From the digressions concerning the growth of the Gospels and the
possibility or probability that their truths would be conveyed through
illusion I now return to our main subject, the question whether the life
of Christ can be disentangled from miracles. And here you tell me that
some of your agnostic and sceptical friends quote with great
satisfaction the following sentence from Bishop Temple’s recent _Bampton
Lectures_[22]: “Many of our Lord’s most characteristic sayings are so
associated with narratives of miracles that the two cannot be torn
apart.” I can well believe what you tell me as to the advantage which
they naturally take of this admission: “Here,” they say, “is a statement
made on high authority that, unless you can believe that Jesus worked
_bonâ fide_ miracles, such as the blasting of the fig tree and the
destruction of the swine, you must give up ‘many of Christ’s most
characteristic sayings’ in other words, you must give up the hope of
knowing what Jesus taught.” I wish your friends, who quote this
assertion with so much pleasure, would also have quoted the
“characteristic sayings” alleged by Dr. Temple in proof of this
assertion; for you would then have seen for yourself that many of these
“characteristic sayings” are associated not with “miracles” but with
“mighty works;” and I am sure you have not forgotten the difference
between the two.[23]
For example the first of the “characteristic sayings” is, “Son, thy sins
be forgiven thee.” Now these words were spoken to the paralytic man;
and, as we have seen above, the cure of paralysis by appeal to the
emotions—although a remarkable act, and although, if permanent, so
remarkable as to deserve to be called “a mighty work”—cannot be called a
miracle. But I need say no more of this, as I have treated of cures by
“emotional shock” in a previous letter. Now all the other sayings quoted
by Dr. Temple refer to “faith” or “believing;” and all, I think, are
connected with acts of healing. There may be doubtless in some of our
present accounts of the “mighty works” some inaccuracies or
exaggerations as to the nature of the disease and the circumstances of
the cure. For example, when the cure is said to have been performed at a
distance from the patient, either (1) faith must have wrought in the
patient by his knowledge that his friends were interceding with Christ,
or (2) we must assume some very doubtful theory of “brain-wave”
sympathy, or admit that (3) the story is exaggerated, or else that (4)
there is a _bonâ fide_ miracle. For my own part I waver, in such cases
as that of the centurion’s servant and the Syro-Phœnician’s daughter,
between the hypotheses which I have numbered (1) and (3), with a
sentimental reserve in favour of (2); but any one of these seems to me
so far more probable than the hypothesis of a suspension of the laws of
nature that I do not feel in the least constrained by reason of such
“characteristic sayings” concerning faith, to give in my adhesion to a
narrative of miracle. On the contrary I say the mention of “faith,” and
Christ’s “marvel” at faith, and His eulogy of the “greatness” of the
“faith” in certain cases, all go to prove that these acts were not
miracles, but simply acts of faith-healing on a colossal scale. I hope
you will not feel inclined to sneer at the reservation in those last
four words. You will surely admit that, if Christ did anything
naturally, the result might be proportionate to His nature; and if His
power of appealing to the emotions was colossal, the material result of
that appeal might be proportionately colossal. I begin, therefore, the
process of disentanglement between the historical and the miraculous in
Christ’s life by a protest against a hasty and blind confusion which
refuses to discriminate between “miracles” and “mighty works,” and calls
on us to reject from the history not only the miraculous but the
marvellous as well; and I assert that the acts of faith healing with
which, as Bishop Temple truly says, there are associated many of our
Lord’s most characteristic sayings, may be accepted as generally
historical and natural.
This, however, would not apply to such a miracle as the restoration of
the ear of the high priest’s servant; and the reasons are obvious. The
faith necessary for an act of emotional healing is not said to have
existed, and is not likely to have existed, in a man who probably looked
on Christ as an impostor. Even if it had existed, the case was not one
where we have reason to think faith could have healed. Besides, the
miracle is omitted by three out of the four Evangelists. It is possibly
a mistaken inference from some tradition about an utterance of Jesus,
“Suffer ye thus far;” which may have really had an entirely different
meaning, but which led the third Evangelist to conclude that Jesus
desired His captors to give Him so much liberty as would allow him to
perform this act of mercy—a humane and picturesque thought, but not
history. It is scarcely conceivable that the other three Evangelists
should have mentioned the wound inflicted on the servant; that Matthew
and John should have added a rebuke addressed by Jesus to Peter for
inflicting it; and that John should have taken the pains to tell us the
name of the high priest’s servant and yet that they should have omitted,
if they actually knew, the fact that the wound was immediately and
miraculously healed by Jesus. The irresistible conclusion is that St.
