49
“ART. IV. — The Life of Belisarius. By LORD MAHON. London. John Murray. 1829. 8vo. pp. 473,” Christian Examiner, vol. 7, no. 2 (November 1829), pp. 202–12; selection from pp. 204–205, 208–11.
Anonymous
The Christian Examiner was founded, as the Christian Disciple, in Boston in 1813. It survived, under various titles, through to 1869. In 1829 the magazine was edited by Francis Jenks. On the Christian Examiner see API, p. 54; Frank Luther Mott, A History of American Magazines, 1741–1850 (Cambridge, 1938), pp. 284–92.
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We hope it will not be out of place to say a few words on the subject of true greatness, of which Belisarius, according to the moral sentiment of the world, would pass for a shining example. It should be mentioned, however, that much of the interest attached to his name, is owing to the statue in the Villa Borghese, to the well known picture of Vandyck, prints of which are so common, and perhaps more than all to the romance of Marmontel.
The decision of our faith on the subject of greatness is conveyed in a few impressive words. When the disciples were contending which should be the greatest, their Master said, ‘Whoever would be chief among you, let him be your servant.’ Now by ‘servant,’ we understand one who performs a service for another in hope of a reward; and as to his being ‘chief,’ we understand it as referring to a future life, where they that have been humble on earth shall be exalted, and the proud brought low. But this is a wretched limitation of its meaning. To us these words seem to be meant as a definition of true glory. Their meaning spreads and deepens beneath our view, and instead of applying to a single relation of human life, they are found to be a guide to human greatness, and a measure for human applause. They show that the things commonly supposed to be high, are not so in reality; and in this new dialect of Christianity, to be respectable means to be useful, and they that are of most service to others, are actually the chief among men.
. . .
It may be a question, whether more decided usefulness meets as yet with its due measure of applause. But the name of Howard is now a title of honor; and that of Wilberforce, though it has been too much appropriated by a party, is one of those by which the age will be remembered. We could mention other living names which the world delights to honor. And we are not sure that he who adds to the treasures of science, enlarges the boundaries of thought, and inspires in others an ambition to cherish and use the intellectual gifts of God, is less a benefactor to his race, than he who removes the immediate pressure of evils. To make known the laws of the heavens, confers as substantial benefits on the mariner, as building lighthouses or retreats for the shipwrecked along the shore. But our admiration grows warmer, not according to the benefits received, but the dangers and hardships encountered. This is as it should be. For he is the best friend of man, who promotes the happiness of others at the greatest expense of his own.
No one certainly has more to do than the historian, with this great principle of Christianity. He must regard it in order to keep up with his age. All intellectual improvement throws the religion into bolder relief, and shows how plainly it was intended for a living letter; meant to govern, not only in the action of life, but in the more peaceful province of the mind. If he has the least spark of that interest in his race, without which history should not be written, every page will glow with the spirit of religion; not the cold, unsocial, gloomy spirit that too often bears the name, but with the spirit of philanthropy, with an earnest desire to record every benevolent deed with honor, with a heart that burns within him as he writes it down; and he will do all he can, to dispel that insane delusion, to prevent that mad suicide of its best interests, which makes the world worship those who fill it with suffering and drench it with blood. This would interest every historian as a curious problem in moral feeling — that men should regard conscience and duty as a restraint which the humble must obey, and the great may break violently through, regarding these offenders, as astronomers once looked on the vagrant orbs that sometimes shoot through the system, treating their disastrous revolutions as subject to no heavenly law; that men, generally so wide awake to sympathy with the oppressed, should on these occasions always take part with the destroyer, follow him with curses neither loud nor deep, cheer him onward in the blaze of his fame, and weep with thoughtful sensibility over his fall.
We believe that there is no power like that the historian possesses, to remove these venerable errors, and establish better feelings in their stead. The poet, like Shakespeare or Scott, may do more with one bright touch of his celestial pencil. Witness the character of Richard, struck off with seeming carelessness by the former, which neither the doubts of the coxcomb Walpole, nor the industry of later sceptics can alter. But we do not give implicit faith to poetical inspiration; while, if the historian shows but a decent fairness, we are ready to adopt his partialities and aversions, and welcome whatever impression he chooses to give. For days or weeks, we are employed in reading his work; we lay it down reluctantly, and take it up with fondness in the next leisure hour; we feel towards him as a friend who has helped us to while away some of the weary moments of existence; and thus we are apt to surrender our judgment with perfect confidence to his direction, as a just return for the pleasure and instruction he has given. Now when we consider that the subject is one of universal interest, and one in which no person of education can well be wanting, it is plain that the historian has almost unrivalled power to remove or confirm old prejudices and delusions. We are happy in believing, that in our country, and we presume in others, the works of historians are read by those who never think of resorting to poetry or the last new novel. The page of history, which the laborer reads at night, forms his meditation all the next day. Its events and characters, with the coloring that happens to be given, thus wear into his mind with a depth and reality which it is hopeless to attempt to alter.
Hume affords us an illustration much to the purpose. Every one has been struck with the fact, more generally true twenty years ago than it is now, that while our home prejudices were all on the side of freedom, our historical partialities were all for absolute power. We used to think with indignation of the first resistance offered to Charles I. His death might reasonably be deplored as a great and useless crime; but the patriotism of Hampden seemed to us like vulgar turbulence, and the descendants of the Pilgrims were enemies of everything that looked like resistance to the throne. This fact, which no one whose memory is twenty years old will deny, is explained by the popularity of Hume. He was an elegant historian, a cool and sceptical observer, never led away by his enthusiasm, and to all appearance the very perfection of philosophical impartiality. Now, this spell is completely broken, and the imperfect and partial character of his work is generally understood; but it lasted long enough to show, that if a man of superior powers, a manly and devoted lover of his race, a constitutional friend of freedom entirely separate from party, one whose judgments are so sincere that they rise into the earnestness and dignity of feelings, should pour out his soul in this channel, his mastery would be complete. Such there certainly will be; such, we might almost say, are some of the present historians of constitutional freedom. But their influence is weakened by the impression, whether just or not, that, in their triumphs at the advance of liberty, they are only recording the interested verdict of a party.