Jews and miracle-mongers of Corinth, who swarmed there on the way to
Rome from every part of the East, astrologers, and sellers of
love-potions, poisoners, and go-betweens? But the words rose up in my
mind: "God chose the foolish things of the world, that he might put to
shame them that are wise:" and I wished to be ashamed. In my weakness
and grief my hands went forth and groped in the darkness, seeking the
hands of those who had also suffered, seeking for the little familiar,
common-place things, that twine themselves round our being and are the
mainstays of life. My abandonment of life in my grief had been so
complete, that but for the message which came to me from Caius, I might
have drifted towards self-destruction, merely because of the sullen
inertia, which followed after the force of the blow had been spent.
Philosophy, religion, discipline, every vain convention which we imagine
may buttress our will in moments of great spiritual weakness, fell away
from me like garments, and the only thing remaining was a sense of human
sympathy, a craving for human consolation.
Our master, Epicurus, was a lover of children; he knew, no one better,
their delicate and insinuating ways, the strange unreal world in which
they play, their unconsciousness of time; and he seems to have taken
them as patterns and exemplars of the life of pleasure, unsuspicious of
the future, and forgetful of the past, but living always with a vivid
intensity, in that little, shut-in pleasure-house of the senses, the
moment. As I thought of my child, I remembered all his caresses, the
soft touch of his flower-like hands upon my face, and the grave eyes
that seemed to keep a wisdom older than the world; and beside that image
in my dreams stooped another, Drusilla, her hands guiding him to me, she
whose whole life was like some attenuated fragrance, difficult of
apprehension, but inexpressibly sweet, her quiet brows with neat bands
of hair smoothed against the cool flesh; and the love that grew between
us, first for what she revealed to me, and then for what she hid. When I
thought of these two brief, beautiful creatures, I seemed to see in them
the true fragility of life, as if it were no more than wind in the stops
of a flute or sweet vibration from the strings of a lyre, aerial,
elusive, never to be wholly imprisoned in any one form, but wandering,
vocal, through the whole of creation, illuminating it to one exquisite
moment, like light upon hill and sea, and then vanishing, fleeing away
into darkness, never to be exactly repeated.
So to me, sitting apart and outwardly unmoved, there came that fierce
hunger for things departed, that blind, bitter struggle against the
unalterable conditions of life.
I hesitated, and delayed to set out on my adventure until well on into
the night At last I went. A fresh wind was blowing from the north-west,
it stung my face and eyes, and I saw that snow lay lightly upon the
summit of Acrocorinth, silvery in the moonlight. As I passed into the
Jews' quarter I began to meet little knots and groups of people talking
with excited gestures, and I heard rumours of brawls and quarrels; but I
reached the house of Caius without incident. The same boy who had
brought me the message admitted me. He had fine clear-cut features,
distinctive of no particular race, though with evidence of Roman blood
somewhere. Caius was the son of a freedman I gathered later, and this
boy was the eldest of his two children, the other being a girl. The boy
told me that the meeting was over, but that Caius was with Paul and his
travelling companions in an upper chamber; he led the way and I
followed. I felt cold and suspicious, but curious. The boy drew back the
curtain, whispered my name, and I went into the warmly-lighted room.
Seated by the brazier was a thick-set, crook-backed man, ugly and mean,
with a small head, much too small for his shoulders, a sallow skin and
thick beard. As I entered he lifted his face; the eyebrows met above the
beaky nose, and he regarded me for a moment in complete silence. The
eyes were piercing, as though full of smouldering fires. They seemed to
explore the most secret recesses of my soul; then to grow kinder, as if
recognising something in it.
"Peace be with you, and light, and understanding," he said; and as he
spoke there seemed to me a hesitation and an embarrassment in his
manner. I murmured something in reply, at which, perhaps, a slight smile
broke about his lips, and he turned away. Caius brought me the
manuscript which I had looked at, gave me a chair in a warm corner by a
lamp, and went back to the others. I began to read. Four men, besides
Caius, and a woman were gathered at a table by Paul. One of the men was
holding a pen. Then the voice of Paul broke the silence.