Mark, St. Matthew, and St. John, knew nothing of this miracle.
When the acts of healing are set apart, and considered as “mighty works”
but not “miracles,” the _bonâ fide_ miracles in the Synoptic Gospels
will become few indeed: and I think it will be found that these few are
susceptible of explanation on natural grounds. We will pass over the
finding of the coin in the fish’s mouth which is found in St. Matthew’s
Gospel alone and can hardly be associated with any “characteristic
saying” of Jesus—and come to a miracle common to the three Synoptists,
the destruction of two thousand swine following on the exorcism of the
Gadarene.
This is a very curious case of misunderstanding arising from literalism.
It was a common belief in Palestine (as it was also in Europe during the
middle ages), that the bodies of the “possessed,” or insane, were
tenanted by familiar demons in various shapes—toads, scorpions, swine,
serpents, and the like. These demons were supposed to have as their
normal home an “abyss” or “deep” (Luke viii. 31, ἄβυσσον); but this they
abhorred, and were never so happy as when they found a home in some
human body. The “possessed” believed that these demons were visible and
material; and the juggling exorcist would sometimes (so Josephus tells
us) place a bucket of water to be overturned by the demons in passing,
as a proof that they were driven out. In a word, the “possessed” could
hardly be convinced that he was cured, unless he saw, or thought he saw,
the frogs, serpents, scorpions, or swine actually rushing from his mouth
in some definite direction.
The explanation of the miracle will now readily suggest itself to you.
Some man, perhaps a patriotic Galilean, to whom nothing would be more
hateful than a Roman army, conceived himself to be possessed by a whole
“legion,” two thousand “unclean swine.” Identifying himself—as was the
habit of those who were “possessed”—with the demons whom he supposed to
have possession of him, the insane man declared that his name was
“Legion, for we are many” and they (or he) besought Jesus that He would
not drive them into the “deep,” _i.e._ into the “abyss” above-mentioned.
But by the voice of Jesus the man is instantaneously healed: he sees the
legion of demons that had possessed him rushing forth in the shapes of
two thousand swine and hurrying down into “the deep;” and what he sees,
he loudly proclaims to the bystanders. It is easy to perceive how on
some such a basis of fact there might be built the tradition that Jesus
healed a demoniac whose name was Legion, and sent two thousand swine
into the deep sea; and from thence by easy stages the tradition might
arrive at its present shape.
So far, I think, you do not find it very difficult to separate the
miraculous from the historical in the life of Christ, nor feel yourself
forced to sacrifice any of the “most characteristic sayings of Jesus.”
Let us now come to a miracle of greater difficulty, the blasting of the
barren fig-tree.
Even of those commentators who accept the miracle of the fig-tree as
historical, most, I believe, see in it a kind of parable. The barren
fig-tree, they say, which made a great show of leaves but bore no fruit,
obviously represents, in the first place, the Pharisees, and in the
second place, the nation, which, as a whole, identified itself with the
Pharisees. Both the Prophets and the Psalms delight in similar
metaphors. Israel is the vine; Jehovah, in Isaiah, is the Lord of the
vine, who demands good fruit and finds it not, and consequently resolves
to destroy the vine. So here, the Lord comes to the fig-tree of
Phariseeism, the tree of degenerate Israel, seeking fruit; and finding
none, He curses it, and withers it with the breath of His mouth. Is it
not easy to see how a parable, thus expressed in the hymns and earliest
traditions of the Church, might speedily be literalized and give rise to
a miraculous narrative?
Let me point out to you a curious fact confirmatory of this view. I dare
say you may have noticed that St. Luke, although he agrees with St. Mark
and St. Matthew in the context of this miracle, omits the miracle
itself. Why so? Is it because he never heard of the miracle? Not quite
so. It is because he had heard of it in a slightly different form, not
as a miracle but as a parable, which he alone has preserved. St. Luke’s
version of the tradition is that the Lord comes to the barren tree and,
finding no fruit on it, gives orders that it is to be cut down: but the
steward of the farm pleads for a respite; let the ground be digged and
manured, then, if there be no fruit, let it be cut down. A similar
thought, you see, is here expressed in two different shapes, a
miraculous and a non-miraculous; and it is not difficult to understand
how the former may have been developed from the latter.
