There are some persons who yield up the idea of physical miracles, but still maintain the existence of a sort of moral miracle, without which, in their opinion, certain great events cannot be explained. Assuredly the formation of Christianity is the grandest fact in the religious history of the world; but for all that, it is by no means a miracle. Buddhism and Babism have counted as many excited and resigned martyrs as even Christianity. The miracles of the founding of Islamism are of an entirely different character, and I confess have very little effect on me. It may, however, be remarked that the Mussulman doctors deduce from the remarkable establishment of their religion, from its marvellously rapid diffusion, from its rapid conquests,and from the force which gives it so absolute a governing power, precisely the same arguments which Christian apologists bring forward in relation to the establishment of Christianity, and which, they claim, show clearly the hand of God. Let us allow that the foundation of Christianity is something utterly peculiar. Another equally peculiar thing, is Hellenism; understanding by that word the ideal of perfection realized by grace in literature, art, and philosophy. Greek art surpasses all other arts, as the Christian religion surpasses all other religions; and the Acropolis at Athens a collection of masterpieces beside which all other attempts are only like gropings in the dark, or, at the best, imitations more or less successful, is perhaps that which, above everything else, defies comparison. Hellenism, in other words, is as much a prodigy of beauty as Christianity is a prodigy of sanctity.
A unique action or development is not necessarily miraculous. God exists in various degrees in all that is beautiful, good, and true; but he is never so exclusively in any one of His manifestations, that the presence of His vitalizing breath in a religious or philosophical movement should be deemed a privilege or an exception.
I am not without hope that the interval of two years and a half that has elapsed since the publication of the Life of Jesus, has led many readers to consider these problems with calmness. Without knowing or wishing it, religious controversy is always a dishonesty. It is not always its province to discuss with independence and to examine with anxiety; but it must defend a determined doctrine, and prove that he who dissentsfrom it is either ignorant or dishonest. Calumnies, misconstructions, falsifications of ideas or words, boasting arguments on points not raised by the opponent, shouts of victory over errors which he has not committed—none of these seem to be considered unworthy weapons by those who believe they are called upon to maintain the interests of an absolute truth. I would be ignorant indeed of history, if I had not known all this. I am indifferent enough, however, not to feel it very deeply; and I have enough respect for the faith, to kindly appreciate whatever was touching or genuine in the sentiments which actuated my antagonists. Often, after observing the artlessness, the pious assurance, the frank anger, so freely expressed by so many good people, I have said as John Huss did at the sight of an old woman perspiring under the weight of a faggot she was feebly dragging to his stake: “O sancta simplicitas!” I have only regretted at times the waste of sentiment. According to the beautiful expression of Scripture: “God is not in the fire.” If all this annoyance proved instrumental in aiding the cause of truth, there would be something of consolation in it. But it is not always so; Truth is not for the angry and passionate man. She reserves herself for those who, freed from partisan feeling, from persistent affection, and enduring hate, seek her with entire liberty, and with no mental reservation referring to human affairs. These problems form only one of the innumerable questions with which the world is crowded, and which the curious are fond of studying. No one is offended by the announcement of a mere theoretical opinion. Those who would guard theirfaith as a treasure can defend it very easily by ignoring all works written in an opposing spirit. The timid would do better by dispensing with reading.
There are persons of a very practical turn of mind, who, on hearing of any new scientific work, ask what political party the author aims to please, and who think that every poem should contain a moral lesson. These people think that propagandism is the only object that a writer has in view. The idea of an art or science aspiring only after the true and beautiful, without regard either to policy or politics, is something quite strange to them. Between such persons and ourselves misapprehensions are inevitable. “There are people,” said a Greek philosopher, “who take with their left hand what is offered to them with their right.” A number of letters, dictated by a really honest sentiment, which have been sent me, may be summed up in the question, “What is the matter with you? What end are you aiming at?” Why, I write for precisely the same reason that all historical writers do. If I could have several lives, I would devote one to writing a life of Alexander, another to a history of Athens, and a third to either a history of the French Revolution or the monkish order of St. Francis. In writing these works I would be actuated by a desire to find the truth, and would endeavor to make the mighty events of the past known with the greatest possible exactness, and related in a manner worthy of them. Far from me be the thought of shocking the religious faith of any person! Such works should be prepared with as much supreme indifference as if they were written in another planet. Every concession to the scruples ofan inferior order, is a derogation from the dignity and culture of art and truth. It can at once be seen that the absence of proselytism is the leading feature of works composed in such a spirit.
The first principle of the critical school is the allowance in matters of faith of all that is needed, and the adaptation of beliefs to individual wants. Why should we be foolish enough to concern ourselves about things over which no one has any control? If any person adopts our principles it is because he has the mental tendency and the education adapted to them; and all our efforts will not be able to impart this tendency and this education to those who do not naturally possess them. Philosophy differs from faith in this, that faith is believed to operate by itself independently of the intelligence acquired from dogmas. We, on the contrary, hold that truth only possesses value when it comes of itself, and when the order of its ideas is comprehended. We do not consider ourselves obliged to maintain silence in regard to those opinions which may not be in accord with the belief of some of our fellow-creatures; we will make no sacrifice to the exigencies of differing orthodoxies, but neither have we any idea of attacking them; we shall only act as if they did not exist. For myself, it would be really painful to me for any one to convict me of an effort to attract to my side of thinking a solitary adherent who would not come voluntarily. I would conclude that my mind was perturbed in its serene liberty, or that something weighed heavily upon it, if I were no longer able to content myself with the simple and joyous contemplation of the universe.
