Chapter VI: The Prophet of Nazareth

Of recent years a strong reaction against the Pauline interpretation of Christianity--or shall we say the Pauline type of Christianity?--has set in. We have so completely outgrown the primitive notions of sacrifice, and the Jewish belief in the necessity of an atonement is so contrary to our idea of God, that Paul's rabbinical theology does not strike a sympathetic chord. After all is said, we are descendants in the spirit of those gentiles for whom Paul's message was nonsense. Intellectually, we are the sons of Plato and Aristotle, of Archimedes and Justinian. During the Middle Ages, the ideas of the period of the Graeco-Roman decline were mingled with the social ideas of feudalism. To-day, science and philosophy have lifted us back to the serener heights of classic times, and bid fair to surpass that glorious period in solid construction if not in delicacy of inspiration. The result is, that the social mind is dropping those elements from Christianity which do not harmonize with our moral and intellectual temper. Now, the synoptic gospels are of a nature to lend themselves to this shifting of interest from the theological and the sacrificial to the more human and ethical. They present an idealized picture of Jesus Christ after the flesh, whereas Paul preaches only the second Adam, Jesus Christ after the spirit. Paul was {73} interested in the world to come and the heavenly world above the clouds where sit the aeons, the principalities, and the powers. We are interested chiefly in the world here and now, in social justice and democratic fellowship. As humanitarianism became aggressive, Christianity reflected the change. Is there any reason to suppose that its theological envelope will be able to place a boundary to the extent of this change? The real forces at work are those of to-day, those of our own spirit and mind. Only for a time will they seek to find themselves in the past. Only while they are gathering force and confidence will they masquerade as a mere revival of a truer primitive Christianity.

It is extremely suggestive that the more democratic movements within Christianity have always stressed the kindlier, more human, and more homely phases of the bible. The followers of St. Francis of Assisi were, at first, teachers of humility and brotherly love; and Francis, himself, modeled his life after that of Jesus as he conceived him. The disciples of Wycliffe made their home among the peasantry and artisans of Mediaeval England. John Ball is a good interpreter to us of the social outlook they nourished. It appears that they thought of Jesus as like one of themselves, read his life in terms of their own pressing problems. Pietism and methodism have always inclined toward the gospel Jesus in preference to the Pauline Christ; but their social outlook was far too negative and passive. Democracy must be aggressive, non-mystical, triumphant. It must exalt reason while not forgetting tenderness. With the growth of modern democracy of a socialistic kind, Jesus the Carpenter with his kindly word for the poor and downtrodden and his scorn for {74} the haughty and rich has become the symbol and sign of a new social ethics. It is evident that religion is not independent of the social temper of an age. Religion points to the seat of power as a compass points to the pole. When man's sore need made him cry out for mercy and succor in the primitive days, his ignorant helplessness inevitably peopled nature with gods of fertility. Illusion and need created the gods of myth and ritual. Remove this setting of ignorance and illusion, and put in its place a sense of power, and need will point to the proper use of that power. Justice and mercy and reason, used socially for a social purpose, will surely become the religion of an intelligent democracy. In the older forms of religion, man was a petitioner holding out helpless hands of prayer; in the religion to come, man will be a creator bravely taking his destiny into his own hands. What a reversal! Yet it is no greater than the contrast between the primitive world we have been studying, with its mana and taboos and magic, and the modern world with its knowledge of chemistry and electricity and its deep probing into the very soul of man.

