"WHAT think ye of Christ, whose son is he?" Humane child of human
parents, or divine Son of the Almighty God? When we consider his purity,
his faith in the Father, his forgiving patience, his devoted work
among the offscourings of society, his brotherly love to sinners
and outcasts--when our minds dwell on these alone,--we all feel the
marvellous fascination which has drawn millions to the feet of this
"son of man," and the needle of our faith begins to tremble towards the
Christian pole. If we would keep unsullied the purity of our faith
in God alone, we are obliged to turn our eyes some times--however
unwillingly--towards the other side of the picture and to mark the human
weaknesses which remind us that he is but one of our race. His harshness
to his mother, his bitterness towards some of his opponents, the marked
failure of one or two of his rare prophecies, the palpable limitation of
his knowledge--little enough, indeed, when all are told,--are more
than enough to show us that, however great as man, he is not the
All-righteous, the All-seeing, the All-knowing, God.
No one, however, whom Christian exaggeration has not goaded into unfair
detraction, or who is not blinded by theological hostility, can fail
to revere portions of the character sketched out in the three synoptic
gospels. I shall not dwell here on the Christ of the fourth Evangelist;
we can scarcely trace in that figure the lineaments of the Jesus of
Nazareth whom we have learnt to love.
I propose, in this essay, to examine the claims of Jesus to be more
than the man he appeared to be during his lifetime: claims--be it
noted--which are put forward on his behalf by others rather than by
himself. His own assertions of his divinity are to be found only in the
unreliable fourth gospel, and in it they are destroyed by the sentence
there put into his mouth with strange inconsistency: "If I bear witness
of myself, my witness is not true."
It is evident that by his contemporaries Jesus was not regarded as God
incarnate. The people in general appear to have looked upon him as a
great prophet, and to have often debated among themselves whether he
were their expected Messiah or not. The band of men who accepted him
as their teacher were as far from worshipping him as God as were their
fellow-countrymen: their prompt desertion of him when attacked by his
enemies, their complete hopelessness when they saw him overcome and put
to death, are sufficient proofs that though they regarded him--to quote
their own words--as a "prophet mighty in word and deed," they never
guessed that the teacher they followed, and the friend they lived with
in the intimacy of social life was Almighty God Himself. As has been
well pointed out, if they believed their Master to be God, surely when
they were attacked they would have fled to him for protection, instead
of endeavouring to save themselves by deserting him: we may add that
this would have been their natural instinct, since they could never
have imagined beforehand that the Creator Himself could really be taken
captive by His creatures and suffer death at their hands. The third
class of his contemporaries, the learned Pharisees and Scribes, were as
far from regarding him as divine as were the people or his disciples.
They seem to have viewed the new teacher somewhat contemptuously at
first, as one who unwisely persisted in expounding the highest doctrines
to the many, instead of--a second Hillel--adding to the stores of
their own learned circle. As his influence spread and appeared to be
undermining their own,--still more, when he placed himself in direct
opposition, warning the people against them,--they were roused to a
course of active hostility, and at length determined to save themselves
by destroying him. But all through their passive contempt and direct
antagonism, there is never a trace of their deeming him to be anything
more than a religious enthusiast who finally became dangerous: we never
for a moment see them assuming the manifestly absurd position of men
knowingly measuring their strength against God, and endeavouring to
silence and destroy their Maker. So much for the opinions of those who
had the best opportunities of observing his ordinary life. A "good man,"
a "deceiver," a "mighty prophet," such are the recorded opinions of his
contemporaries: not one is found to step forward and proclaim him to be
Jehovah, the God of Israel.
One of the most trusted strongholds of Christians, in defending their
Lord's Divinity, is the evidence of prophecy. They gather from the
sacred books of the Jewish nation the predictions of the longed-for
Messiah, and claim them as prophecies fulfilled in Jesus of Nazareth.
