ARREST AND TRIAL OF JESUS.
It was nightfall[1] when they left the room.[2] Jesus, according to
his custom, passed through the valley of Kedron; and, accompanied by
his disciples, went to the garden of Gethsemane, at the foot of the
Mount of Olives,[3] and sat down there. Overawing his friends by his
inherent greatness, he watched and prayed. They were sleeping near
him, when all at once an armed troop appeared bearing lighted torches.
It was the guards of the temple, armed with staves, a kind of police
under the control of the priests. They were supported by a detachment
of Roman soldiers with their swords. The order for the arrest emanated
from the high priest and the Sanhedrim.[4] Judas, knowing the habits
of Jesus, had indicated this place as the one where he might most
easily be surprised. Judas, according to the unanimous tradition of
the earliest times, accompanied the detachment himself;[5] and
according to some,[6] he carried his hateful conduct even to betraying
him by a kiss. However this may be, it is certain that there was some
show of resistance on the part of the disciples.[7] One of them
(Peter, according to eye-witnesses[8]) drew his sword, and wounded the
ear of one of the servants of the high priest, named Malchus. Jesus
restrained this opposition, and gave himself up to the soldiers. Weak
and incapable of effectual resistance, especially against authorities
who had so much prestige, the disciples took flight, and became
dispersed; Peter and John alone did not lose sight of their Master.
Another unknown young man followed him, covered with a light garment.
They sought to arrest him, but the young man fled, leaving his tunic
in the hands of the guards.[9]
[Footnote 1: John xiii. 30.]
[Footnote 2: The singing of a religious hymn, related by Matt. xxvi.
30, and Mark xiv. 26, proceeds from the opinion entertained by these
two evangelists that the last repast of Jesus was the Paschal feast.
Before and after the Paschal feast, psalms were sung. Talm. of Bab.,
_Pesachim_, cap. ix. hal. 3, and fol. 118 _a_, etc.]
[Footnote 3: Matt. xxvi. 36; Mark xiv. 32; Luke xxii. 39; John xviii.
1, 2.]
[Footnote 4: Matt. xxvi. 47; Mark xiv. 43; John xviii. 3, 12.]
[Footnote 5: Matt. xxvi. 47; Mark xiv. 43; Luke xxii. 47; John xviii.
3; _Acts_ i. 16.]
[Footnote 6: This is the tradition of the synoptics. In the narrative
of John, Jesus declares himself.]
[Footnote 7: The two traditions are agreed on this point.]
[Footnote 8: John xviii. 10.]
[Footnote 9: Mark xiv. 51, 52.]
The course which the priests had resolved to take against Jesus was
quite in conformity with the established law. The procedure against
the "corrupter" (_mésith_), who sought to injure the purity of
religion, is explained in the Talmud, with details, the naïve
impudence of which provokes a smile. A judicial ambush is there made
an essential part of the examination of criminals. When a man was
accused of being a "corrupter," two witnesses were suborned who were
concealed behind a partition. It was arranged to bring the accused
into a contiguous room, where he could be heard by these two without
his perceiving them. Two candles were lighted near him, in order that
it might be satisfactorily proved that the witnesses "saw him."[1] He
was then made to repeat his blasphemy, and urged to retract it. If he
persisted, the witnesses who had heard him conducted him to the
tribunal, and he was stoned to death. The Talmud adds, that this was
the manner in which they treated Jesus; that he was condemned on the
faith of two witnesses who had been suborned, and that the crime of
"corruption" is, moreover, the only one for which the witnesses are
thus prepared.[2]
[Footnote 1: In criminal matters, eye-witnesses alone were admitted.
Mishnah, _Sanhedrim_, iv. 5.]
[Footnote 2: Talm. of Jerus., _Sanhedrim_, xiv. 16; Talm. of Bab.,
same treatise, 43 _a_, 67 _a_. Cf. _Shabbath_, 104 _b_.]