"For the law of the spirit of life in Christ Jesus hath made me free
from the law of sin and death. For what the law could not do in that it
was weak through the flesh, God sending his own Son in the likeness of
sinful flesh, and for sin, condemned sin in the flesh. That the
ordinance of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not after the
flesh, but after the spirit. For they that are after the flesh do mind
the things of the flesh; but they that are after the spirit, the things
of the spirit. For the mind of the flesh is death; but the mind of the
spirit is life and peace.... And if Christ is in you, the body is dead
because of sin, but the spirit is life because of righteousness."
Holding the manuscript on my knees, I listened. The passion of the
speaker seized and held me; he was like one so full of speech as to be
inarticulate, he seemed to falter through many phrases until he found
the right one; he would go on blindly, following the mere impulse of his
mind, without thought or reason, until at last, as with pain, words came
to him that seemed to touch the heart, to illuminate hidden places, and
what had gone before was transfused and crystallised by it into a kind
of rude and imperfect unity. Sometimes after one of these magnificent
utterances, he would give forth phrase after phrase, that glowed with
the heat of his own certainty. "Who shall separate us from the love of
Christ? shall tribulation, or anguish, or persecution, or famine, or
nakedness, or peril, or the sword?" He dealt with speech as one dealing
with iron in the fire, hammering out the words. "Nay, in all these
things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us. For I am
persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor principalities,
nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor
depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the
love of God, which is in Christ Jesus, our Lord."
He was persuaded. Seeing that they had forgotten me, I lifted my eyes
and studied him as he spoke. I saw that his health was bad; the carriage
of his head seemed epileptic, but bodily health was nothing to him; he
seemed worn with travel and hunger, misfortune and persecution, yet the
fire of his speech showed the strength of his conviction; even as, in
his words, he seemed to thrust the world away from him for the sake of
an idea, so, for the sake of an idea he had thrust away his infirmities,
and pursued his way heedless of obstacles. "Shall the thing formed say
to him that formed it. Why didst thou make me thus? Or, hath not the
potter a right over the clay, from the same lump to make one part a
vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour?"
Sometimes Paul moved a little, with nervous half-conscious movements; or
while speaking he would stretch his large toil-worn hands over the
brazier where the light gleaming through the fingers made them seem more
distorted. As a rule he spoke slowly, but when he became dominated by
his thought the words hurried, more and more quickly, until the writer
paused, perplexed, and, not without a slight gesture of impatience
followed by a swifter smile as if of encouragement, Paul would repeat
himself; sometimes losing the thread of his discourse. Indeed, from what
I learned of his life, it seemed that it was his fate to be thwarted and
hindered by material restrictions, of health, of liberty, of speech. No
vessel was capable of sustaining the flame that burned in him. I could
not understand all that he said, as I knew nothing of what was behind;
but here and there his words burnt into my brain.
The man who had been writing stopped, stretched his cramped fingers; and
Paul motioned another to his place: "Abhor that which is evil, cleave to
that which is good. In love of the brethren be tenderly affectioned one
to another.... patient in tribulation, continuing steadfastly in prayer,
communicating to the necessities of the saints, given to hospitality.
Bless them that persecute you; bless, and curse not. Rejoice with them
that rejoice; weep with them that weep.... Be not wise in your own
conceits. Render unto no man evil for evil.... Let every soul be in
subjection to the higher powers: for there is no power but of God; and
the powers that be are ordained of God." I had sat listening to these
words of conviction until I felt numbed, yet I was not satisfied.
Paul also seemed to weary for a minute. The word "love" that seemed to
contain all their mystical creed fell again from his lips: "Thou shalt
love thy neighbour as thyself; Love worketh no ill to his neighbour;
Love therefore is the fulfilment of the law; and this knowing the
season, that now it is high time for you to awake out of sleep."
He ceased, rose and walked to the window, drew back the curtain, and
leaned out as if to cool his head. The sky was grey with dawn. From the
streets below came drunken voices of men and women, singing ribald
songs; and presently I heard the tramp of the armed guard. For a moment
Paul leaned there.
"The night is far spent," he said, "and the day is at hand; therefore
let us cast off the works of darkness and put on the armour of light.
