DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.27910#0017
TIIE CONVENT OF SINAI, AND PLAIN OF ER-RAHA.
iHE Convent of Sinai alone remains of' the great monastic settlements of the peninsula. In the
early days of Christianity, when the asceticism of the Egyptian church had begun to spread
over the world, Sinai was soon chosen as a fit place for the life of religious contemplation.
I [ Here, at Pharan, grew up what must have been a monastic torvn, and every valley had
' its hermit inhabitants. This period, when for the second time Sinai was peopled, has long
passed by, and the one convent is too large for its scanty brotherhood.
In the earlier days of asceticism, as soon as persecutions had ceased, a strong government made even solitary
life in the desert a condition of safety. Each hermit chose his grotto, and had nothing to fear except the wild
beasts. But when, in a weaker time, the barbarians on all sides began to take advantage of the internal
dissensions of the empire, the ascetics withdrew into convents strong enough to prevent their dreading any
sudden attack, and large,, enough to contain some means of sustenance, even should they be besieged.
The monks of Sinai, in their fear of Arabs, besought Justinian to found them a convent. His work,
enclosing the old tower raised by Helena, still stands, a noble monument, though one could wish a better
name were associated with it than that of the politic Byzantine. Its history has little of stirring interest.
A strange tradition is told, indeed, and believed both by Christians and Muslims, that Mohammed once visited
the convent, and left a kind of charter of protection, as a reward for the hospitality of the monks. Unable to
write, he signed it with the impress of his hand dipped in ink. This precious document was carried tc
Constantinople, and a copy placed in its stead. Unfortunately, the correctness of the tradition is shaken by its
evidently depending upon the belief that Mohammed was illiterate, whereas there is much reason for the opinion
that the appellation he gave himself, which is generally so rendered, has a very different meaning, and it is
certain that he was not ignorant of writing. Perhaps the existence of a mosque within the walls may account
for this tradition; both may have been the result of a wish to conciliate the Arabs, and hold their lawlessness
in check by investing the convent with a kind of sanctity in their eyes.
Those alone who have travelled in the desert know the joy which man feels at the first sight of a human
abode in the vast and desolate solitude, touching an instinct that the grandest objects of nature do not seem
to arouse. Still more cheering is the sight of a Christian church. We cannot look with a controversial eye upon
these ancient walls, where alone in Arabia, for more than a thousand years, our faith has protested against
El-Islam. It is far too touching a sight to be so regarded. And even if we are forced to see that Christianity
has here been stationary because it has been here always ascetic, and has taken no such root in the human
feelings and affections as to send men forth into the world earnest for the good of others, not seeking only
their own religious advantage, we are led to see by comparison what Christianity in its true form has done
elsewhere since the barren age of Justinian.
In the view we look down the valley in which the convent stands towards the Plain of Er-Raha. The
scene is strangely desolate. In the immediate foreground, up to the convent walls, stretches an arid tract
strewn with broken fragments of rock, some of which are of vast size, as we see by comparing them with the
little encampment in front. The fortress-like convent rises finely in the distance, and further still the Plain
of Er-Raha is spread out beneath the encircling mountains, among which, to the left, in the extremest distance,
may be seen the lofty ridge of Serbal. Here, as we look down on the plain, its fitness for the Israelite
encampment is as evident as when we see it from the opposite direction, extending beneath the noble front
of Horeb.
iHE Convent of Sinai alone remains of' the great monastic settlements of the peninsula. In the
early days of Christianity, when the asceticism of the Egyptian church had begun to spread
over the world, Sinai was soon chosen as a fit place for the life of religious contemplation.
I [ Here, at Pharan, grew up what must have been a monastic torvn, and every valley had
' its hermit inhabitants. This period, when for the second time Sinai was peopled, has long
passed by, and the one convent is too large for its scanty brotherhood.
In the earlier days of asceticism, as soon as persecutions had ceased, a strong government made even solitary
life in the desert a condition of safety. Each hermit chose his grotto, and had nothing to fear except the wild
beasts. But when, in a weaker time, the barbarians on all sides began to take advantage of the internal
dissensions of the empire, the ascetics withdrew into convents strong enough to prevent their dreading any
sudden attack, and large,, enough to contain some means of sustenance, even should they be besieged.
The monks of Sinai, in their fear of Arabs, besought Justinian to found them a convent. His work,
enclosing the old tower raised by Helena, still stands, a noble monument, though one could wish a better
name were associated with it than that of the politic Byzantine. Its history has little of stirring interest.
A strange tradition is told, indeed, and believed both by Christians and Muslims, that Mohammed once visited
the convent, and left a kind of charter of protection, as a reward for the hospitality of the monks. Unable to
write, he signed it with the impress of his hand dipped in ink. This precious document was carried tc
Constantinople, and a copy placed in its stead. Unfortunately, the correctness of the tradition is shaken by its
evidently depending upon the belief that Mohammed was illiterate, whereas there is much reason for the opinion
that the appellation he gave himself, which is generally so rendered, has a very different meaning, and it is
certain that he was not ignorant of writing. Perhaps the existence of a mosque within the walls may account
for this tradition; both may have been the result of a wish to conciliate the Arabs, and hold their lawlessness
in check by investing the convent with a kind of sanctity in their eyes.
Those alone who have travelled in the desert know the joy which man feels at the first sight of a human
abode in the vast and desolate solitude, touching an instinct that the grandest objects of nature do not seem
to arouse. Still more cheering is the sight of a Christian church. We cannot look with a controversial eye upon
these ancient walls, where alone in Arabia, for more than a thousand years, our faith has protested against
El-Islam. It is far too touching a sight to be so regarded. And even if we are forced to see that Christianity
has here been stationary because it has been here always ascetic, and has taken no such root in the human
feelings and affections as to send men forth into the world earnest for the good of others, not seeking only
their own religious advantage, we are led to see by comparison what Christianity in its true form has done
elsewhere since the barren age of Justinian.
In the view we look down the valley in which the convent stands towards the Plain of Er-Raha. The
scene is strangely desolate. In the immediate foreground, up to the convent walls, stretches an arid tract
strewn with broken fragments of rock, some of which are of vast size, as we see by comparing them with the
little encampment in front. The fortress-like convent rises finely in the distance, and further still the Plain
of Er-Raha is spread out beneath the encircling mountains, among which, to the left, in the extremest distance,
may be seen the lofty ridge of Serbal. Here, as we look down on the plain, its fitness for the Israelite
encampment is as evident as when we see it from the opposite direction, extending beneath the noble front
of Horeb.