It will readily be supposed that if my object was to make war upon established religions, I should adopt different tactics, and should confine myself to exposing the impossibilities and the contradictions in texts and dogmas that are viewed as sacred. This work has been often and ably done. In 1865[I.61]I wrote as follows: “I protest once for all against the false interpretation which has been given to my writings, in accepting as polemical works the various essays and religious and historical matters which I have published, or may hereafter publish. Viewed as polemical works, these essays, I am well aware, are very unskilful. Polemics demand a strategy to which I am a stranger; it requires the writer to choose the weak point of his adversaries, to hold on to it, to avoid uncertain questions, to beware of all concession, and practically renounce even the essence of scientific spirit. Such is not my method. Revelation and the supernatural—those fundamental questions around which must revolve all religious discussion—I do not touch upon; not because I may not answer these questions with thorough certainty, but because such a discussion is not scientific, or, rather, because independent science presupposes that such questions are already answered. For me to pursue any polemical or proselyting end, would be to bring forward among the most difficult and delicate problems, a question which can be more satisfactorily treated in the more practical phraseology in which controversialists and apologists usually discuss it. Far from regretting the advantages which I thus deprive myself of, I would be well pleased thereat, if I could thus convince theologians that my writings are of adifferent order to theirs, that they are only intended as scholarly researches, open to attack as such, when they sometimes attempt to apply to the Christian and Jewish religions the same principles of criticism which are adopted towards other branches of history and philology. Questions of a purely theological nature I am no more called upon to discuss, than are Burnouf, Creuzer, Guizniaut, and other critical historians of ancient religions, to defend the creeds which they have made their study. The history of humanity seems to me to be a vast grouping where everything, though unequal and diverse, is of the same general order, arises from the same causes, and is subject to the same laws. These laws I seek without any other intention than to understand them exactly as they are. Nothing will ever induce me to leave a sphere, humble it may be, but valuable to science, for the paths of the controversialist, who is always certain of the countenance of those interested in opposing war to war.”
For the polemic system, the necessity of which I do not deny, though it is neither adapted to my tastes nor to my capabilities, Voltaire was enough. One cannot be, at the same time, a good controversialist and a good historian. Voltaire, so weak in mere erudition; Voltaire who, to us initiated into a better method, seems so poorly to comprehend the spirit of antiquity, is twenty times victorious over adversaries yet more destitute of true criticism than himself. A new edition of the works of this great man would furnish a reply that is now much needed to the usurpations of theology—a reply poor in itself, but well suited to that which it would combat; a weak, old-fashioned replyto a weak, old-fashioned science. Let us, who possess a love of the true and an inquiring spirit, do better. Let us leave these discussions to those who care for them; let us work for the limited class who follow the true path of the human mind. Popularity, I know, is more easily gained by those writers who, instead of pursuing the most elevated form of truth, devote their energies to combating the opinions of their age; yet by a just compensation, they are of no value after the theories they combat are abandoned. Those who, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, refuted magic and astrology, rendered an immense service to right and truth; and yet their writings are to-day unknown, and their very victory has consigned them to oblivion.
I shall always hold to this rule of conduct as the only one suitable to the dignity of thesavant. I know that researches into religious history always bring one face to face with vital questions which seem to demand a solution. Persons unfamiliar with free speculation do not at all comprehend the calm deliberation of thought; practical minds grow impatient of a science which does not respond to their desires. Let us guard against this vain ardor; let us remain in our respective Churches, profiting by their secular teachings and their traditions of virtue, participating in their charitable works, and enjoying the poetry of their past. Let us only reject their intolerance. Let us even pardon this intolerance, for like egotism it is one of the necessities of human nature. The formation of new religious families or beliefs, or any important change in the proportions of those existing to-day, is contrary to present indications. Catholicism will soon be scarred and seamed bygreat schisms; the days of Avignon, of the anti-popes, of the Clementists and the Urbanists, are about to return. The Catholic Church will see another sixteenth century; and yet, notwithstanding its divisions, it will remain the Catholic Church. It is not probable that for a hundred years to come the relative proportions of Protestants, Catholics, and Jews, will be materially varied. But a great change will be accomplished, or, at least, people will become sensible of it. Every one of these religious families will have two classes of adherents; the one believing simply and absolutely after the manner of the middle ages, the other sacrificing the letter of the law and maintaining its spirit. In every communion this latter great class will increase; and as the spirit draws together quite as much as the letter separates, the spiritually-minded of each faith will be brought nearer. Fanaticism will be lost in a general tolerance. The theory of the dogma will become merely a mysterious vault which no one will ever care to open; and if the vault be empty, of what importance is it? Only one religion—Islamism alone, I fear—will resist this mollifying process. Among certain Mahommedans of the old school, several eminent men in Constantinople, and above all among the Persians, there are the germs of a tolerant and conciliatory spirit. If these germs of good be crushed by the fanaticism of the Ulemas, Islamism will perish; for two things are evident—that modern civilization does not wish to see the old religions entirely die out; and that, on the other hand, it will not be impeded in its work by senile religious institutions; these latter must either bend or break.
And why should pure religion, which cannot bedeemed the exclusive attribute of any one sect or church, encumber itself with the inconveniences of a position the advantages of which are denied it? Why should it array standard against standard, all the time knowing that safety and peace are in the reach of all, according to the merits of each. Protestantism, which proceeded from a very absolute faith, led in the sixteenth century to an open rupture. So far from showing any reduction of dogmatism, the reform was marked by a revival of the most rigid Christian spirit. The movement of the nineteenth century, on the other hand, arises from a sentiment which is the inverse proposition of dogmatism. It will not do away with any sect or church, but will lead to a general concentration of all the churches. Divisions and schisms increase the fanaticism and provoke reaction. The Luthers and Calvins made the Caraffas, the Ghislieri, Loyolas, and Philip II. If our church repels us, do not let us recriminate; let us the better appreciate the mildness of modern manners which has made this hatred impotent; let us console ourselves by reflecting on that invisible church which includes excommunicated saints, and the noblest souls of every age. The banished of the church are always its best blood; they are in advance of their times; the heresy of the present is the orthodoxy of the future. And what, after all, is the excommunication of men? The heavenly Father only excommunicates the narrow-minded and selfish. If the priest refuses to admit us to the cemetery, let us prohibit our families from beseeching him to alter his decision. God is the Judge; and the Earth is a kind and impartial mother. The body of the goodman, placed in ground not consecrated, carries there a consecration with it.
There are, without doubt, positions when the application of these principles is difficult. The spirit of liberty, like the wind, bloweth wherever it listeth. There are often people like clergymen, riveted, as it were, to an absolute faith; but even among them, a noble mind rises to the full extent of the issue. A worthy country priest, through his solitary studies and the simple purity of his life, comes to a knowledge of the impossibilities of literal dogmatism; and must he therefore sadden those whom he formerly consoled, and explain to the simple folk those mental processes which they cannot comprehend? Heaven forbid! There are no two men in the world whose paths of duty are exactly alike. The excellent Bishop Colenso showed an honesty which the Church since her origin has not seen surpassed, in writing out his doubts as they occurred to him. But the humble Catholic priest, surrounded by timid and narrow-minded souls, must be quiet. Oh! how many close-mouthed tombs about our village churches, hide similar poetic reticence and angelic silence! Do those who speak when duty dictates, equal, after all, in merit, those who in secret cherish and restrain the doubts known only to God?
