hospitality toward strangers is one of the shining virtues of the Old Testament heroes. Even at the present day strangers are still despised and ridiculed by the vulgar, their foreign manners, language, and habits seeming contemptible; the lesson of hospitality is not yet superfluous.

The story of _Hagar and her Child_ I should recast in such a way as to exclude what in it is repellent, and retain the touching picture of maternal affection. I should relate it somewhat as follows: There was once a little lad whose name was Ishmael. He had lost his father and had only his mother to cling to. She was a tall, beautiful lady, with dark eyes which were often very sad, but they would light up, and there was always a sweet smile on her lips whenever she looked at her darling boy. Ishmael and his mother, Hagar, had never been separated; they were all in all to each other. One day it happened that they walked away from their home, which was near the great, sandy desert. Ishmael's mother was in deep distress, there was something troubling her, and every now and then a tear would steal down her cheeks. Ishmael was sad, too, because his mother was, but he did not dare to ask her what it was that grieved her, fearing to give her pain. So they walked on and on, holding each other's hands in silence. But at last they saw that they had lost their way; and they tried first one direction, and then another, thinking that it would bring them back toward home, but they only got deeper and deeper into the vast, lonely desert. And the sun burned hot and hotter above their heads, and little Ishmael, who had tried to keep up like a brave lad, at last became so parched with thirst, and so faint with want of food, and so tired with walking--for they had wandered about for many, many hours--that he could go on no farther. Then his mother took him up in her arms and laid him under a bush, where there was a little shade. And then, oh then, how her poor heart was wrung, and how she wept to see her darling in such suffering, and how she cried for help! Then she sat down on the glaring sand at some distance away, and turned her face in the direction opposite to where Ishmael was lying; for she said, "I can not bear to see my boy die." But just as she had given up all hope, suddenly she saw a noble-looking man, wearing the dress of the Bedouins, approach her. He had come from behind one of the sand hills, and it seemed to her as if he had come down straight from the sky. He asked her why she was in such grief, and when she told him, and pointed to her little son, he said: "It is fortunate that you have come to this place. There is a beautiful oasis close by." An oasis, children, is a spot of fruitful green earth right in the midst of the desert, like an island in the ocean. And the man took the boy up and carried him in his arms, and Hagar followed after him. And presently, when they came to the oasis, they found a cool, clear spring, full of the most delicious water, and palm-trees with ever so many dates on them, and all the people who lived there gathered around them. And the man who had been so kind proved to be the chief. And he took charge of Ishmael's education, showed him how to shoot with the bow and how to hunt, and was like a real father to him. And when Ishmael grew up he became a great chief of the Bedouins. But he always remained true to his mother, and loved her with all his heart.

I am strongly in favor of omitting the story of the _Sacrifice of Isaac_. I do not think we can afford to tell young children that a father was prepared to draw the knife against his own son, even though he desisted in the end. I should not be willing to inform a child that so horrible an impulse could have been entertained even for a moment in a parent's heart. I regard the story, indeed, as, from an historical point of view, one of the most valuable in the Bible; it has a deep meaning; but it is not food fit for children. A great mistake has been made all along in supposing that whatever is true in religion must be communicated to children; and that if anything be very true and very important we ought to hasten to give it to children as early as possible; but there must be preparatory training. And the greatest truths are often of such a kind as only the mature mind, ripe in thought and experience, is fitted to assimilate.

One of the most charming idyls of patriarchal times is the story of _Rebecca at the Well_. It illustrates positively, as the story of Sodom does negatively, the duty of hospitality toward strangers. "Drink, lord, and I will give thy camels drink also," is a pleasant phrase which is apt to stick in the memory. Moreover, the story shows the high place which the trusted servant occupied in the household of his master, and offers to the teacher an opportunity of dwelling on the respect due to faithful servants.

_The Jacob Cycle._

What treatment shall Jacob receive at our hands, he, the sly trickster, who cheats his brother of his birthright and steals a father's blessing? Yet he is one of the patriarchs, and is accorded the honorable title of "champion of God." To hold him up to the admiration of the young is impossible. To gloss over his faults and try to explain them away were a sorry business, and honesty forbids. The Bible itself gives us the right clew. His faults are nowhere disguised. He is represented as a person who makes a bad start in life--a very bad start, indeed--but who pays the penalty of his wrong-doing. His is a story of penitential discipline.

In telling the story, all reference to the duplicity of Rebecca should be omitted, for the same reason that malicious step-mothers and cruel fathers have been excluded from the fairy tales.

The points to be discussed may be summarized as follows:

_Taking advantage of a brother in distress._--Jacob purchases the birthright for a mess of pottage.