But there is one stubborn fact which destroys the force of this
argument: the Jews, to whom these writings belong, and who from
tradition and national peculiarities may reasonably be supposed to be
the best exponents of their own prophets, emphatically deny that these
prophecies are fulfilled in Jesus at all. Indeed, one main reason for
their rejection of Jesus is precisely this, that he does not resemble in
any way the predicted Messiah. There is no doubt that the Jewish nation
were eagerly looking for their Deliverer when Jesus was born: these very
longings produced several pseudo-Messiahs, who each gained in turn
a considerable following, because each bore some resemblance to the
expected Prince. Much of the popular rage which swept Jesus to his
death was the re-action of disappointment after the hopes raised by the
position of authority he assumed. The sudden burst of anger against one
so benevolent and inoffensive can only be explained by the intense hopes
excited by his regal entry into Jerusalem, and the utter destruction of
those hopes by his failing to ascend the throne of David. Proclaimed
as David's son, he came riding on an ass as king of Zion, and allowed
himself to be welcomed as the king of Israel: there his short fulfilling
of the prophecies ended, and the people, furious at his failing them,
rose and clamoured for his death. Because he did _not_ fulfil the
ancient Jewish oracles, he died: he was too noble for the _role_ laid
down in them for the Messiah, his ideal was far other than that of a
conqueror, with "garments rolled in blood." But even if, against all
evidence, Jesus was one with the Messiah of the prophets, this would
destroy, instead of implying, his Divine claims. For the Jews were pure
monotheists; their Messiah was a prince of David's line, the favoured
servant, the anointed Jehovah, the king who should rule in His name: a
Jew would shrink with horror from the blasphemy of seating Messiah on
Jehovah's throne remembering how their prophets had taught them that
their God "would not give His honour to another." So that, as to
prophecy, the case stands thus: If Jesus be the Messiah prophesied of
in the old Jewish books, then he is not God: if he be not the Messiah,
Jewish prophecy is silent as regards him altogether, and an appeal to
prophecy is absolutely useless.
After the evidence of prophecy Christians generally rely on that
furnished by miracles. It is remarkable that Jesus himself laid but
little stress on his miracles; in fact, he refused to appeal to them
as credentials of his authority, and either could not or would not work
them when met with determined unbelief. We must notice also that the
people, while "glorifying God, who had given such power unto _men_,"
were not inclined to admit his miracles as proofs of his right to claim
absolute obedience: his miracles did not even invest him with such
sacredness as to protect him from arrest and death. Herod, on his trial,
was simply anxious to see him work a miracle, as a matter of curiosity.
This stolid indifference to marvels as attestations of authority is
natural enough, when we remember that Jewish history was crowded with
miracles, wrought for and against the favoured people, and also that
they had been specially warned against being misled by signs and
wonders. Without entering into the question whether miracles are
possible, let us, for argument's sake, take them for granted, and see
what they are worth as proofs of Divinity. If Jesus fed a multitude with
a few loaves, so did Elisha: if he raised the dead, so did Elijah and
Elisha; if he healed lepers, so did Moses and Elisha; if he opened
the eyes of the blind, Elisha smote a whole army with blindness
and afterwards restored their sight: if he cast out devils, his
contemporaries, by his own testimony, did the same. If miracles prove
Deity, what miracle of Jesus can stand comparison with the divided Red
Sea of Moses, the stoppage of the earth's motion by Joshua, the check of
the rushing waters of the Jordan by Elijah's cloak? If we are told that
these men worked by _conferred_ power and Jesus by _inherent_, we can
only answer that this is a gratuitous assumption, and begs the whole
question. The Bible records the miracles in equivalent terms: no
difference is drawn between the manner of working of Elisha or Jesus; of
each it is sometimes said they prayed; of each it is sometimes said
they spake. Miracles indeed must not be relied on as proofs of divinity,
unless believers in them are prepared to pay divine honours not to Jesus
only, but also to a crowd of others, and to build a Christian Pantheon
to the new found gods.
So far we have only seen the insufficiency of the usual Christian
arguments to establish a doctrine so stupendous and so _prima facie_
improbable as the incarnation of the Divine Being: this kind of negative
testimony, this insufficient evidence, is not however the principle
reason which compels Theists to protest against the central dogma of
Christianity. The stronger proofs of the simple manhood of Jesus remain,
and we now proceed to positive evidence of his not being God. I
propose to draw attention to the traces of human infirmity in his noble
character, to his absolute mistakes in prophecy, and to his evidently
limited knowledge. In accepting as substantially true the account
of Jesus given by the evangelists, we are taking his character as
it appeared to his devoted followers. We have not to do with slight
blemishes, inserted by envious detractors of his greatness; the history
of Jesus was written when his disciples worshipped him as God, and his
manhood, in their eyes, reached ideal perfection. We are not forced to
believe that, in the gospels, the life of Jesus is given at its highest,
and that he was, at least, not more spotless than he appears in these
records of his friends. But here again, in order not to do a gross
injustice, we must put aside the fourth gospel; to study his character
"according to S. John" would need a separate essay, so different is
it from that drawn by the three; and by all rules of history we should
judge him by the earlier records, more especially as they corroborate
each other in the main.