We learn from the disciples of Jesus themselves that the crime with
which their Master was charged was that of "corruption;"[1] and apart
from some minutiæ, the fruit of the rabbinical imagination, the
narrative of the Gospels corresponds exactly with the procedure
described by the Talmud. The plan of the enemies of Jesus was to
convict him, by the testimony of witnesses and by his own avowals, of
blasphemy, and of outrage against the Mosaic religion, to condemn him
to death according to law, and then to get the condemnation sanctioned
by Pilate. The priestly authority, as we have already seen, was in
reality entirely in the hands of Hanan. The order for the arrest
probably came from him. It was before this powerful personage that
Jesus was first brought.[2] Hanan questioned him as to his doctrine
and his disciples. Jesus, with proper pride, refused to enter into
long explanations. He referred Hanan to his teachings, which had been
public; he declared he had never held any secret doctrine; and desired
the ex-high priest to interrogate those who had listened to him. This
answer was perfectly natural; but the exaggerated respect with which
the old priest was surrounded made it appear audacious; and one of
those present replied to it, it is said, by a blow.
[Footnote 1: Matt. xxvii. 63; John vii. 12, 47.]
[Footnote 2: John xviii. 13, and following. This circumstance, which
we only find in John, is the strongest proof of the historic value of
the fourth Gospel.]
Peter and John had followed their Master to the dwelling of Hanan.
John, who was known in the house, was admitted without difficulty; but
Peter was stopped at the entrance, and John was obliged to beg the
porter to let him pass. The night was cold. Peter stopped in the
antechamber, and approached a brasier, around which the servants were
warming themselves. He was soon recognized as a disciple of the
accused. The unfortunate man, betrayed by his Galilean accent, and
pestered by questions from the servants, one of whom, a kinsman of
Malchus, had seen him at Gethsemane, denied thrice that he had ever
had the least connection with Jesus. He thought that Jesus could not
hear him, and never imagined that this cowardice, which he sought to
hide by his dissimulation, was exceedingly dishonorable. But his
better nature soon revealed to him the fault he had committed. A
fortuitous circumstance, the crowing of the cock, recalled to him a
remark that Jesus had made. Touched to the heart, he went out and wept
bitterly.[1]
[Footnote 1: Matt. xxvi. 69, and following; Mark xiv. 66, and
following; Luke xxii. 54, and following; John xviii. 15, and
following, 25, and following.]
Hanan, although the true author of the judicial murder about to be
accomplished, had not power to pronounce the sentence upon Jesus; he
sent him to his son-in-law, Kaïapha, who bore the official title. This
man, the blind instrument of his father-in-law, would naturally ratify
everything that had been done. The Sanhedrim was assembled at his
house.[1] The inquiry commenced; and several witnesses, prepared
beforehand according to the inquisitorial process described in the
Talmud, appeared before the tribunal. The fatal sentence which Jesus
had really uttered: "I am able to destroy the temple of God and to
build it in three days," was cited by two witnesses. To blaspheme the
temple of God was, according to the Jewish law, to blaspheme God
himself.[2] Jesus remained silent, and refused to explain the
incriminated speech. If we may believe one version, the high priest
then adjured him to say if he were the Messiah; Jesus confessed it,
and proclaimed before the assembly the near approach of his heavenly
reign.[3] The courage of Jesus, who had resolved to die, renders this
narrative superfluous. It is probable that here, as when before Hanan,
he remained silent. This was in general his rule of conduct during his
last moments. The sentence was settled; and they only sought for
pretexts. Jesus felt this, and did not undertake a useless defense. In
the light of orthodox Judaism, he was truly a blasphemer, a destroyer
of the established worship. Now, these crimes were punished by the law
with death.[4] With one voice, the assembly declared him guilty of a
capital crime. The members of the council who secretly leaned to him,
were absent or did not vote.[5] The frivolity which characterizes old
established aristocracies, did not permit the judges to reflect long
upon the consequences of the sentence they had passed. Human life was
at that time very lightly sacrificed; doubtless the members of the
Sanhedrim did not dream that their sons would have to render account
to an angry posterity for the sentence pronounced with such careless
disdain.
[Footnote 1: Matt. xvi. 57; Mark xiv. 53; Luke xxii. 66.]