Theory is not practice. The ideal should remain the ideal, for it may become soiled and contaminated by contact with reality. Sentiments appropriate enough to those who are preserved by their innate nobleness from all moral danger, are not as suitable to those who are of a lower grade. It is only from ideas strictly limited that great actions are evolved; and this isbecause human capacity is limited. A man wholly without prejudice would be powerless and uninfluential. Let us enjoy the liberty of the sons of God; but let us also beware that we are not accomplices in diminishing the sum-total of virtue in the world—a result which would necessarily arise, were Christianity to be weakened. What, indeed, would we be without it? What would replace the noble institutions to which it gave birth, such as the association of the Sisters of Charity? How cold-hearted, mean, and petty mankind would become! Our disagreement with those who believe in positive religions, is, after all, purely scientific; we are with them at heart; and we combat but one enemy, which is theirs as well as ours—and this enemy is vulgar materialism.
Peace, then, in the name of God! Let the different orders of men live side by side, and pass their days, not in doing injustice to their own proper spirit by making concessions which would only deteriorate them, but in mutually supporting each other. Nothing here below should rule to the exclusion of its opposite; no one force should have the power to suppress other forces. The true harmony of humanity results from the free use of discordant notes. We know too well what follows when orthodoxy succeeds in overpowering science. The Mussulman element in Spain was extirpated because it clung too fondly to its orthodox views. The experience of the French Revolution shows us what we may expect when Rationalism attempts to govern people without reference to their religious needs. The instinct of art, carried to a high pitch of refinement, but without honesty, made of Italy a denof thieves and cut-throats. Stupidity and mediocrity are the bane of certain Protestant countries, where, under the pretext of common sense and Christian spirit, art and science are both absolutely degraded. Lucretia of Rome and Saint Theresa, Aristophanes and Socrates, Voltaire and Francis of Assisi, Raphael and St. Vincent de Paul, all enjoyed, to an equal degree, the right of existence, and humanity would have been lessened, had a single one of these individual elements been wanting.
Jesus, although constantly speaking of resurrection and of a new life, had not declared very plainly that he should rise again in the flesh.[1.1]
The disciples, during the first hours which elapsed after his death, had, in this respect, no fixed hope. The sentiments which they so artlessly confide to us show that they believed all to be over. They bewail and bury their friend, if not as one of the common herd who had died, at least as a person whose loss was irreparable;[1.2]they were sorrowful and cast down; the expectation which they had indulged of seeing him realize the salvation of Israel, is proved to have been vanity; we should speak of them as of men who have lost a grand and beloved illusion.
But enthusiasm and love do not recognise situations unfruitful of results. They amuse themselves with what is impossible, and, rather than renounce all hope, they do violence to every reality. Many words of their Master which they remembered—those, above all, in which he had predicted his future advent—might be interpreted to mean that he would rise from the tomb.[1.3]Such a belief was, otherwise, so natural, that the faith of the disciples would have been sufficient to have invented it in all its parts. The great prophets Enochand Elijah had not tasted death. They began to imagine that the patriarchs and the chief fathers of the old law were not really dead, and that their bodies were sepulchred at Hebron, alive and animated.{1.4}To Jesus had happened the same fortune which is the lot of all men who have riveted the attention of their fellow-men. The world, accustomed to attribute to them superhuman virtues, could not admit that they had submitted to the unjust, revolting, iniquitous law of the death common to all. At the moment at which Mahomet expired, Omar rushed from the tent, sword in hand, and declared that he would hew down the head of any one who should dare to say that the prophet was no more.[1.5]
Death is so absurd a thing when it smites the man of genius or the man of large heart, that people will not believe in the possibility of such an error on the part of nature. Heroes do not die. What is true existence but the recollection of us which survives in the hearts of those who love us? For some years this adored Master had filled the little world by which He was surrounded with joy and hope; could they consent to allow Him to the decay of the tomb? No; He had too entirely lived in those who surrounded Him, that they could but affirm that after His death He would live for ever.{1.6}
The day which followed the burial of Jesus (Saturday, the 15th of the month Nisan), was occupied with such thoughts as these. All manual labor was forbidden on account of the Sabbath. But never was repose more fruitful. The Christian conscience had, on that day, only one object; the Master laid low in the tomb. The women, especially, overwhelmed him in spirit with themost tender caresses. Their thoughts leave not for an instant this sweet friend, lying in His myrrh, whom the wicked had slain! Ah! doubtless, the angels are surrounding Him, and veiling their faces with His shroud. Well did He say that He should die, that His death would be the salvation of the sinner, and that He should live again in the kingdom of His father. Yes! He shall live again; God will not leave His Son a prey to hell; He will not suffer His elect to see corruption.{1.7}What is this tombstone which weighs upon Him? He will raise it up; He will reascend to the right hand of His Father, whence He descended. And we shall see Him again; we shall hear His charming voice; we shall enjoy afresh His conversations, and they will have slain Him in vain.
The belief in the immortality of the soul, which through the influence of the Grecian philosophy has become a dogma of Christianity, is easily permitted to take the part of death; because the dissolution of the body, by this hypothesis, is nothing else than a deliverance of the soul, hereafter freed from the troublesome bonds without which it is able to exist. But this theory of man, considered as a being composed of two substances, was by no means clear to the Jews. The reign of God and the reign of the spirit consisted, in their ideas, in a complete transformation of the world and in the annihilation of death.{1.8}To acknowledge that death could have the victory over Jesus, over him who came to abolish the power of death, this was the height of absurdity. The very idea that he could suffer had previously been revolting to his disciples.{1.9}They had no choice, then, between despair or heroicaffirmation. A man of penetration might have announced during the Saturday that Jesus would arise. The little Christian society, on that day, worked the veritable miracle; they resuscitated Jesus in their hearts by the intense love which they bore towards him. They decided that Jesus had not died. The love of these passionately fond souls was, truly, stronger than death;{1.10}and as the characteristic of a passionate love is to be communicated, to light up like a torch a sentiment which resembles it and is straightway indefinitely propagated; so Jesus, in one sense, at the time of which we are speaking, is already resuscitated. Only let a material fact, insignificant of itself, allow the persuasion that his body is no longer here below, and the dogma of the resurrection will be established for ever.