Let us walk honestly, as in the day; not in revelling and drunkenness,
not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and jealousy. But put ye
on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh to fulfil
the lusts thereof."
He ceased, drew the curtain to again, and came towards me. Through his
incredible ugliness there shone a majesty of power, fascinating,
enchanting, wooing me with its strength and flame-like intensity. His
hands were cold from the ledge of the window, and as they took mine a
thrill ran through me. The other men looked at us quietly, as if they
were conscious of some crisis, and of some antagonism between us. Paul
looked at the manuscript upon my knees, and smiled.
"What are my words to you?" he asked.
"I have also thought of these things," I answered him.
"Yes; it is not the thinking of them that is strange, but what do they
mean to you? What does our law mean to you? What does our mystery mean
to you? Nothing. You are given over to vain imaginations, the conceits
of the mind. You have no humility, no faith. Your great possessions have
turned your mind. Until the blow fell upon you, you had imagined that
you were secure through life. You have put your trust in perishable
things, and they have fallen through your fingers like water, like dry
sand. What have you left sacred in the world? Your wisdom has made a
desert about you, a desert where there is no God. What have you to
hope?"
It was as if he mocked me, pitied me, understood me. He made me cold
toward him; and at the same time my sorrow flooded me.
"What is my trouble to you? I can bear it alone," I said harshly. "The
things which you have written I have read in our own philosophers."
"You have found nothing else in me which was not in them?"
"Nothing."
A gloom spread over his face, the light which had illuminated it died
out, leaving only the smouldering fires of his eyes, which burned dimly.
He dropped my hands. The others turned away their eyes and shifted
uneasily.
"There is he in whose name I speak. The love of Christ constrained me."
I sat frowning, without comprehension.
"It is not yet time," he continued sadly. "One must have patience,
exceeding patience. You do not understand what we teach concerning
Christ, who is the Son of God. Yet you came to us willingly; you, a
Roman, came and took the hand of a Jew, whose touch, to your fellows, is
contamination; and, in my pride I said: Lo! I have triumphed over the
wisdom of the Gentile. It is through God's grace only that I am called
to be an apostle to men. It is through his grace alone that you will be
saved; for you will come again. Tell me that you will come again."
"I shall come again," I said simply; the curious anxiety of his words
troubled me vaguely. I felt a profound pity for this man, to whom even a
stranger was a brother. I rose and took my cloak; as I passed out each
gave me a salutation, the salutation of peace.
Outside it was dawn. The lupanars were giving up their dead, some
sailors and devotees of the great goddess were already congregating in
the wine-shops. Muffled as I was in my great coarse cloak they suspected
me of being one of the Roman soldiers, and none spoke to me or offered
me insult. I did not heed them but passed along the quays, looking at
Acrocorinth towering like Eryx, that other home of the sea-born and lure
for sailors, into the infinite blue of a cloudless sky. Wreaths of
vapour cloaked its lower reaches, and it seemed like a great dome
suspended in the air. On the other side laughed the wide sea in
multitudinous ripples of light. It all seemed to reflect some childish
half-conscious gaiety of my soul. My sorrow still lay there, but
comforted with human sympathy, and the two mystical gifts of the
Christians, peace and love.
* * * * *
It was only after I had escaped from the enchantment of his presence
that I was able to understand the aims and ambitions of Paul, as he
showed them in the letter which he had dictated that night, and which
was to be copied and sent to all the communities that had come together
in Greece, Asia and Italy. His aim was principally to abolish the
restrictions which hampered conversion into his faith, rites of the
Jews, circumcision, the use of certain meats which they had considered
unclean, and the huge body of formulæ and observances, which had grown
and developed out of casuistry and the old Hebrew law; but beyond and
above that he wished them to propitiate the civil power. When he spoke
of the abolition of the law he meant those rites and ceremonies which
seemed a profanation of, a bartering with, the divinity. He felt that
his mission was not to the Jews alone, but to all the nations of the
world. In this he was opposed by the more rigid Christians at Jerusalem,
who held that circumcision was necessary, and that only a Jew could be
saved. One of the most rigid adherents of this narrower sect was a
brother of Christ, who seemed to pass his whole life in the Temple,
praying and fasting.