[Footnote 2: Matt. xxiii. 16, and following.]
[Footnote 3: Matt. xxvi. 64; Mark xiv. 62; Luke xxii. 69. John knows
nothing of this scene.]
[Footnote 4: _Levit._ xxiv. 14, and following; _Deut._ xiii. 1, and
following.]
[Footnote 5: Luke xxiii. 50, 51.]
The Sanhedrim had not the right to execute a sentence of death.[1] But
in the confusion of powers which then reigned in Judea, Jesus was,
from that moment, none the less condemned. He remained the rest of
the night exposed to the ill-treatment of an infamous pack of
servants, who spared him no indignity.[2]
[Footnote 1: John xviii. 31; Jos., _Ant._, XX. ix. 1.]
[Footnote 2: Matt. xxvi. 67, 68; Mark xiv. 65; Luke xxii. 63-65.]
In the morning the chief priests and the elders again assembled.[1]
The point was, to get Pilate to ratify the condemnation pronounced by
the Sanhedrim, which, since the occupation of the Romans, was no
longer sufficient. The procurator was not invested, like the imperial
legate, with the disposal of life and death. But Jesus was not a Roman
citizen; it only required the authorization of the governor in order
that the sentence pronounced against him should take its course. As
always happens, when a political people subjects a nation in which the
civil and the religious laws are confounded, the Romans had been
brought to give to the Jewish law a sort of official support. The
Roman law did not apply to Jews. The latter remained under the
canonical law which we find recorded in the Talmud, just as the Arabs
in Algeria are still governed by the code of Islamism. Although
neutral in religion, the Romans thus very often sanctioned penalties
inflicted for religious faults. The situation was nearly that of the
sacred cities of India under the English dominion, or rather that
which would be the state of Damascus if Syria were conquered by a
European nation. Josephus asserts, though this may be doubted, that if
a Roman trespassed beyond the pillars which bore inscriptions
forbidding pagans to advance, the Romans themselves would have
delivered him to the Jews to be put to death.[2]
[Footnote 1: Matt. xxvii. 1; Mark xv. 1; Luke xxii. 66, xxiii. 1; John
xviii 28.]
[Footnote 2: Jos., _Ant._, XV. xi. 5; _B.J._, VI. ii. 4.]
The agents of the priests therefore bound Jesus and led him to the
judgment-hall, which was the former palace of Herod,[1] adjoining the
Tower of Antonia.[2] It was the morning of the day on which the
Paschal lamb was to be eaten (Friday the 14th of Nisan, our 3d of
April). The Jews would have been defiled by entering the
judgment-hall, and would not have been able to share in the sacred
feast. They therefore remained without.[3] Pilate being informed of
their presence, ascended the _bima_[4] or tribunal, situated in the
open air,[5] at the place named _Gabbatha_, or in Greek,
_Lithostrotos_, on account of the pavement which covered the ground.
[Footnote 1: Philo, _Legatio ad Caium_, § 38. Jos., _B.J._, II. xiv.
8.]
[Footnote 2: The exact place now occupied by the seraglio of the Pacha
of Jerusalem.]
[Footnote 3: John xviii. 28.]
[Footnote 4: The Greek word [Greek: Bêma] had passed into the
Syro-Chaldaic.]
[Footnote 5: Jos., _B.J._, II. ix. 3, xiv. 8; Matt. xxvii. 27; John
xviii. 33.]
He had scarcely been informed of the accusation, before he displayed
his annoyance at being mixed up with this affair.[1] He then shut
himself up in the judgment-hall with Jesus. There a conversation took
place, the precise details of which are lost, no witness having been
able to repeat it to the disciples, but the tenor of which appears to
have been well divined by John. His narrative, in fact, perfectly
accords with what history teaches us of the mutual position of the two
interlocutors.
[Footnote 1: John xviii. 29.]
The procurator, Pontius, surnamed Pilate, doubtless on account of the
_pilum_ or javelin of honor with which he or one of his ancestors was
decorated,[1] had hitherto had no relation with the new sect.