But I see that your last letter has a remark on this very miracle, and
on the difficulty of rejecting it. “It is associated,” you say, “with
one of the most characteristic sayings of Jesus: for it is in connection
with the withering of the fig-tree that Jesus says (Matt. xxi. 21), ‘If
ye have faith, ye shall not only do _what is done to the fig-tree_, but
even if ye shall say unto this mountain, Be thou taken up and cast into
the sea, it shall be done.’” “Here,” you say, “we have a characteristic
saying of Jesus expressly referring to something done, and done
miraculously.”
Would it not have been wise, before making so emphatic a statement, to
consider how St. Mark, the earlier of the two narrators of this miracle,
sets forth the comment of Jesus? The comments run thus in the first two
Gospels, and I will add a parallel saying from the third Gospel, not
attached to any miracle:
[Transcriber’s Note: The following three quotations were originally
printed side-by-side.]
Mark xi. 21-23.
And Peter, calling to remembrance, saith unto him, “Rabbi, behold
the fig tree which thou cursedst is withered away.” And Jesus
answering saith unto them, “Have faith in God. Verily I say unto
you, Whosoever shall say unto this mountain, Be thou taken up and
cast into the sea; and shall not doubt in his heart, but shall
believe that what he saith cometh to pass; he shall have it.”
Matthew xxi. 20-21.
And when the disciples saw it, they marvelled, saying, “How did the
fig tree immediately wither away?” And Jesus said unto them, “Verify
I say unto you, If ye have faith, and doubt not, ye shall [_not only
do what is done to the fig tree, but even if ye shall_] say unto
this mountain, Be thou taken up and cast into the sea, it shall be
done.”
Luke xvii. 5-6.
And the apostles said unto the Lord “Increase our faith.” And the
Lord said, “If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye would
say unto this sycamine tree, Be thou rooted up, and be thou planted
in the sea; and it would have obeyed you.”
You see then that the more authoritative (because earlier) of our two
witnesses omits those very words on which you lay so much stress, the
“express reference to something done, and done miraculously.” And ought
not this fact to make you pause and ask yourself “Am I really to suppose
that the Lord Jesus encouraged His disciples to command material
mountains to be cast into the sea, and material trees to be destroyed?
Did He Himself so habitually act thus that He could naturally urge His
disciples to do the like? Does it not seem, literally taken, advice
contrary not only to common sense but also to a reverent appreciation of
the law and order of nature?” I would suggest to you that you might
weigh the inherent improbability of the words in St. Matthew (literally
taken), as well as the external probability—which I will now endeavour
to shew—that the whole passage was metaphorical.
We know from St. Paul’s works, as well as from Rabbinical literature,
that “to move mountains” was a common metaphor to express intellectual
or spiritual ability. St. Paul speaks of faith that would “move
mountains;” and you will find in Lightfoot’s _Horae Hebraicae_ (ii. p.
285), “There was not such another _rooter up of mountains_ as Ben
Azzai.” Now we know from St. Luke’s Gospel (xvii. 6), that Jesus used a
similar metaphor of trees, as well as of mountains, to exemplify the
power of faith; and this without any reference to “something done and
done miraculously:” “If ye have _faith_ as a grain of mustard seed, ye
would say unto this sycamine tree, Be thou _rooted up and planted in the
sea_; and it would have obeyed.” Planted in the sea! Can you dream that
so preposterous a portent could have been prayed for by any sane and
sober follower of Christ in compliance with his Master’s suggestion?
Bear in mind that these words in St. Luke’s Gospel were uttered a long
time before the blasting of the fig tree is supposed to have happened,
and at a different place. Does not then a comparison of this passage
with the other two make it probable that Jesus was in the habit of
encouraging His disciples to be “pluckers up of mountains” and “rooters
up of trees,” not literally but metaphorically, meaning thereby that
they were to attempt and accomplish the greatest feats of faith?
You will, perhaps, be surprised when you find what it was that Jesus
regarded as the greatest feat of faith in the passage of St. Luke just
mentioned. It was a feat of which we are accustomed to think rather
lightly; partly, perhaps, because we are often contented with the
appearance of it without the reality: it was simply forgiveness. He had
told the disciples they must forgive “till seventy times seven:” The
Apostles, in despair, replied “Increase our faith:” and then Jesus tells
them that if they had but a germ of living trust, they could become
“uprooters of sycamine trees,” in other words they could perform
forgiveness, the greatest feat of faith. But perhaps you will say, “At
all events in St. Mark, the earliest authority for the miracle of the
blasting of the fig-tree, there is no mention of forgiveness, and
nothing that would indicate that his version of the words of Jesus
referred to what you call ‘the greatest feat of faith,’ _i.e._
forgiveness.” On the contrary, you will find that St. Mark, with some
apparent confusion of different thoughts, retains the trace of the
original spiritual signification of the words (Mark xi. 22-25): “Have
_faith_ in God. Verily I say unto you, whosoever shall say unto this
mountain, Be thou taken up and cast into the sea, and shall not doubt in
his heart but shall believe that what he saith cometh to pass, he shall
have it. _Therefore_ I say unto you, All things whatsoever ye pray and
ask for, believe that ye have received them, and ye shall have them;
_And whensoever ye stand praying, forgive, if ye have aught against any
one_; that your Father which is in heaven may forgive your trespasses.”