Paul was often bitter against this sect. Yet it was out of that same
kind of formalism that he himself had sprung; and he seldom lost traces
of it, except in a few isolated moments, when love and indignation burnt
him up. I went among these Christians again and again; and each time
became more fascinated by their hidden, gentle lives. A very intimate
tie bound Caius to Paul, for Paul had initiated him into their
mysteries, which were, I imagine, the same as in other religions, a
purification and a mystic meal. Caius was a man of considerable power,
but of immense reserve, from whom I learnt very little. Paul was a
fanatic, impatient of the opposition to his teaching at Jerusalem.
Sometimes in anger he would satirise his opponents and the rite of
circumcision with a bitter and sardonic humour. He was honey to those he
loved, gall to those who withstood him.
The community in Corinth having fallen back during his absence into a
moral laxity, almost excusable considering their environment, he
withdrew them from all social intercourse with their fellow-citizens.
They obeyed because they loved, but more, because they feared him.
Before his conversion he had persecuted the Christians to turn them from
their faith; afterwards he persecuted them to keep them in it. I learned
the story of his conversion. It had its origin in the death of one
called Stephen, who had been accused before the Jewish Collegium of
blasphemy; a frivolous pretext for the punishment of one's opponents
which had obtained everywhere but in Rome.
As you know, the law of the Empire is that no one shall be punished with
death except by a Roman court, and only when he has been convicted of
specified crimes; for the spirit of Roman usage has always been, in the
words of Tiberius, that the injuries of the gods are the gods' affair.
Stephen, after an argument with his accusers, suddenly cried out with a
loud voice: "Behold, I see the heavens opened, and the Son of Man
standing at the right hand of God." With one accord his exasperated
enemies stripped off their cloaks and laid them at the feet of Paul, who
took charge of them; and they stoned Stephen, Paul consenting to his
death.
Even at the time, perhaps, standing aside and taking no part in the
murder, Paul's conscience may have reproved him. In any case the
incident assumed, afterwards, an enormous importance for him. He could
not speak of it without emotion. Perhaps also he feared that he might be
accused to the Roman authorities for his part in the riot. His mind
became abnormally excited.
Some days afterwards he set out for Damascus to bring up some more
Christians to Jerusalem, to be tried by the same barbarous assembly.
Suddenly at noon he saw a blinding light, and he fell to the ground. A
voice called to him out of the sky. According to some accounts the voice
uttered a phrase from Euripides: it is hard for thee to kick against the
goads. The phrase had passed into current use. However strange it may
seem that a voice from heaven should have uttered these words, it is
perfectly natural that Paul should have heard them; he must have heard
them before, many times.
But what goads were meant? The pricks of conscience, perhaps, for his
share in the murder of Stephen; some secret remorse, against which he
had steeled his heart, in the hope that time and use would cure it. Such
was the conversion of Paul. His nature had suffered no change from it;
he had merely found a new aim for his life, and the same zeal, which he
had used in his persecution of the Christians, he now asserted in their
cause. To himself this incident of his conversion seemed unnatural,
miraculous; but to us it is simple, and easily explained, being merely a
repetition of Stephen's vision. As I have already written, he was of
delicate health; some nervous, constitutional weakness affected him;
epilepsy, perhaps, or something akin to it. His accounts of what
happened varied; for he seemed to have told the story in different ways
to different people. In one account, those who were with him heard the
voice, but did not see the light; and in another version they saw the
light, but did not hear the voice. Paul himself had not known Christ in
the flesh. He knew little of him, except that he had been born, had
gathered about him a group of disciples, had preached, and had died on
the cross.