Indifferent to the internal quarrels of the Jews, he only saw in all
these movements of sectaries, the results of intemperate imaginations
and disordered brains. In general, he did not like the Jews, but the
Jews detested him still more. They thought him hard, scornful, and
passionate, and accused him of improbable crimes.[2]
[Footnote 1: Virg., _Æn._, XII. 121; Martial, _Epigr._, I. xxxii., X.
xlviii.; Plutarch, _Life of Romulus_, 29. Compare the _hasta pura_, a
military decoration. Orelli and Henzen, _Inscr. Lat._, Nos. 3574,
6852, etc. _Pilatus_ is, on this hypothesis, a word of the same form
as _Torquatus_.]
[Footnote 2: Philo, _Leg. ad Caium_, § 38.]
Jerusalem, the centre of a great national fermentation, was a very
seditious city, and an insupportable abode for a foreigner. The
enthusiasts pretended that it was a fixed design of the new procurator
to abolish the Jewish law.[1] Their narrow fanaticism, and their
religious hatreds, disgusted that broad sentiment of justice and civil
government which the humblest Roman carried everywhere with him. All
the acts of Pilate which are known to us, show him to have been a good
administrator.[2] In the earlier period of the exercise of his office,
he had difficulties with those subject to him which he had solved in a
very brutal manner; but it seems that essentially he was right. The
Jews must have appeared to him a people behind the age; he doubtless
judged them as a liberal prefect formerly judged the Bas-Bretons, who
rebelled for such trifling matters as a new road, or the establishment
of a school. In his best projects for the good of the country, notably
in those relating to public works, he had encountered an impassable
obstacle in the Law. The Law restricted life to such a degree that it
opposed all change, and all amelioration. The Roman structures, even
the most useful ones, were objects of great antipathy on the part of
zealous Jews.[3] Two votive escutcheons with inscriptions, which he
had set up at his residence near the sacred precincts, provoked a
still more violent storm.[4] Pilate at first cared little for these
susceptibilities; and he was soon involved in sanguinary suppressions
of revolt,[5] which afterward ended in his removal.[6] The experience
of so many conflicts had rendered him very prudent in his relations
with this intractable people, which avenged itself upon its governors
by compelling them to use toward it hateful severities. The procurator
saw himself, with extreme displeasure, led to play a cruel part in
this new affair, for the sake of a law he hated.[7] He knew that
religious fanaticism, when it has obtained the sanction of civil
governments to some act of violence, is afterward the first to throw
the responsibility upon the government, and almost accuses them of
being the author of it. Supreme injustice; for the true culprit is, in
such cases, the instigator!
[Footnote 1: Jos., _Ant._, XVIII. iii. 1, init.]
[Footnote 2: Jos., _Ant._, XVIII. ii.-iv.]
[Footnote 3: Talm. of Bab., _Shabbath_, 33 _b_.]
[Footnote 4: Philo, _Leg. ad Caium_, § 38.]
[Footnote 5: Jos., _Ant._, XVIII. iii. 1 and 2; Luke xiii. 1.]
[Footnote 6: Jos., _Ant._, XVIII. iv. 1, 2.]
[Footnote 7: John xviii. 35.]
Pilate, then, would have liked to save Jesus. Perhaps the dignified
and calm attitude of the accused made an impression upon him.
According to a tradition,[1] Jesus found a supporter in the wife of
the procurator himself. She may have seen the gentle Galilean from
some window of the palace, overlooking the courts of the temple.
Perhaps she had seen him again in her dreams; and the idea that the
blood of this beautiful young man was about to be spilt, weighed upon
her mind. Certain it is that Jesus found Pilate prepossessed in his
favor. The governor questioned him with kindness, and with the desire
to find an excuse for sending him away pardoned.
[Footnote 1: Matt. xxvii. 19.]
The title of "King of the Jews," which Jesus had never taken upon
himself, but which his enemies represented as the sum and substance
of his acts and pretensions, was naturally that by which it was sought
to excite the suspicions of the Roman authority. They accused him on
this ground of sedition, and of treason against the government.