This was exactly what happened in the circumstances which, being partly obscure on account of the incoherence of their traditions, and above all on account of the contradictions which they present, have nevertheless been seized upon with a sufficient degree of probability.{1.11}
On the Sunday morning, at a very early hour, the women of Galilee who on Friday evening had hastily embalmed the body, repaired to the cave where they had provisionally deposited it. These were, Mary of Magdala, Mary Cleophas, Salome, Joanna, wife of Khouza, and others.{1.12}They came, probably, each from her own abode; for if it is difficult to call in question the tradition of the three synoptical Gospels, according to which many women came to the tomb,{1.13}it is certain, on the other hand, that in the two most authentic accounts{1.14}which we possess of the resurrection, Maryof Magdala plays her part alone. In any case, she had at this solemn moment a part to play altogether out of the common order of events. It is her that we must follow step by step; for she bore on that day during one hour all the burden of the Christian conscience; her witness decided the faith of the future. We must remember that the cave, wherein the body of Jesus was inclosed, had been recently hewn out of the rock, and that it was situated in a garden hard by the place of execution.{1.15}For this latter reason only had it been selected, seeing that it was late in the day, and that they were unwilling to violate the Sabbath.{1.16}The first Gospel alone adds one circumstance, viz. that the cave was the property of Joseph of Arimathea. But, in general, the anecdotical circumstances added by the first Gospel to the common fund of tradition are without value, above all when it treats of the last days of the life of Jesus.{1.17}The same Gospel mentions another detail which, considering the silence of the others, is destitute of probability; viz. the fact of the seals and of a guard detailed to the tomb.{1.18}We must also recollect that the mortuary vaults were low chambers hewn in the side of a sloping rock, on which was contrived a vertical cutting. The door, usually downwards, was closed by a very heavy stone, which fitted into a rabbet.{1.19}These chambers had no locks secured with keys; the weight of the stone was the sole safeguard they possessed against robbers and profaners of tombs; thus were they arranged in such a manner that either mechanical power or the united effort of several persons was necessary to remove the stone. All the traditions are agreed on this point, that thestone had been placed at the orifice of the vault on the Friday evening.
But when Mary Magdala arrived on the Sunday morning, the stone was not in its place. The vault was open. The body was no longer there. The idea of the resurrection was with her, as yet, but little developed. That which occupied her soul was a tender regret, and the desire to pay funeral honors to the corpse of her divine friend. Her first feelings then were those of surprise and grief. The disappearance of this cherished corpse had taken away from her the last joy on which she had depended. She could never touch him again with her hands. And what was he become?... The idea of a profanation presented itself to her, and she revolted at it. Perhaps, at the same time, a ray of hope beamed across her mind. Without losing a moment, she runs to the house where Peter and John were reunited.{1.20}
“They have taken away the body of our Master,” she said, “and we know not where they have laid him.” The two disciples arise hastily and run with all their might. John, the younger, arrives first. He stoops down to look into the interior. Mary was right. The tomb was empty. The linen cloths which had served as his shroud were lying apart in the vault. In his turn Peter arrives. The two enter, examine the linen cloths, no doubt spotted with blood, and remark, in particular, the napkin which had enveloped his head rolled by itself in one corner of the cave.{1.21}Peter and John returned to their homes overwhelmed with grief. If they did not then pronounce the decisive words, “He is risen!” we may affirm that such a consequence wastheir irrevocable conclusion, and that the creative dogma of Christianity was already propounded.
Peter and John having departed from the garden, Mary remained alone at the edge of the cave. She wept copiously; one sole thought preoccupied her mind: Where had they put the body?
Her woman’s heart went no further from her desire to clasp again in her arms the beloved corpse. Suddenly she hears a light rustling behind her. There is a man standing. At first she believes it to be the gardener. “Oh!” she says, “if thou hast borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, that I may take him away.” For the only answer, she thinks that she hears herself called by her name, “Mary!” It was the voice that had so often thrilled her before. It was the accent of Jesus. “Oh, my master!” she cries. She is about to touch him. A sort of instinctive movement throws her at his feet to kiss them.{1.22}
The light vision gives way and says to her, “Touch me not.” Little by little the shadow disappears.{1.23}
But the miracle of love is accomplished. That which Cephas could not do, Mary has done; she has been able to draw life, sweet and penetrating words from the empty tomb. There is now no more talk of inferences to be deduced, or of conjectures to be framed. Mary has seen and heard. The resurrection has its first direct witness.
Frantic with love, intoxicated with joy, Mary returned to the city; and to the first disciples whom she met, she says, “I have seen Him, He has spoken to me.”{1.24}Her greatly agitated mind{1.25}, her broken and disconnected accents of speech, caused her to be taken by some persons for one demented.{1.26}Peter and John, in their turn, relate what they had seen; other disciples go to the tomb and see likewise.{1.27}The fixed conviction of all this first party was that Jesus had risen again. Many doubts still existed; but the assurance of Mary, of Peter, and of John, imposed upon the others. At a later date, this was called “the vision of Peter.”{1.28}
Paul, in particular, does not speak of the vision of Mary, and attributes all the honor of the first apparition to Peter. But this expression is very indefinite. Peter only saw the empty cave, and the linen cloth and the napkin. Only Mary loved enough to pass the bounds of nature and revive the shade of the perfect master. In these kinds of marvellous crises, to see after the others is nothing; all the merit is in seeing for the first time, for the others afterwards model their visions on the received type. It is the peculiarity of fine organizations to conceive the image promptly, justly, and with a sort of intimate sense of the end. The glory of the resurrection belongs, then, to Mary of Magdala. After Jesus, it is Mary who has done most for the foundation of Christianity. The shadow created by the delicate sensibility of Magdalene wanders still on the earth. Queen and patroness of idealists, Magdalene knew better than any one how to assert her dream, and impose on every one the vision of her passionate soul. Her great womanly affirmation: “He has risen,” has been the basis of the faith of humanity. Away, impotent reason! Apply no cold analysis to thischef-d'œuvreof idealism and of love. If wisdom refuses to console this poor human race, betrayed by fate, let folly attempt the enterprise. Where is the sage who hasgiven to the world as much joy as the possessed Mary of Magdala?
