THE PREACHINGS ON THE LAKE.
Such was the group which, on the borders of the lake of Tiberias,
gathered around Jesus. The aristocracy was represented there by a
customs-officer and by the wife of one of Herod's stewards. The rest
were fishermen and common people. Their ignorance was extreme; their
intelligence was feeble; they believed in apparitions and spirits.[1]
Not one element of Greek culture had penetrated this first assembly of
the saints. They had very little Jewish instruction; but heart and
good-will overflowed. The beautiful climate of Galilee made the life
of these honest fishermen a perpetual delight. They truly preluded the
kingdom of God--simple, good, and happy--rocked gently on their
delightful little sea, or at night sleeping on its shores. We do not
realize to ourselves the intoxication of a life which thus glides away
in the face of heaven--the sweet yet strong love which this perpetual
contact with Nature gives, and the dreams of these nights passed in
the brightness of the stars, under an azure dome of infinite expanse.
It was during such a night that Jacob, with his head resting upon a
stone, saw in the stars the promise of an innumerable posterity, and
the mysterious ladder by which the angels of God came and went from
heaven to earth. At the time of Jesus the heavens were not closed, nor
the earth grown cold. The cloud still opened above the Son of man;
the angels ascended and descended upon his head;[2] the visions of
the kingdom of God were everywhere, for man carried them in his heart.
The clear and mild eyes of these simple souls contemplated the
universe in its ideal source. The world unveiled perhaps its secret to
the divinely enlightened conscience of these happy children, whose
purity of heart deserved one day to behold God.
[Footnote 1: Matt. xiv. 26; Mark vi. 49; Luke xxiv. 39; John vi. 19.]
[Footnote 2: John i. 51.]
Jesus lived with his disciples almost always in the open air.
Sometimes he got into a boat, and instructed his hearers, who were
crowded upon the shore.[1] Sometimes he sat upon the mountains which
bordered the lake, where the air is so pure and the horizon so
luminous. The faithful band led thus a joyous and wandering life,
gathering the inspirations of the master in their first bloom. An
innocent doubt was sometimes raised, a question slightly sceptical;
but Jesus, with a smile or a look, silenced the objection. At each
step--in the passing cloud, the germinating seed, the ripening
corn--they saw the sign of the Kingdom drawing nigh, they believed
themselves on the eve of seeing God, of being masters of the world;
tears were turned into joy; it was the advent upon earth of universal
consolation.
[Footnote 1: Matt. xiii. 1, 2; Mark iii. 9, iv. 1; Luke v. 3.]
"Blessed," said the master, "are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the
kingdom of heaven.
"Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.
"Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.
"Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for
they shall be filled.
"Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.
"Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.
"Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of
God.
"Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake: for
theirs is the kingdom of heaven."[1]
[Footnote 1: Matt. v. 3-10; Luke vi. 20-25.]
His preaching was gentle and pleasing, breathing Nature and the
perfume of the fields. He loved the flowers, and took from them his
most charming lessons. The birds of heaven, the sea, the mountains,
and the games of children, furnished in turn the subject of his
instructions. His style had nothing of the Grecian in it, but
approached much more to that of the Hebrew parabolists, and especially
of sentences from the Jewish doctors, his contemporaries, such as we
read them in the "_Pirké Aboth_." His teachings were not very
extended, and formed a species of sorites in the style of the Koran,
which, joined together, afterward composed those long discourses which
were written by Matthew.[1] No transition united these diverse pieces;
generally, however, the same inspiration penetrated them and made them
one. It was, above all, in parable that the master excelled. Nothing
in Judaism had given him the model of this delightful style.[2] He
created it. It is true that we find in the Buddhist books parables of
exactly the same tone and the same character as the Gospel
parables;[3] but it is difficult to admit that a Buddhist influence
has been exercised in these. The spirit of gentleness and the depth of
feeling which equally animate infant Christianity and Buddhism,
suffice perhaps to explain these analogies.
[Footnote 1: This is what the [Greek: Logia kuriaka] were called.
Papias, in Eusebius, _H.E._, iii. 39.]
[Footnote 2: The apologue, as we find it in _Judges_ ix. 8, and
following, 2 _Sam._ xii. 1, and following, only resembles the Gospel
parable in form. The profound originality of the latter is in the
thought with which it is filled.]
[Footnote 3: See especially the _Lotus of the Good Law_, chap. iii.
and iv.]