Nothing could be more unjust; for Jesus had always recognized the
Roman government as the established power. But conservative religious
bodies do not generally shrink from calumny. Notwithstanding his own
explanation, they drew certain conclusions from his teaching; they
transformed him into a disciple of Judas the Gaulonite; they pretended
that he forbade the payment of tribute to Cæsar.[1] Pilate asked him
if he was really the king of the Jews.[2] Jesus concealed nothing of
what he thought. But the great ambiguity of speech which had been the
source of his strength, and which, after his death, was to establish
his kingship, injured him on this occasion. An idealist that is to
say, not distinguishing the spirit from the substance, Jesus, whose
words, to use the image of the Apocalypse, were as a two-edged sword,
never completely satisfied the powers of earth. If we may believe
John, he avowed his royalty, but uttered at the same time this
profound sentence: "My kingdom is not of this world." He explained the
nature of his kingdom, declaring that it consisted entirely in the
possession and proclamation of truth. Pilate understood nothing of
this grand idealism.[3] Jesus doubtless impressed him as being an
inoffensive dreamer. The total absence of religious and philosophical
proselytism among the Romans of this epoch made them regard devotion
to truth as a chimera. Such discussions annoyed them, and appeared to
them devoid of meaning. Not perceiving the element of danger to the
empire that lay hidden in these new speculations, they had no reason
to employ violence against them. All their displeasure fell upon those
who asked them to inflict punishment for what appeared to them to be
vain subtleties. Twenty years after, Gallio still adopted the same
course toward the Jews.[4] Until the fall of Jerusalem, the rule which
the Romans adopted in administration, was to remain completely
indifferent to these sectarian quarrels.[5]
[Footnote 1: Luke xxiii. 2, 5.]
[Footnote 2: Matt. xxvii. 11; Mark xv. 2; Luke xxiii. 3; John xviii.
33.]
[Footnote 3: John xviii. 38.]
[Footnote 4: _Acts_ xviii. 14, 15.]
[Footnote 5: Tacitus (_Ann._, xv. 44) describes the death of Jesus as
a political execution by Pontius Pilate. But at the epoch in which
Tacitus wrote, the Roman policy toward the Christians was changed;
they were held guilty of secretly conspiring against the state. It was
natural that the Latin historian should believe that Pilate, in
putting Jesus to death, had been actuated by a desire for the public
safety. Josephus is much more exact (_Ant._, XVIII. iii. 3.)]
An expedient suggested itself to the mind of the governor by which he
could reconcile his own feelings with the demands of the fanatical
people, whose pressure he had already so often felt. It was the custom
to deliver a prisoner to the people at the time of the Passover.
Pilate, knowing that Jesus had only been arrested in consequence of
the jealousy of the priests,[1] tried to obtain for him the benefit of
this custom. He appeared again upon the _bima_, and proposed to the
multitude to release the "King of the Jews." The proposition made in
these terms, though ironical, was characterized by a degree of
liberality. The priests saw the danger of it. They acted promptly,[2]
and in order to combat the proposition of Pilate, they suggested to
the crowd the name of a prisoner who enjoyed great popularity in
Jerusalem. By a singular coincidence, he also was called Jesus,[3]
and bore the surname of Bar-Abba, or Bar-Rabban.[4] He was a
well-known personage,[5] and had been arrested for taking part in an
uproar in which murder had been committed.[6] A general clamor was
raised, "Not this man; but Jesus Bar-Rabban;" and Pilate was obliged
to release Jesus Bar-Rabban.
[Footnote 1: Mark xv. 10.]
[Footnote 2: Matt. xxvii. 20; Mark xv. 11.]
[Footnote 3: The name of Jesus has disappeared in the greater part of
the manuscripts. This reading has, nevertheless, very great
authorities in its favor.]
[Footnote 4: Matt. xxvii. 16.]
[Footnote 5: Cf. St. Jerome. In Matt. xxvii. 16.]
[Footnote 6: Mark xv. 7; Luke xxiii. 19. John (xviii. 40), who makes
him a robber, appears here too much further from the truth than Mark.]