But we must return to the explanation of the popular tendency to exalt the man Jesus over the Pauline Christ. Is the explanation far to seek? Theology of a recondite character has always been the expression of reflection and leisure. The religion of the masses has always been, on the contrary, in terms of pictures and emotions connected with their everyday needs. The rabbinical concepts of Paul were foreign to their experience, while the philosophical mysticism of John was appreciated only by a few who felt the beauty of the language and the strange charm of its figures of speech. {75} To the common people Jesus was a loving friend who comforted them in their sorrows, and the witness to a heaven in which all tears would be wiped away. Of course, we must not be too romantic in our interpretation of the outlook of the masses. These sentiments often attached themselves to the given theology with dogmatic fierceness; and in the background superstitious fears were only too apt to smolder. But, on the whole, it is not false to say that the gospel story of the life of Jesus with its simple pathos and vivid diction appealed to the masses, while his personality met their ideal of nobility and moral grandeur. Jesus, the man who was also the Son of God, who came upon earth for them and for some reason died for them, affected them as nothing else could. And is it not a wonderful conception? Yes; in the right setting, there has been none grander in all literature. It is a masterpiece of lyricized mythology. But, when we have outlived its setting, it can affect us only as great literary masterpieces do, when we consent to throw ourselves into the aesthetic attitude.

The pragmatic and aesthetic qualities of a story do not guarantee its historical truth. In fact, research has shown that practically all the most charming anecdotes which have come down to us will not stand critical examination. The historian of Christianity is well aware of this situation. The general movement of enlightened religious thought from the more mythical element to the career of Jesus, while it bears witness to a more wide-spread interest in his personality, also testifies to a growing doubt of the validity of the theological constructions which have been woven around his figure. We wish to know, if possible, exactly what he thought {76} and taught. Were we able to determine this, we feel that much of the distorting atmosphere would be withdrawn. But is not this, itself, one of those deluding hopes which the attitude of compromise fosters? Do we not know in our heart of hearts that the beliefs of Jesus reflected the beliefs of his time, just as the beliefs of Kant or Luther are functions of the ages in which they lived? But we have here an hypothesis which can be tested by historical data. Were the views of Jesus like those of his age? Nothing has come out more clearly than just this fact.

Let us see what has resulted from this close study of the sources. We must remember that books were not published in ancient days as they are at present. Manuscripts passed from hand to hand, and individuals added to them, or altered them, or combined them as they saw fit. Plagiarism did not have the meaning it has now when authors live on the proceeds of the sale of their books. Besides, it was quite the custom to attach names to manuscripts at pleasure or in accordance with tradition. Our modern critical attitude had not arisen--for obvious reasons. Besides, it was difficult to secure copies of manuscripts. For instance, Papias, bishop of Hierapolis in Phrygia toward the middle of the second century, believed that there was an Aramaic gospel according to Matthew, but he was unable to get a glimpse of it and had to trust to the oral tradition of his time. To bring this situation home: suppose we had to rely on the oral tradition still lingering in regard to the life of Washington, how certain would we be of its authenticity? Why, there are already myths in regard to the life of Mary Baker Eddy! In olden days, {77} myths sprang up like mushrooms. Only too many varieties were at hand to choose from.

Scholars are pretty certain that the present Matthew is not a translation of an Aramaic original. Moreover, the present Matthew breaks up into separate parts conflicting with one another quite extensively, and is full of insertions of a comparatively late date. Only after the gospel has been radically revised are we likely to be near an old tradition of the life and deeds of Jesus.

While we are on the topic of the authenticity of the gospels, it may be worth while to discuss the other synoptics as briefly as possible. The majority of critics regard Mark as the oldest but this is mere guesswork when all is said and done. In its present form it is briefer than the others and this fact has impressed many students. Besides, it does not contain an account of the infancy of Jesus. But it, itself, is evidently a compilation of other documents since it repeats the same event in slightly different forms. In all probability, it was written in Greek for a Hellenistic audience and emphasizes those traditions which would be the most likely to impress its readers. It is not known who wrote it or exactly when it was written.

The gospel according to Luke did not originally make any claim to have been written by Luke. Scholars are agreed from internal evidence that it could not have been written until long after the fall of Jerusalem in 70 A.D. The author of Luke was acquainted with the _Antiquities_ of Josephus and this shows that he must have made his compilation and free reworking of traditions in the second century.