A total indifference to exterior life and the vain appanage of the
"comfortable," which our drearier countries make necessary to us, was
the consequence of the sweet and simple life lived in Galilee. Cold
climates, by compelling man to a perpetual contest with external
nature, cause too much value to be attached to researches after
comfort and luxury. On the other hand, the countries which awaken few
desires are the countries of idealism and of poesy. The accessories of
life are there insignificant compared with the pleasure of living. The
embellishment of the house is superfluous, for it is frequented as
little as possible. The strong and regular food of less generous
climates would be considered heavy and disagreeable. And as to the
luxury of garments, what can rival that which God has given to the
earth and the birds of heaven? Labor in climates of this kind appears
useless; what it gives is not equal to what it costs. The animals of
the field are better clothed than the most opulent man, and they do
nothing. This contempt, which, when it is not caused by idleness,
contributes greatly to the elevation of the soul, inspired Jesus with
some charming apologues: "Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon
earth," said he, "where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves
break through and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in
heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do
not break through nor steal: for where your treasure is, there will
your heart be also.[1] No man can serve two masters: for either he
will hate the one and love the other; or else he will hold to one and
despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and Mammon.[2] Therefore I say
unto you, take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye
shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the
life more than meat, and the body than raiment? Behold the fowls of
the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into
barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better
than they? Which of you by taking thought can add one cubit unto his
stature? And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of
the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin; and yet
I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed
like one of these. Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field,
which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not
much more clothe you, O ye of little faith? Therefore take no thought,
saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal
shall we be clothed? For after all these things do the Gentiles seek;
for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these
things. But seek ye first the kingdom of God,[3] and his
righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you. Take
therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought
of the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil
thereof."[4]
[Footnote 1: Compare Talm. of Bab., _Baba Bathra_, 11 _a_.]
[Footnote 2: The god of riches and hidden treasures, a kind of Plutus
in the Phoenician and Syrian mythology.]
[Footnote 3: I here adopt the reading of Lachmann and Tischendorf.]
[Footnote 4: Matt. vi. 19-21, 24-34. Luke xii. 22-31, 33, 34, xvi. 13.
Compare the precepts in Luke x. 7, 8, full of the same simple
sentiment, and Talmud of Babylon, _Sota_, 48 _b_.]
This essentially Galilean sentiment had a decisive influence on the
destiny of the infant sect. The happy flock, relying on the heavenly
Father for the satisfaction of its wants, had for its first principle
the regarding of the cares of life as an evil which choked the germ of
all good in man.[1] Each day they asked of God the bread for the
morrow.[2] Why lay up treasure? The kingdom of God is at hand. "Sell
that ye have and give alms," said the master. "Provide yourselves bags
which wax not old, a treasure in the heavens that faileth not."[3]
What more foolish than to heap up treasures for heirs whom thou wilt
never behold?[4] As an example of human folly, Jesus loved to cite the
case of a man who, after having enlarged his barns and amassed wealth
for long years, died before having enjoyed it![5] The brigandage which
was deeply rooted in Galilee,[6] gave much force to these views. The
poor, who did not suffer from it, would regard themselves as the
favored of God; whilst the rich, having a less sure possession, were
the truly disinherited. In our societies, established upon a very
rigorous idea of property, the position of the poor is horrible; they
have literally no place under the sun. There are no flowers, no grass,
no shade, except for him who possesses the earth. In the East, these
are gifts of God which belong to no one. The proprietor has but a
slender privilege; nature is the patrimony of all.
[Footnote 1: Matt. xiii. 22; Mark iv. 19; Luke viii. 14.]
[Footnote 2: Matt. vi. 11; Luke xi. 3. This is the meaning of the word
[Greek: epiousios].]
[Footnote 3: Luke xii. 33, 34.]
[Footnote 4: Luke xii. 20.]
[Footnote 5: Luke xii. 16, and following.]
[Footnote 6: Jos., _Ant._, XVII. x. 4, and following: _Vita_, 11,
etc.]
The infant Christianity, moreover, in this only followed the footsteps
of the Essenes, or Therapeutæ, and of the Jewish sects founded on the
monastic life. A communistic element entered into all these sects,
which were equally disliked by Pharisees and Sadducees. The Messianic
doctrine, which was entirely political among the orthodox Jews, was
entirely social amongst them. By means of a gentle, regulated,
contemplative existence, leaving its share to the liberty of the
individual, these little churches thought to inaugurate the heavenly
kingdom upon earth. Utopias of a blessed life, founded on the
brotherhood of men and the worship of the true God, occupied elevated
souls, and produced from all sides bold and sincere, but short-lived
attempts to realize these doctrines.