His embarrassment increased. He feared that too much indulgence shown
to a prisoner, to whom was given the title of "King of the Jews,"
might compromise him. Fanaticism, moreover, compels all powers to make
terms with it. Pilate thought himself obliged to make some concession;
but still hesitating to shed blood, in order to satisfy men whom he
hated, wished to turn the thing into a jest. Affecting to laugh at the
pompous title they had given to Jesus, he caused him to be
scourged.[1] Scourging was the general preliminary of crucifixion.[2]
Perhaps Pilate wished it to be believed that this sentence had already
been pronounced, hoping that the preliminary would suffice. Then took
place (according to all the narratives) a revolting scene. The
soldiers put a scarlet robe on his back, a crown formed of branches of
thorns upon his head, and a reed in his hand. Thus attired, he was led
to the tribunal in front of the people. The soldiers defiled before
him, striking him in turn, and knelt to him, saying, "Hail! King of
the Jews."[3] Others, it is said, spit upon him, and struck his head
with the reed. It is difficult to understand how Roman dignity could
stoop to acts so shameful. It is true that Pilate, in the capacity of
procurator, had under his command scarcely any but auxiliary
troops.[4] Roman citizens, as the legionaries were, would not have
degraded themselves by such conduct.
[Footnote 1: Matt. xxvii. 26; Mark xv. 15; John xix. 1.]
[Footnote 2: Jos., _B.J._, II. xiv. 9, V. xi. 1, VII. vi. 4;
Titus-Livy, XXXIII. 36; Quintus Curtius, VII. xi. 28.]
[Footnote 3: Matt. xxvii. 27, and following; Mark xv. 16, and
following; Luke xxiii. 11; John xix. 2, and following.]
[Footnote 4: See _Inscript. Rom. of Algeria_, No. 5, fragm. B.]
Did Pilate think by this display that he freed himself from
responsibility? Did he hope to turn aside the blow which threatened
Jesus by conceding something to the hatred of the Jews,[1] and by
substituting for the tragic denouement a grotesque termination, to
make it appear that the affair merited no other issue? If such were
his idea, it was unsuccessful. The tumult increased, and became an
open riot. The cry "Crucify him! crucify him!" resounded from all
sides. The priests becoming increasingly urgent, declared the law in
peril if the corrupter were not punished with death.[2] Pilate saw
clearly that to save Jesus he would have to put down a terrible
disturbance. He still tried, however, to gain time. He returned to the
judgment-hall, and ascertained from what country Jesus came, with the
hope of finding a pretext for declaring his inability to
adjudicate.[3] According to one tradition, he even sent Jesus to
Antipas, who, it is said, was then at Jerusalem.[4] Jesus took no part
in these well-meant efforts; he maintained, as he had done before
Kaïapha, a grave and dignified silence, which astonished Pilate. The
cries from without became more and more menacing. The people had
already begun to denounce the lack of zeal in the functionary who
protected an enemy of Cæsar. The greatest adversaries of the Roman
rule were suddenly transformed into loyal subjects of Tiberius, that
they might have the right of accusing the too tolerant procurator of
treason. "We have no king," said they, "but Cæsar. If thou let this
man go, thou art not Cæsar's friend: whosoever maketh himself a king
speaketh against Cæsar."[5] The feeble Pilate yielded; he foresaw the
report that his enemies would send to Rome, in which they would accuse
him of having protected a rival of Tiberius. Once before, in the
matter of the votive escutcheons,[6] the Jews had written to the
emperor, and had received satisfaction. He feared for his office. By a
compliance, which was to deliver his name to the scorn of history, he
yielded, throwing, it is said, upon the Jews all the responsibility of
what was about to happen. The latter, according to the Christians,
fully accepted it, by exclaiming, "His blood be on us and on our
children!"[7]
[Footnote 1: Luke xxiii. 16, 22.]
[Footnote 2: John xix. 7.]
[Footnote 3: John xix. 9. Cf. Luke xxiii. 6, and following.]