The other women, meanwhile, who had been to the tomb, spread abroad different reports.{1.29}They had not seen Jesus;{1.30}but they told of a man clothed in white, whom they had seen in the cave, and who had said to them: “He is no longer here, return into Galilee: He will go before you, there shall ye see Him.”{1.31}
Perhaps it was the white linen clothes which had given rise to this hallucination. Perhaps, again, they saw nothing at all, and only began to speak of their vision when Mary of Magdala had related hers. According to one of the most authentic texts,{1.32}indeed, they maintained silence for some time, and their silence was subsequently attributed to terror. However that may be, these stories continued hourly to increase, as well as to undergo strange transformations. The man in white became an angel of God; it was told how that his clothing was glistening like the snow, and his figure like lightning. Others spoke of two angels, of whom one appeared at the head and the other at the foot of the tomb.{1.33}In the evening, it is possible that many persons believed already that the women had seen the angel descend from heaven, take away the stone, and Jesus then shoot forth with a crash.{1.34}They themselves, no doubt, varied in their narratives;{1.35}suffering from the effect of the imagination of others, as always happens to people of the lower orders, they scrupled not to introduce all sorts of embellishments, and were thus participators in the creation of the legend which took its rise amongst them and concerning them.
The day was stormy and decisive. The little company was sadly dispersed. Some of them had already departed for Galilee, others hid themselves from fear.{1.36}The deplorable scene of the Friday, the heart-rending spectacle which they had before their eyes when they saw Him of whom they had hoped such great things expire upon the gibbet, without His Father having come to deliver him, had, moreover, shocked the faith of many. The news spread by the women and by Peter had been received by many of them with scarce dissembled incredulity.{1.37}The different stories contradicted one another; the women went hither and thither with strange and conflicting stories, each surpassing the other. The most opposite ideas were propounded. Some of them still deplored the sad event of the previous evening; others were already rejoicing: all were disposed to collect the most extraordinary tales. Meanwhile the mistrust which the excitement of Mary of Magdala caused,{1.38}the want of authority on the part of the women, together with the incoherence of their several stories, produced great doubts. They were on the watch for new visions, which could not fail to appear. The state of the sect was entirely favorable to the propagation of strange rumors. If the entire little Church had been assembled, the legendary creation would have been impossible; those who knew the secret of the disappearance of the body would probably have protested against the error. But in the confusion which prevailed amongst them, an opportunity was afforded for the most fruitful misunderstandings.
It is the characteristic of those states of mind in which ecstasy and apparitions are commonly generated, to be contagious.{1.39}The history of all the great religious crises proves that these kinds of visions are catching; in an assembly of persons entertaining the same beliefs, it is enough for one member of the society to affirm that he sees or hears something supernatural, and the others will also see and hear it. Amongst the persecuted Protestants, a report was spread that angels had been heard chanting psalms in the ruins of a recently destroyed temple; the whole company went to the place and heard the same psalm.{1.40}In cases of this kind, the most excited are those who make the law and who regulate the common atmospheric heat. The exaltation of individuals is transmitted to all the members; no one will be behind or confess that he is less favored than the others. Those who see nothing are carried away by excitement, and come to imagine either that they are not so clear-sighted as others, or that they do not give a just account of their feelings; in every case they are careful not to avow their distrust: they would be disturbers of the common joy, they would be causing sadness to the others, and would be themselves acting a disagreeable part. When, then, an apparition is brought forward in such meetings as these, the usual result is, that all either see it or accept it. We must remember, moreover, what degree of intellectual culture was possessed by the disciples of Jesus. What we call a weak head is well accompanied by perfect goodness of heart. The disciples believed in phantoms;{1.41}they imagined that they were surrounded by miracles; they took no part whatever in the positive science of the time. This science flourished amongst a few hundreds of men who were only to be found in the countries to which the civilization of the Greeks had penetrated. But the common people, in all countries, knew very little about it. In this respect Palestine was one of the most backward countries; the Galileans were the most ignorant of the inhabitants of Palestine, and the disciples of Jesus might be counted amongst the number of the most simple people of Galilee. It was to this very simplicity that they owed their heavenly election. Among such a people, belief in the marvellous discovered the most extraordinary channels of propagation. The idea of the resurrection of Jesus being once circulated, numerous visions would be the result. And so, indeed, it came to pass.
Even during the course of that very Sunday, at an advanced period of the forenoon, when the stories of the woman had already been freely circulated, two disciples, one of whom was called Cleopatras or Cleopas, set out on a short journey to a village called Emmaus,{1.42}situated a short distance from Jerusalem.{1.43}They were conversing together respecting the recent events, and were full of sadness. On the road an unknown companion joined them and inquired the cause of their deep grief: “Art thou, then, the only stranger at Jerusalem,” they said to him, “that thou knowest not what things are come to pass there? Hast thou not heard of Jesus of Nazareth, which was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people? Knowest thou not how that the chief priests and rulers have condemned him to death and crucified him? We trusted that it had been he which should have redeemed Israel; and besides all this, to-day is the third day since these things were done—yea, and certain women, also, of our company made us astonished who were early at the sepulchre; and when they found not his body, they came, saying that they had also seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. And certain of them who were with us went to the sepulchre, and found it even so as the women had said; but him they saw not.” The stranger was a pious man, well versed in the Scriptures, quoting Moses and the prophets. These three good people became fast friends. As they came near to Emmaus, the stranger proposing to continue his journey through the village, the disciples entreated him to tarry with them and partake of their evening meal. The day was fast drawing to a close; the memories of the two disciples become more vivid. This hour of the evening meal was that which they remembered with the greatest pleasure and regret. How often had they, at