command of God to slay his son, Abraham had no scruples on the ground of
morality; that is, he did not feel that it was wrong to take his son's
life if God commanded him to do so, any more than it would be wrong, if
required, to slay a slave or an animal, since both were alike his
property. Had he entertained more enlightened views as to the sacredness
of life, he might have felt differently. With his views, God's command
did not clash with his conscience.

Still, the sacrifice of Isaac was a terrible shock to Abraham's paternal
affection. The anguish of his soul was none the less, whether he had the
right of life and death or not. He was required to part with the dearest
thing he had on earth, in whom was bound up his earthly happiness. What
had he to live for, but Isaac? He doubtless loved this child of his old
age with exceeding tenderness, devotion, and intensity; and what was
perhaps still more weighty, in that day of polygamous households, than
mere paternal affection, with Isaac were identified all the hopes and
promises which had been held out to Abraham by God himself of becoming
the father of a mighty and favored race. His affection as a father was
strained to its utmost tension, but yet more was his faith in being the
progenitor of offspring that should inherit the land of Canaan.
Nevertheless, at God's command he was willing to make the sacrifice,
"accounting that God is able to raise up, even from the dead." Was there
ever such a supreme act of obedience in the history of our race? Has
there ever been from his time to ours such a transcendent manifestation
of faith? By reason Abraham saw the foundation of his hopes utterly
swept away; and yet his faith towers above reason, and he feels that the
divine promises in some way will be fulfilled. Did any man of genius
ever conceive such an illustration of blended piety and obedience? Has
dramatic poetry ever created such a display of conflicting emotions? Is
it possible for a human being to transcend so mighty a sacrifice, and