[Footnote 4: It is probable that this is a first attempt at a "Harmony
of the Gospels." Luke must have had before him a narrative in which
the death of Jesus was erroneously attributed to Herod. In order not
to sacrifice this version entirely he must have combined the two
traditions. What makes this more likely is, that he probably had a
vague knowledge that Jesus (as John teaches us) appeared before three
authorities. In many other cases, Luke seems to have a remote idea of
the facts which are peculiar to the narration of John. Moreover, the
third Gospel contains in its history of the Crucifixion a series of
additions which the author appears to have drawn from a more recent
document, and which had evidently been arranged with a special view to
edification.]
[Footnote 5: John xix. 12, 15. Cf. Luke xxiii. 2. In order to
appreciate the exactitude of the description of this scene in the
evangelists, see Philo, _Leg. ad Caium_, § 38.]
[Footnote 6: See _ante_, p. 351.]
[Footnote 7: Matt. xxvii. 24, 25.]
Were these words really uttered? We may doubt it. But they are the
expression of a profound historical truth. Considering the attitude
which the Romans had taken in Judea, Pilate could scarcely have acted
otherwise. How many sentences of death dictated by religious
intolerance have been extorted from the civil power! The king of
Spain, who, in order to please a fanatical clergy, delivered hundreds
of his subjects to the stake, was more blameable than Pilate, for he
represented a more absolute power than that of the Romans at
Jerusalem. When the civil power becomes persecuting or meddlesome at
the solicitation of the priesthood, it proves its weakness. But let
the government that is without sin in this respect throw the first
stone at Pilate. The "secular arm," behind which clerical cruelty
shelters itself, is not the culprit. No one has a right to say that he
has a horror of blood when he causes it to be shed by his servants.
It was, then, neither Tiberius nor Pilate who condemned Jesus. It was
the old Jewish party; it was the Mosaic Law. According to our modern
ideas, there is no transmission of moral demerit from father to son;
no one is accountable to human or divine justice except for that which
he himself has done. Consequently, every Jew who suffers to-day for
the murder of Jesus has a right to complain, for he might have acted
as did Simon the Cyrenean; at any rate, he might not have been with
those who cried "Crucify him!" But nations, like individuals, have
their responsibilities, and if ever crime was the crime of a nation,
it was the death of Jesus. This death was "legal" in the sense that it
was primarily caused by a law which was the very soul of the nation.
The Mosaic law, in its modern, but still in its accepted form,
pronounced the penalty of death against all attempts to change the
established worship. Now, there is no doubt that Jesus attacked this
worship, and aspired to destroy it. The Jews expressed this to Pilate
with a truthful simplicity: "We have a law, and by our law he ought to
die; because he has made himself the Son of God."[1] The law was
detestable, but it was the law of ancient ferocity; and the hero who
offered himself in order to abrogate it, had first of all to endure
its penalty.
[Footnote 1: John xix. 7.]
Alas! it has required more than eighteen hundred years for the blood
that he shed to bear its fruits. Tortures and death have been
inflicted for ages in the name of Jesus, on thinkers as noble as
himself. Even at the present time, in countries which call themselves
Christian, penalties are pronounced for religious offences. Jesus is
not responsible for these errors. He could not foresee that people,
with mistaken imaginations, would one day imagine him as a frightful
Moloch, greedy of burnt flesh. Christianity has been intolerant, but
intolerance is not essentially a Christian fact. It is a Jewish fact
in the sense that it was Judaism which first introduced the theory of
the absolute in religion, and laid down the principle that every
innovator, even if he brings miracles to support his doctrine, ought
to be stoned without trial.[1] The pagan world has also had its
religious violences. But if it had had this law, how would it have
become Christian? The Pentateuch has thus been in the world the first
code of religious terrorism. Judaism has given the example of an
immutable dogma armed with the sword. If, instead of pursuing the Jews
with a blind hatred, Christianity had abolished the régime which
killed its founder, how much more consistent would it have been!--how
much better would it have deserved of the human race!
[Footnote 1: _Deut._ xiii. 1, and following.]