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If, then, our gospels were not written by eye-witnesses, and represent the beliefs and traditions of at least the next half-century after the death of Jesus, to what can we give credence? What is myth and legend and what is historic fact? Can we find a clew to guide us?

It is a canon among historical critics to regard those passages as the oldest which conflict most with the outlook of the later centuries. We can understand why they happen to be there but there would be no good reason for their later creation and insertion. Let us try to determine whither this canon will lead us.

All scholars agree that the birth stories are a later addition. They are a product of Hellenistic beliefs, perhaps even of Hindoo influences. The Virgin-Mother myth was very common in ancient times and the whole machinery of the story was undoubtedly absorbed from tales widely current in those days. For instance, the father of Plato, the Greek philosopher, was warned in a dream by Apollo so that Plato was virgin-born. What can we think of the intellectual state of Churches which excommunicate ministers who have the decency to inform their congregation what disinterested scholarship has determined? So far as there is intellectual dishonesty or incompetence here, it will bring its own punishment in the attitude adopted by sincere men toward the Churches. The best we can say, then, is that there is no very good reason to doubt that Jesus was the son of a carpenter, by the name of Joseph, and his wife, Mary. He was not the only child, for Mark represents his fellow townsmen as saying: "Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary, and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon? And are not his sisters {79} here with us?" Quite a goodly family, you see. The Ebionite Christians, who were the Christians of Palestine and probably had the safest traditions on this point, believed that Jesus "was the son of Joseph and Mary according to the ordinary course of human generation." His kinsmen were the leaders of the Christian community for several generations. But there is little use in laboring a point which is so obvious.

Of his early life we know practically nothing. He was probably not trained as a rabbi but worked at the trade of his father. We may assume that he knew how to read and write, since an opportunity to learn was usually offered in the synagogue. It is likely that his reading was largely confined to the religious literature of his people, especially the psalms and the prophets. His spirit was more in harmony with the deep ethical fervor of these champions of righteousness and lovers of justice than with the formal prescriptions of the Law. If we may judge from the general tone of the traditions, he was a close student of men and a lover of nature, a silent, reflective man who noted the events passing around him. His youth passed in this way without any overt step being taken; and, perhaps, without any clear message having developed in his mind. He was simply one of the dissatisfied few who are always to be found. Now and then, it may be, he spoke passionate words against the evils that were apparent on every hand, quoted the prophets in their outbursts against similar evils and subsided into a brooding silence. There are many such in our land to-day, sincere and passionate and kindly men who eat their heart out witnessing the course of events.

The Jews of the day cherished the idea that a {80} Messianic kingdom would be established. Jesus shared in this expectation; but it is certain that he thought of it less as a restoration of the Jewish state to power than a change in the position of the mass of the people. In other words, he infused the belief with a finer ethical meaning more in accordance with his concept of God and his sense of what was really valuable and important. There is no means of knowing his entire attitude toward this popular belief in a supernatural kingdom to be established by God upon earth, but he undoubtedly retained its main outlines. He was a child of his age although a notably sincere and high-minded one.

About 28 A. D. John appeared and preached in the wilderness. Jesus went to hear him because of the natural interest he aroused. It is quite probable that he was baptized by John. We do not know whether he associated himself with John or not. At any rate John's message crystallized his own ideas and he felt called upon to continue his mission. He did not proclaim himself as the Messiah but simply preached that the kingdom of God was at hand and that men were to prepare for it. This preparation was of an ethical sort and largely ascetic in character.

Palestine was in a ferment at this time and his appearance and preaching aroused great interest. Like all prophets he was called upon to heal the sick and, accepting the customary views of sickness, he proceeded to exorcise the evil spirits which possessed those who were brought to him. I do not see how he could have escaped this task. What part accident played in giving him confidence cannot be known, but it was probably large. There is no reason to doubt that there is a ground of fact for these stories of healing, although {81} they have been grossly exaggerated by later tradition when he was viewed as divine. We must always remember how late and biased our sources are.