His mind therefore could fashion no clear image in the vision. He could
only see a light and hear familiar words. He himself always treated this
vision of the risen Master as distinct from the visions which had been
manifested to the other disciples, as a purely spiritual manifestation:
"and lastly," he said, "He appeared to me as to an abortion." What does
he mean by this phrase? Does it mean that Paul's spiritual birth was
effected by violence, prematurely; that it was precipitated by the
murder of Stephen? Is it remorse for Stephen's death that forces him to
apply this hideous epithet to himself; or is it a reference to the lack
of definite, sensible impressions; or to the fact of the lateness of his
conversion; or merely a scornful reference to his own physical
deformities? He was accustomed to speak with a bitter mockery of his
infirmities, yet, it seemed also, with a little pride. He mentioned in
the letter, which Caius showed me, that he had prayed for the removal of
some physical disability, but the prayer had not been granted. The
fragility of his vision was even used by his opponents, the small sect
practising poverty at Jerusalem, among whom was the brother of their
Master, as a ground for denying his mission. One is almost tempted to
agree with them. The evidence is vague, the accounts vary. We may wonder
into what form these floating legends will crystallise, if the community
endures and increases; if they will ever form a complete unity, like the
myths of Orpheus and Dionysos.
There are some who imagine that Christianity is but one of the many
features of the new social movement, which was Gallio's opinion; but I
cannot think so, for the reason that the Christians believe in the
rapidly approaching end of the world. They believe that their Master,
who was crucified, will return, even before his own generation has
passed away, to judge the world. It is the cardinal point of their
teaching. Any definite social reconstruction is consequently outside
their aims; but the organisation of their communities, in so far as it
can be called an organisation, resembles rather closely our popular
funerary societies, which have always been looked upon with suspicion by
the authorities.
Paul's exhortation to his community "to be in subjection to the higher
powers," was written with the intention of guarding against any outbreak
which might prejudice "the powers that be, and are ordained of God,"
against the communities, who seek only to be left to the peace of their
quiet lives and the practice of their cult. They are a little humble
folk for the most part, except where there are Jews among them, and then
arises the question of the tribute money; whether it be lawful to pay
it? That is the only cause which may put them in conflict with the
authorities.
But there is a graver danger to the friends of Paul. They are for the
most part humble artisans, followers of the lowest trades, mendicants,
and cheap hawkers; despised by all classes, they are at once despised,
hated, and feared, by the class immediately above them, with whom they
must necessarily enter into competition where the dividing line is
faint, or barely drawn at all. Beside this natural jealousy of an alien
competition, there is the sense of distrust which the secrecy of their
lives breeds in the minds of the citizens. People invariably suspect a
man who leads a retired life, either of some shameful practices, or of a
guilty past. Yet suspicion and persecution do not suffice to turn this
little community out of the way they have chosen. After the day is over,
they meet together, as one family, in some dimly-lit room, and greet
each other with peace and love. It is time to awake out of sleep, they
say; the hour approaches, the Lord cometh. That is their whole life,
they have no active part in the great revolutionary social movement of
slaves and freedom, they sit with folded hands, patiently, awaiting the
coming of their Lord, who shall judge the world, and end it.
Moving among them, taking part almost in their daily life, a life
removed and hidden from the world, how could I blame them? Their
credulity even seemed sacred to me, it was so fragile a thing, of such
delicate and exquisite growth, a desire which has lain always close to
the heart of man. For me, beyond the flaming walls of the world sit the
deathless gods in their quiet seats, peace flooding their hearts; and no
sound of mortal anguish ascends to them, but they sit ever in their
halls shining with silver and glittering with gold, and the lovely lyre
makes an immortal music about them, and wine gladdens the feast, and the
rhythmic motion of the dancing choirs; but for these poor artisans of
Corinth the god is a companion by the way, they love to speak of him
under homely words, he is the vine-dresser, the grafter of olives, the
sower; he carries into their sordid lives the peace of wide skies and
tranquil waters, he is the shepherd who tends his flock and leads them
into pleasant pastures. Yes, behind Paul, the man of fire, whose life
was an odyssey, full of arduous endeavour and storm, was another figure,
a figure of singular beauty, before whom even the fire of Paul's ardour
flickered and was tamed, the Christ whom man had crucified, and who had
redeemed man from sin and death. They seemed to have fashioned him out
of their own weary lives, their blood and tears; he had pity on their
suffering, and suffered for them; he had mercy on their sin, and took it
upon himself, they could bear all for his sake who had borne all for
theirs; he had revealed to them sympathy and love.