this very hour, seen their beloved Master forget the weighty duties of the day in theabandonof pleasant conversation, and, cheered by the repast, speak to them of the fruit of the vine which He should drink anew with them in the kingdom of His Father. The gesture which He made while breaking the bread and offering it to them, according to the custom of the head of the house among the Jews, was deeply engraven on their memory. Giving way to a sort of pleasurable sadness, they forget the stranger; it is Jesus whom they see holding the bread, and then breaking it and offering it to them. These remembrances took such a hold on them, that they scarcely perceived that their companion, anxious to continue his journey, had left them. And when they had recovered from their reverie: “Did we not perceive,” they said, “something strange? Do you not remember how our heart burnedwithin us, while he talked with us by the way?” “And the prophecies which he cited proved clearly that Messiah must suffer before entering into his glory. Did you not recognise him at the breaking of the bread?” “Yes! up to that time our eyes were closed; they were opened when he vanished.” The conviction of the two disciples was that they had seen Jesus. They returned with all haste to Jerusalem. The principal group of the disciples were exactly at that time assembled around Peter.{1.44}
Night had completely set in. Each one communicated his impressions and the news which he had heard. The general belief already willed that Jesus had arisen. On the entrance of the two disciples, they were immediately informed of what they called “the vision of Peter.”{1.45}They, on their side, related what had happened to them on the road to Emmaus, and how they had recognised him by the breaking of bread. The imagination of all became vividly excited. The doors were closed, for they were afraid of the Jews. Oriental towns are hushed after sunset. The silence accordingly within the house was frequently profound; all the little noises which were accidentally made were interpreted in the sense of the universal expectation. Ordinarily, expectation is the father of its object.{1.46}During a moment of silence, some slight breath passed over the face of the assembly. At these decisive periods of time, a current of air, a creaking window, or a chance murmur, are sufficient to fix the belief of peoples for ages. At the same time that the breath was perceived they fancied that they heard sounds. Some of them said that they had discerned the wordschalom, “happiness” or “peace.” This was the ordinary salutation of Jesus and the word by which He signified His presence. No possibility of doubt; Jesus is present; He is in the assembly. That is His cherished voice; each one recognises it.{1.47}This idea was all the more easily entertained because Jesus had said that whenever they were assembled in His name, He would be in the midst of them. It was, then, an acknowledged fact that Jesus had appeared before His assembled disciples, on the night of Sunday. Some pretended to have observed on His hands and His feet the mark of the nails, and on His side the mark of the spear which pierced Him. According to a widely spread tradition, it was the same night as that on which He breathed upon His disciples the Holy Spirit.{1.48}The idea, at least, that His breath had passed over them on their reassembling was generally admitted. Such were the incidents of the day which has decided the lot of the human race. The opinion that Jesus had arisen was thus irrevocably propounded. The sect which was thought to have been extinguished by the death of the Master, was, from henceforth, assured of a wondrous future. And yet some doubts were still existing.{1.49}The apostle Thomas, who was not present at the meeting of Sunday evening, confessed that he envied those who had seen the mark of the spear and of the nails. We read that, eight days afterwards, he was satisfied.{1.50}But a little stain, and as it were a mild reproach, have always rested upon him in consequence. By an instinctive view of unerring accuracy, man understands that the ideal is not to be touched with hands, and thatthere is no occasion for its submission to the control of experience.Noli me tangereis the motto of all grand affection. The sense of touch leaves no room for faith; the eye, a purer and more noble organ than the hand—even the eye which nothing soils, and by which nothing is soiled, became very soon a superfluous witness. A singular sensation began to appear; all hesitation was construed into a want of loyalty and love; each was ashamed to be behindhand; the desire to behold was interdicted. The dictum, “Blessed are they who have not seen and yet have believed,”{1.51}became the word of salutation. It was thought to be more generous to believe without proof. The true-hearted friends would rather not have had the vision.{1.52}Just as, in later times, St. Louis refused to be a witness to an eucharistic miracle that he might not detract from the merit of faith. Henceforth this credulity became a terrible emulation, and, as it were, a sort of out-bidding one another. The reward consisting in believing without having seen, faith at any price, gratuitous faith—faith approaching to madness—was exalted as if it were the chief gift of the soul. Thecredo quia absurdumis established; the law of Christian dogmas will be an unwonted progression which no impossibility shall be able to arrest. The most cherished dogmas as regards piety, those to which it will attach itself with the most resolute frenzy, will be the most repugnant to reason, in consequence of that touching idea that the moral worth of faith increases in proportion to the difficulty of believing, and because men are not called on to prove any love when they admit one which is evident.
These first days were like a period of intense fever,when the faithful, mutually inebriated, and imposing upon each other by their mutual conceits, passed their days in constant excitement, and were lifted up with the most exalted notions. The visions multiplied without ceasing. Their evening assemblies were the usual periods for their production.{1.53}When the doors were closed and all were possessed with their besetting idea, the first who fancied that he heard the sweet wordschalom, “salutation,” or “peace,” gave the signal. All then listened, and very soon heard the same thing. Then it was that there was great joy among these simple souls when they knew that the Master was in the midst of them. Each one tasted of the sweetness of this thought, and believed himself to be favored with some inward colloquy. Other visions were noised abroad of a different description, and recalled that of the travellers of Emmaus. At meal-time they saw Jesus appear, take the bread, bless it and break it, and offer it to the one whom He honored with a vision of Himself.{1.54}In a few days a complete cycle of stories, widely differing in their details, but inspired by the same spirit of love and absolute faith, was formed and disseminated. It is the greatest of errors to suppose that legendary lore requires much time to mature; sometimes a legend is the product of a single day. The Sunday evening [16 of Nisan, 5 April] had not passed before the legend of Jesus was held as a reality. Eight days afterwards, the character of the resuscitated life which had been conceived for him, was stayed in its progress, at least as regards its essential characteristics.