As time went on, he gained more confidence in himself. Since he was human, he could not help being moved by the confidence of the people. He felt that reforms should be made; everywhere was poverty and sickness and unhappiness. Could the thought help coming to him that perhaps he was the one to inaugurate the kingdom? The idea kept coming back, forced upon him by his own reflection and by the questions and assumptions of his disciples. It may be that he never made up his mind but was forced by the course of events to go to Jerusalem where his career ended all too soon. Mankind will never know the details of his inner life; his doubts, hopes, decisions, indecisions are hidden from us in an obscurity that will never be completely lifted.

His preaching became more revolutionary. More and more he set himself in opposition to the mechanical observance of the law and the fanatical worship of forms and days. The opposition of the conservative members of priesthood increased in bitterness. Soon it was war to the knife between this new prophet, with his disregard for the law, and its chosen representatives. Thus Jesus had drifted into a position which he had probably not anticipated when he set out on his ministry. But this is always the way. Mohammed began as a reformer, and the antagonism of the keepers of Caaba led to his aggressive campaign; Luther and Huss and Wycliffe changed their attitude and their ideas at various moments in their career. No man's life is the working out of a fixed and ready-made plan. At any rate, he determined to go to Jerusalem--in all {82} likelihood, as Pfleiderer suggests, in order to win a victory over the hierarchy and to realize the prophetic ideal in the center of the religious life of the Jewish nation. The people received him enthusiastically but his opponents were too strong and clever for him. He feared only secret assassination while they induced the Roman power to intervene.

The story draws to a close. In the garden of Gethsemane Jesus felt the possibility of a tragic end to his hopes of an early coming of the Kingdom. The real situation shines clear through all the legend which a later age has woven around it. When he saw himself surrounded by a multitude of armed men, he knew that resistance was vain. He was delivered into the hands of his enemies. Through all the humiliation and pain of those days, he seems to have hoped that his God would rescue him. It was only on the cross that he finally gave up hope. The heavens were dumb as they always have been and always will be.

The body of Jesus was probably thrown into the common pit reserved for malefactors, as Abbe Loisy suggests, while the story of the burial by Joseph of Arimathea grew up to save him from the terrible dishonor of such a last resting-place. The rest of the traditional narrative is unquestionably mythical. Paul speaks of him as buried and evidently thinks of the risen Jesus as an incorruptible or spiritual man. Paul did not believe in a bodily resurrection. The visions which led to a belief in the resurrection of Jesus were ecstatic in character. We must remember that the ancients were far less critical than we are in regard to dreams and illusions and did not consider a return to life in some shadowy form as very unusual. I have not the {83} slightest difficulty in my own mind in accounting for the belief in the resurrection of Jesus in an entirely natural way. Once this belief arose and became important as a part of a new religion, the rise of legendary details was simply inevitable.

The position I have taken is relatively conservative. Many scholars have even become skeptical whether such a person as Jesus ever lived. We cannot be certain but it seems more plausible to give a relative credence to the older strands of tradition in the New Testament. That such an ethical reformer lived who believed in the coming of the Messianic kingdom, that he was embroiled with the priestly class and was done to death by them with the aid of the Roman governor who feared a seditious outbreak, that his disciples after his death came to believe in his resurrection and his coming Messiahship upon earth, all this appears to me more than probable. Human life is a fertile field for tragedy. The more we rid the narratives of their fairy-story accompaniments and see Jesus, not as a god who foreknows his human life and plays it out gravely as an actor who knows his role, but as a human being hurried to issues he had not at first dreamed of, the more his career becomes comprehensible. Its pathos is increased by this truer perspective, while the moral grandeur of his life gains by the human atmosphere which descends upon it. He lived his life sincerely as other men have done and did not dream of the use history would make of his name.

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