Jesus, whose relations with the Essenes are difficult to determine
(resemblances in history not always implying relations), was on this
point certainly their brother. The community of goods was for some
time the rule in the new society.[1] Covetousness was the cardinal
sin.[2] Now it must be remarked that the sin of covetousness, against
which Christian morality has been so severe, was then the simple
attachment to property. The first condition of becoming a disciple of
Jesus was to sell one's property and to give the price of it to the
poor. Those who recoiled from this extremity were not admitted into
the community.[3] Jesus often repeated that he who has found the
kingdom of God ought to buy it at the price of all his goods, and that
in so doing he makes an advantageous bargain. "The kingdom of heaven
is like unto treasure hid in a field; the which when a man hath found,
he hideth, and for joy thereof goeth and selleth all that he hath and
buyeth that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a
merchantman seeking goodly pearls; who, when he had found one pearl of
great price, went and sold all that he had and bought it."[4] Alas!
the inconveniences of this plan were not long in making themselves
felt. A treasurer was wanted. They chose for that office Judas of
Kerioth. Rightly or wrongly, they accused him of stealing from the
common purse;[5] it is certain that he came to a bad end.
[Footnote 1: _Acts_ iv. 32, 34-37; v. 1, and following.]
[Footnote 2: Matt. xiii. 22; Luke xii. 15, and following.]
[Footnote 3: Matt. xix. 21; Mark x. 21, and following, 29, 30; Luke
xviii. 22, 23, 28.]
[Footnote 4: Matt. xiii. 44-46.]
[Footnote 5: John xii. 6.]
Sometimes the master, more versed in things of heaven than those of
earth, taught a still more singular political economy. In a strange
parable, a steward is praised for having made himself friends among
the poor at the expense of his master, in order that the poor might in
their turn introduce him into the kingdom of heaven. The poor, in
fact, becoming the dispensers of this kingdom, will only receive those
who have given to them. A prudent man, thinking of the future, ought
therefore to seek to gain their favor. "And the Pharisees also," says
the evangelist, "who were covetous, heard all these things: and they
derided him."[1] Did they also hear the formidable parable which
follows? "There was a certain rich man, which was clothed in purple
and fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day: and there was a
certain beggar named Lazarus, which was laid at his gate, full of
sores, and desiring to be fed with the crumbs which fell from the rich
man's table: moreover the dogs came and licked his sores. And it came
to pass, that the beggar died, and was carried by the angels into
Abraham's bosom: the rich man also died, and was buried;[2] and in
hell he lifted up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar
off, and Lazarus in his bosom. And he cried and said, Father Abraham,
have mercy on me, and send Lazarus that he may dip the tip of his
finger in water, and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this flame.
But Abraham said, Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst
thy good things; and likewise Lazarus evil things: but now he is
comforted and thou art tormented."[3] What more just? Afterward this
parable was called that of the "wicked rich man." But it is purely and
simply the parable of the "rich man." He is in hell because he is
rich, because he does not give his wealth to the poor, because he
dines well, while others at his door dine badly. Lastly, in a less
extravagant moment, Jesus does not make it obligatory to sell one's
goods and give them to the poor except as a suggestion toward greater
perfection. But he still makes this terrible declaration: "It is
easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich
man to enter into the kingdom of God."[4]
[Footnote 1: Luke xvi. 1-14.]
[Footnote 2: See the Greek text.]
[Footnote 3: Luke xvi. 19-25. Luke, I am aware, has a very decided
communistic tendency (comp. vi. 20, 21, 25, 26), and I think he has
exaggerated this shade of the teaching of Jesus. But the features of
the [Greek: Logia] of Matthew are sufficiently significant.]
[Footnote 4: Matt. xix. 24; Mark x. 25; Luke xviii. 25. This
proverbial phrase is found in the Talmud (Bab., _Berakoth_, 55 _b_,
_Baba metsia_, 38 _b_) and in the Koran (Sur., vii. 38.) Origen and
the Greek interpreters, ignorant of the Semitic proverb, thought that
it meant a cable ([Greek: kamilos]).]
An admirable idea governed Jesus in all this, as well as the band of
joyous children who accompanied him and made him for eternity the true
creator of the peace of the soul, the great consoler of life. In
disengaging man from what he called "the cares of the world," Jesus
might go to excess and injure the essential conditions of human
society; but he founded that high spiritualism which for centuries
has filled souls with joy in the midst of this vale of tears. He saw
with perfect clearness that man's inattention, his want of philosophy
and morality, come mostly from the distractions which he permits
himself, the cares which besiege him, and which civilization
multiplies beyond measure.[1] The Gospel, in this manner, has been the
most efficient remedy for the weariness of ordinary life, a perpetual
_sursum corda_, a powerful diversion from the miserable cares of
earth, a gentle appeal like that of Jesus in the ear of
Martha--"Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many
things; but one thing is needful." Thanks to Jesus, the dullest
existence, that most absorbed by sad or humiliating duties, has had
its glimpse of heaven. In our busy civilizations the remembrance of
the free life of Galilee has been like perfume from another world,
like the "dew of Hermon,"[2] which has prevented drought and
barrenness from entirely invading the field of God.
[Footnote 1: Matt. xiii. 22.]
[Footnote 2: Psalm cxxxiii. 3.]