The most earnest desire of those who have lost a dear friend is to revisit the places where they have lived with him. It was no doubt this feeling which, some days after the events of Easter, induced the disciples to return to Galilee. From the moment of the arrest of Jesus, and immediately after His death, it is probable that many of His disciples had already taken their departure for the northern provinces. At the period of the resurrection, a report was spread that it was in Galilee that they would see him again. Some of the women who had been at the sepulchre returned with the statement that the angel had told them that Jesus had already preceded them into Galilee.[2.1]Others said that it was Jesus himself who had told them to meet him there.[2.2]Sometimes they even fancied that they remembered how that He had told them so in his lifetime.[2.3]It is, however, certain, that at the end of some days, perhaps after they had completed the solemnities of the Paschal feast, the disciples believed that they had received a commandment to return to their own country, and they returned accordingly.[2.4]Perhaps the visions began to diminish in frequency at Jerusalem. A sort of homesickness possessed them. The short apparitions of Jesus were not sufficient to compensate for theenormous void left to them by His absence. They fancied that they were actuated by a melancholy affection for the lake and the beautiful mountains where they had tasted of the kingdom of God.[2.5]The women, especially, desired at all hazards to return to the country where they had enjoyed so much happiness. It must be observed that the order for leaving Jerusalem came especially from them.[2.6]This odious city weighed down their spirits; they longed to revisit the country where they had possessed Him whom they so well loved, assured aforehand in their own minds that they would need him there. The greater part of the disciples then departed full of joy and hope, perhaps in company with the caravan which was conducting homewards the pilgrims who had attended the Paschal feast. That which they hoped to find in Galilee was not only fleeting visions, but Jesus Himself to continue with them as He had done previous to His death. An intense expectation filled their minds. Was He about to restore the kingdom of Israel, to found in definite form the kingdom of God, and, as it has been said, “reveal His justice?”[2.7]All this is possible. Already did they recall to their minds the smiling landscapes where they had been happy with Him. Many thought that He had told them that He would meet them on a mountain,[2.8]probably that one to which so many sweet remembrances of Him were attached. Never certainly was any more cheerful journey undertaken. They were on the eve of realizing all their dreams of happiness. They were going to see Him again.
And indeed they did see him. Hardly restored to their peaceable fantasies, they believed themselves tobe placed in the midst of the Gospel dispensation. It was about the end of the month of April. The ground was covered with red anemones, which are probably the “flowers of the field,” from which Jesus loved to draw his similes. At every step they recollected His words, attached, as it were, to the thousand events of the way. See this tree, this flower, this seed, from which he took up his parable! here is the little hill on which he delivered his most touching discourses; here is the little ship in which he taught. It was all like a beautiful dream commenced anew, like an illusion which had vanished, and then reappeared. The enchantment seemed to spring up again. The sweet “kingdom of God” to be established in Galilee, took possession of their hearts. This pellucid air, those mornings spent on the bank of the lake or on the mountain, those nights passed on the lake while guarding their nets,—all these returned to their minds in distinct visions. They saw him in every place in which they had lived with him. Doubtless it was not always the joy of possession. Sometimes the lake appeared to them to be very solitary. But a great love is contented with small matters. If all of us, while we are alive, could stealthily once a year calculate on a moment long enough to behold those loved ones whom we have lost, and to exchange but two words with them, death would be no more death.
Such was the state of mind of this faithful company in this short period when Christianity seemed to return for a moment to its cradle to bid Him an eternal adieu. The principal disciples, Peter, Thomas, Nathanael, the sons of Zebedee, returned to the shore of the lake andhenceforth took up their abode together;[2.9]they had taken up their former trade of fishers at Bethsaida, or at Capernaum. The women of Galilee were, doubtless, with them. More than the others, they had urged the return to Galilee; for with them it was a matter of heartfelt love. This was their last act in the foundation of Christianity. From this moment we see no more of them. Faithful to their affection, they would not quit the country where they had tasted of so great enjoyment.[2.10]Soon they were forgotten, and as Galilean Christianity had scarcely any posterity, the remembrance of them was completely lost in certain ramifications of the tradition. These touching demoniacs, these converted sinners, these real founders of Christianity, Mary of Magdala, Mary Cleophas, Joanna, Susanna, all passed into the condition of forsaken saints. St. Paul knows nothing about them.[2.11]The faith which they had created almost threw them into oblivion. We must come down to the middle ages before justice is rendered to them; and when one of them, Mary Magdalene, again assumes her lofty position in the Christian heaven.
The visions on the lake shore appear to have been frequent enough. On these very waters where they had touched God, how was it that the disciples had not again beheld their Divine friend? The most simple circumstances restored Him to them. On one occasion they had toiled all the night without having taken a single fish; all on a sudden the nets are filled: this was a miracle. It seemed to them that some one had told them from the shore, “Cast your nets to the right.” Peter and John looked at each other: “It is the Lord,” said John. Peter, who was naked, hastily coveredhimself with his tunic and jumped into the sea, that he might go and rejoin the invisible counsellor.[2.12]At other times, Jesus came to share their simple repasts. One day, when they had done fishing, they were surprised to find the coals lighted, with a fish upon the fire, and some bread beside it. A lively recollection of their feasts in times past took possession of their minds, for the bread and the fish had always been essential characteristics of them. Jesus was in the habit of offering portions to them. They were persuaded after their meal that Jesus was seated at their side, and had presented them with these victuals, which had become already, in their view, eucharistic and holy.[2.13]
It was John and Peter, more than all the others, who had been favored with these intimate conversations with the well-beloved phantom. One day Peter, dreaming perhaps (But why do I say this? Was not their life on these shores a perpetual dream?), thought that he heard Jesus ask him, “Lovest thou me?” The question was thrice repeated. Peter, altogether under the influence of tender and sad feelings, imagined that he replied, “Oh! yea, Lord! Thou knowest that I love thee;” and on each occasion the apparition said, “Feed my sheep.”[2.14]On another occasion Peter confided to John a wondrous dream. He had dreamt that he was walking with the Master. John was coming up a few steps behind. Jesus spoke to him in very obscure language, which appeared to tell him of a prison or a violent death, and repeated to him at different times, “Follow me.” Then Peter, pointing to John, who was following, with his finger, asked, “Lord, and this man?” Jesus said, “If I wish that this man remain until I come, what is that to thee?Follow thou me.” After the martyrdom of Peter, John recollected this dream, and saw in it a prediction of the kind of death by which his friend suffered. He told it to his disciples; and they on their part fancied that they had discovered an assurance that their master would not die before the final advent of Jesus.[2.15]These grand and melancholy dreams, these unceasing conversations interrupted and again commenced with the beloved departed One, occupied the days and the months. The sympathy of Galilee in behalf of the prophet whom the Jerusalemites had put to death, was renewed. More than five hundred persons were already devoted to the memory of Jesus.