_Tender attachment to a helpless old father._--Esau goes out hunting to supply a special delicacy for his father's table. This is a point which children will appreciate. Unable to confer material benefits on their parents, they can only show their love by slight attentions.

_Deceit._--Jacob simulates the appearance of his older brother and steals the blessing. In this connection it will be necessary to say that a special power was supposed to attach to a father's blessing, and that the words once spoken were deemed irrevocable.

_Jacob's penitential discipline begins._--The deceiver is deceived, and made to feel in his own person the pain and disappointment which deceit causes. He is repeatedly cheated by his master Laban, especially in the matter which is nearest to him, his love for Rachel.

_The forgiveness of injuries._--Esau's magnanimous conduct toward his brother.

_The evil consequences of tale-bearing and conceit._--It is a significant fact that Joseph is not a mere coxcomb. He is a man of genius, as his later career proves, and the stirrings of his genius manifest themselves in his early dreams of future greatness. Persons of this description are not always pleasant companions, especially in their youth. They have not yet accomplished anything to warrant distinction, and yet they feel within themselves the presentiment of a destiny and of achievements above the ordinary. Their faults, their arrogance, their seemingly preposterous claims, are not to be excused, but neither is the envy they excite excusable. One of the hardest things to learn is to recognize without envy the superiority of a brother.

_Moral cowardice._--Reuben is guilty of moral cowardice. He was an opportunist, who sought to accomplish his ends by diplomacy. If he, as the oldest brother, had used his authority and boldly denounced the contemplated crime, he might have averted the long train of miseries that followed.

_Strength and depth of paternal love._--"Joseph is no more: an evil beast has devoured him. I will go mourning for my son Joseph into the grave." It is a piece of poetic justice that Jacob, who deceived his father in the matter of the blessing by covering himself with the skin of a kid, is himself deceived by the blood of a kid of the goats with which the coat of Joseph had been stained.

In speaking of the temptation of Joseph in the house of Potiphar, it is enough to say that the wife conspired against her husband, and endeavored to induce Joseph to betray his master. A pretty addition to the story is to be found in the Talmud, to the effect that Joseph saw in imagination the face of his father before him in the moment of temptation, and was thereby strengthened to resist.

_The light of a superior mind can not be hidden even in a prison._--Joseph wins the favor of his fellow-prisoners, and an opportunity is thus opened to him to exercise his talents on the largest scale.

_Affliction chastens._--The famine had in the mean time spread to Palestine. The shadow of the grief for Joseph still lay heavily on the household of the patriarch. Joseph is lost; shall Benjamin, too, perish? It is pleasant to observe that the character of the brothers in the mean time has been changed for the better. There is evidently a lurking sense of guilt and a desire to atone for it in the manner in which Judah pledges himself for the safety of the youngest child. And the same marked change is visible in the conduct of all the brothers on the journey. The stratagem of the cup was cunningly devised to test their feelings. They might have escaped by throwing the blame on Benjamin. Instead of that, they dread nothing so much as that he may have to suffer, and are willing to sacrifice everything to save him. When this new spirit has become thoroughly apparent, the end to which the whole group of Jacob stories pointed all along is reached; the work of moral regeneration is complete. Jacob himself has been purified by affliction, and the brothers and Joseph have been developed by the same hard taskmaster into true men. The scene of recognition which follows, when the great vice-regent orders his attendants from the apartment and embraces those who once attempted his life, with the words, "I am Joseph, your brother: does my father still live?" is touching in the extreme, and the whole ends happily in a blaze of royal pomp, like a true Eastern tale.

A word as to the _method_ which should be used in teaching these stories. If the fairy tale holds the moral element in solution, if the fable drills the pupil in distinguishing one moral trait at a time, the biblical stories exhibit a combination of moral qualities, or, more precisely, the interaction of moral causes and effects; and it is important for the teacher to give expression to this difference in the manner in which he handles the stories. Thus, in the fables we have simply one trait, like ingratitude, and its immediate consequences. The snake bites the countryman, and is cast out; there the matter ends. In the story of Joseph we have, first, the partiality of the father, which produces or encourages self-conceit in the son; Joseph's conceit produces envy in the brothers. This envy reacts on all concerned--on Joseph, who in consequence is sold into slavery; on the father, who is plunged into inconsolable grief; on the brothers, who nearly become murderers. The servitude of Joseph destroys his conceit and develops his nobler nature. Industry, fidelity, and sagacity raise him to high power. The sight of the constant affliction of their father on account of Joseph's loss mellows the heart of the brothers, etc. It is this interweaving of moral causes and effects that gives to the stories their peculiar value. They are true moral pictures; and, like the pictures used in ordinary object lessons, they serve to train the power of observation. Trained observation, however, is the indispensable preliminary of correct moral judgment.

_The Moses Cycle._