I contend that, upon the whole, an impartial critic must come to the
conclusion that neither the miracle, nor the reference to the miracle,
is historical; and that, in all probability, both the miracle and the
reference to it arose from a misunderstanding, without any intention to
deceive. We must remember that the “short sayings” of the Lord Jesus—as
they are called by some early writer, Justin, I think—must have caused
considerable difficulty to the compilers of the earliest Gospels in the
attempt to arrange them in order. Pointed, pithy, and brief, pregnant
with meaning, sometimes obscured by metaphor, many of these sayings, if
taken out of their context, were very liable to be misunderstood. Some
compilers might think it best, as the author of St. Matthew’s Gospel has
done in the Sermon on the Mount, to group a number of these sayings
together without connection; others, as the author of St. Luke’s Gospel,
might object to this arrangement, and might make it a main object to set
forth these sayings “in order,” attaching to each its appropriate and
explanatory context. Now to apply this to the particular case of the
legend of the fig-tree. It seems probable that the compilers had before
them two traditions, one, a parable about a barren fig-tree destroyed by
the Lord of the vine-yard because it bore no fruit; another, a precept
about the power of faith in uprooting a mountain or a tree, _i.e._ in
achieving the greatest of spiritual tasks, the task of forgiving. St.
Luke interpreted both the parable and the precept spiritually, and kept
the two distinct. St. Mark interpreted the parable literally and adopted
the tradition which made it refer to an actual destruction of a tree; he
also appended to it the saying on the power of faithful prayer to work
any wonders soever, as being an appropriate comment on so startling a
miracle; but he did not think fit to adapt the saying to the miracle by
any insertion of the word “tree” (“Verily I say unto you, whosoever
shall say unto this mountain, Be thou taken up” &c.); and he retained
the old connection of the saying with forgiveness. St. Matthew—of
course, when I say St. Matthew, I mean the unknown authors or compilers
of the Gospel called by his name—is more consistent. He, like St. Mark
interprets the parable literally, and he appends to it the saying on the
power of faithful prayer; but he inserts in the latter an express
reference to the miracle which, according to his hypothesis, had
recently been worked before the eyes of the Disciples and could hardly
therefore fail to be mentioned: “If ye have faith and doubt not, ye
shall [_not only do what is done to the fig-tree, but even if ye shall_]
say unto this mountain,” &c. In order to complete the adaptation, he
also omits the words that connect the saying with forgiveness, and
relegates them to the Sermon on the Mount (vi. 14, 15) which he makes
the receptacle for all those sayings of Jesus for which he can find no
special time and place.
“All this is shadowy, barely possible, mere conjecture.” I maintain that
conjecture, fairly supported, is enough to give the finishing blow to
all faith in a miracle so different from Christ’s other “mighty works”
as this of the fig-tree. Before finally and utterly rejecting a story
found in a generally truthful narrative we wish not only to know that
the story is improbable, but also to answer the question, “How may it
have crept into the narrative?” The above conjecture supplies a fairly
probable answer to that question; and the combined result of the
evidence for the probability of some rational explanation, and against
the probability of the miraculous occurrence, is so great that I can
feel no hesitation in rejecting the miracle of the fig-tree and in
declaring that the “characteristic sayings” of Jesus about the uprooting
of mountains and trees were never intended to be literally understood.
And now, before going further, ask yourself once more, “What have I
lost, so far, by giving up the miracles of Jesus? Does He sink in my
estimation because He did not blast a fig-tree or destroy two thousand
swine, or draw a fish with a stater in its mouth to the hook of Peter?
Or have I lost a precious and ‘characteristic saying’ of Jesus because I
no longer believe that He really encouraged His disciples to pray for
the uprooting of material mountains and material trees?” I am quite sure
your conscience must reply that you have hitherto lost nothing. If so,
take courage, and follow on step by step where the argument leads you.
Footnote 22:
Page 153.
Footnote 23:
See above, p. 158.
XIX
THE MIRACLES OF FEEDING