[2.16]In the absence of the lost Master, they obeyed the chief of the disciples, and above all, Peter. One day, when following their spiritual chiefs, the Galileans had climbed up one of the mountains to which Jesus had often led them, and they fancied that they saw him again. The air on these mountaintops is full of strange mirages. The same illusion which had previously taken place in behalf of the more intimate of the disciples, was produced again.[2.17]The whole assembly imagined that they saw the Divine spectre displayed in the clouds; they all fell on their faces and worshipped.[2.18]The feeling which the clear horizon of these mountains inspires is the idea of the immensity of the world and the desire of conquering it. On one of these neighboring points, Satan, pointing out with his hand to Jesus the kingdoms of the earth, and all the glory of them, it is said proposed to give them to him if he would fall down and worship him. On this occasion, it was Jesus who, from the top of these sacred summits, pointed out to his disciples the whole world,and assured them of the future. They came down from the mountain persuaded that the Son of God had commanded them to convert the whole human race, and had promised to be with them even to the end of the world. A strange ardor, a divine fire, took possession of them when they returned from these conversations. They looked upon themselves as the missionaries of the world, capable of effecting prodigious deeds. St. Paul saw many of those who were present at this extraordinary scene. At the expiration of twenty-five years, the impression on their minds was still as strong and as vivid as it was on the first day.[2.19]
Nearly a year passed over during which they lived this charmed life, suspended, as it were, between heaven and earth.[2.20]The charm, far from diminishing, increased. It is the peculiarity of grand and holy enterprises, that they always become grander and more pure of themselves. The feeling towards a beloved one whom we have lost is always more intense than on the day following his death. The more distant it is, the more intense does this feeling become. The sorrow which at first was part of it, and in a certain sense diminished it, is changed into a serene piety. The image of the departed one is transfigured, idealized, and becomes the soul of life, the principle of every action, the source of every joy, the oracle which we consult, the consolation which we seek in times of despondency. Death is a necessary condition of every apotheosis. Jesus, so beloved during His life, was even more so after His last breath; or rather His last breath became the commencement of His actual life in the bosom of His Church. He became the intimate friend, the confidant, the travelling companion, the one who, at the corner of the road, joins you and follows you, sits down to table with you, and reveals Himself as He vanishes out of your sight.[2.21]The absolute want of scientific exactitude in the minds of these new believers, was the reason why no question was ever propounded as to the nature of His existence. They represented Him as impassible, endowed with a subtle body, passing through open windows, sometimes visible, sometimes invisible, but always alive. Sometimes they thought that His body was not a material body; that it was a pure shadow or apparition.[2.22]At other times they accorded to Him a material body with flesh and bones; with an unaffected minuteness, and as if the hallucination had wished to be on its guard against itself, they represented Him as drinking and eating; nay even as feeling.[2.23]Their ideas on this point were as vague and uncertain as the waves of the sea.
With difficulty have we thus far dreamed, in order to propose a trifling question, but one which admits not of easy solution. Whilst Jesus rose again in this real manner, that is to say in the hearts of those who loved Him; while the immovable conviction of the apostles was being formed and the faith of the world being prepared—in what place did the worms consume the lifeless corpse which, on the Saturday evening, had been deposited in the sepulchre? This detail will be always steadily ignored; for, naturally, the Christian traditions can give us no information on the subject. It is the spirit which quickeneth; the flesh is nothing.[2.24]The resurrection was the triumph of the idea concerning its reality. The idea once entered upon its immortality, what need of discussion about the body?
About the year 80 or 85, when the actual text of the first Gospel received its last additions, the Jews had already formed a fixed opinion in regard to it.[2.25]According to them, the disciples came by night and stole away the body. The consciences of the Christians were alarmed at this report, and, in order to put an end to such an objection at once, they invented the circumstances of the guard of soldiers and the seal affixed to the sepulchre.[2.26]This circumstance, related only in the first Gospel, and mixed up with legends of very doubtful authority,[2.27]is in no respect admissible.[2.28]But the explanation of the Jews, although unanswerable, is far from altogether satisfactory. We can scarcely admit that those who so bravely believed that Jesus had risen again, were the very ones who had carried off the body. However slight the accuracy with which these men reflected, we can hardly imagine so strange an illusion. It must be remembered that the little Church was at this moment completely dispersed. There was no organization, no centralization, and no open regularity of proceeding. The contradictory stories which have reached us respecting the incidents of the Sunday morning, prove that the reports were spread through different channels, and that there was no particular care on their part to harmonize them. It is possible that the body was taken away by some of the disciples, and by them carried into Galilee. The others, remaining at Jerusalem, would not have been cognizant of the fact. On the other hand, the disciples who carried the body into Galilee,[2.29]could not have, as yet, become acquainted with the stories which were invented at Jerusalem, so that the belief in the resurrection would have been propounded in their absence, and would have surprised them accordingly. They could not have protested; and had they done so, nothing would have been disarranged. When a question of miracles is concerned, a tardy correction is not the way to a denial.[2.30]Never did a material difficulty prevent the sentimental development and creation of the desired fictions.[2.31]In the history of the recent miracle of Salette, the imposture has been clearly demonstrated;[2.32]this does not damage the prosperity of the temple, nor the increase of belief in it. It is also permissible to suppose that the disappearance of the body was the work of the Jews. Perhaps they thought that in this way they would prevent the scenes of tumult which might be enacted over the corpse of a man so popular as Jesus. Perhaps they wished to prevent any noisy funeral ceremonies, or the erection of a monument to this just man. Lastly, who knows that the disappearance of the body was not effected by the proprietor of the garden or by the gardener?[2.33]This proprietor, as it would seem from such evidence as we possess,[2.34]was a stranger to the sect. They chose his cave because it was the nearest to Golgotha, and because they were pressed for time.[2.35]Perhaps he was dissatisfied with this mode of taking possession of his property, and caused the corpse to be removed. Of a truth, the details related by the fourth Gospel of the linen cloths left in the tomb, and of the napkin folded away carefully by itself in a corner,[2.36]scarcely agree with such a hypothesis as this. This last circumstance would lead to the conclusion that a female hand had slipped in there.[2.37]The five stories of the visit of the women to the tomb are so confused and so embarrassed, that we may well be permitted to suppose that they conceal some misconception. The female conscience, when under the influence of passionate love, is capable of the most extravagant illusions. Often is it the abettor of its own dreams.[2.38]To introduce these kinds of incidents regarded as miraculous, deliberately deceives no one; but all the world, without thinking of it, is induced to connive at them. Mary of Magdala had been, according to the parlance of the age, “possessed with seven devils.”[2.39]In all this we must consider the want of precision of eastern women, from their absolute defect of education and the particularly slight knowledge of their sincerity. The conviction of being exalted, renders any return to oneself impossible. When one sees the heaven everywhere, one is induced at times to put oneself in the place of heaven.