The first thing which jars upon an attentive reader of the gospels is
the want of affection and respect shown by Jesus to his mother. When
only a child of twelve he lets his parents leave Jerusalem to return
home, while he repairs alone to the temple. The fascination of the
ancient city and the gorgeous temple services was doubtless almost
overpowering to a thoughtful Jewish boy, more especially on his first
visit: but the careless forgetfulness of his parents' anxiety must be
considered as a grave childish fault, the more so as its character is
darkened by the indifference shown by his answer to his mother's grieved
reproof. That no high, though mistaken, sense of duty kept him in
Jerusalem is evident from his return home with his parents; for had he
felt that "his Father's business" detained him in Jerusalem at all, it
is evident that this sense of duty would not have been satisfied by a
three days' delay. But the Christian advocate would bar criticism by an
appeal to the Deity of Jesus: he asks us therefore to believe that
Jesus, being God, saw with indifference his parents' anguish at
discovering his absence; knew all about that three days' agonised search
(for they, ignorant of his divinity, felt the terrible anxiety as to
his safety, natural to country people losing a child in a crowded city);
did not, in spite of the tremendous powers at his command, take any
steps to re-assure them; and finally, met them again with no words of
sympathy, only with a mysterious allusion, incomprehensible to them, to
some higher claim than theirs, which, however, he promptly set aside to
obey them. If God was incarnate in a boy, we may trust that example as a
model of childhood: yet, are Christians prepared to set this early
piety and desire for religious instruction before their young children
as an example they are to follow? Are boys and girls of twelve to be
free to absent themselves for days from their parents' guardianship
under the plea that a higher business claims their attention? This
episode of the childhood of Jesus should be relegated to those "gospels
of the infancy" full of most unchildlike acts, which the wise discretion
of Christendom has stamped with disapproval. The same want of filial
reverence appears later in his life: on one occasion he was teaching,
and his mother sent in, desiring to speak to him: the sole reply
recorded to the message is the harsh remark: "Who is my mother?" The
most practical proof that Christian morality has, on this head,
outstripped the example of Jesus, is the prompt disapproval which
similar conduct would meet with in the present day. By the strange
warping of morality often caused by controversial exigencies, this want
of filial reverence has been triumphantly pointed out by Christian
divines; the indifference shown by Jesus to family ties is accepted as a
proof that he was more than man! Thus, conduct which they implicitly
acknowledge to be unseemly in a son to his mother, they claim as natural
and right in the Son of God, to His! In the present day, if a person is
driven by conscience to a course painful to those who have claims on his
respect, his recognised duty, as well as his natural instinct, is to try
and make up by added affection and more courteous deference for the pain
he is forced to inflict: above all, he would not wantonly add to that
pain by public and uncalled-for disrespect.
The attitude of Jesus towards his opponents in high places was marked
with unwarrantable bitterness. Here also the lofty and gentle spirit
of his whole life has moulded Christian opinion in favour of a course
different on this head to his own, so that abuse of an opponent is now
commonly called _un_-Christian. Wearied with three years' calumny and
contempt, sore at the little apparent success which rewarded his labour,
full of a sad foreboding that his enemies would shortly crush him, Jesus
was goaded into passionate denunciations: "Woe unto you, Scribes and
Pharisees, hypocrites... ye fools and blind... ye make a proselyte
twofold more the child of hell than yourselves... ye serpents, ye
generation of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation of hell!" Surely
this is not the spirit which breathed in, "If ye love them which love
you, what thanks have ye?... Love your enemies, bless them that curse
you, pray for them that persecute you." Had he not even specially
forbidden the very expression, "Thou fool!" Was not this rendering evil
for evil, railing for railing?
It is painful to point out these blemishes: reverence for the great
leaders of humanity is a duty dear to all human hearts; but when homage
turns into idolatry, then men must rise up to point out faults which
otherwise they would pass over in respectful silence, mindful only of
the work so nobly done.
I turn then, with a sense of glad relief, to the evidence of the limited
knowledge of Jesus, for here no blame attaches to him, although _one_
proved mistake is fatal to belief in his Godhead. First as to prophecy:
"The Son of man shall come in the glory of his Father with his angels:
and then shall he reward every man according to his works. Verily I say
unto you, There be some standing here which shall not taste of death
till they see the Son of man coming in his kingdom." Later, he amplifies
the same idea: he speaks of a coming tribulation, succeeded by his own
return, and then adds the emphatic declaration: "Verily I say unto
you, This generation shall not pass till all these things be done." The
non-fulfilment of these prophecies is simply a question of fact: let
men explain away the words now as they may, yet, if the record is true,
Jesus did believe in his own speedy return, and impressed the same belief
on his followers. It is plain, indeed, that he succeeded in impressing
it on them, from the references to his return scattered through the
epistles. The latest writings show an anxiety to remove the doubts which
were disturbing the converts consequent on the non-appearance of Jesus,
and the fourth gospel omits any reference to his coming. It is worth
remarking, in the latter, the spiritual sense which is hinted at--either
purposely or unintentionally--in the words, "The hour... _now_ is when
the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God, and they that hear
shall live." These words may be the popular feeling on the advent of the
resurrection, forced on the Christians by the failure of their Lord's
prophecies in any literal sense. He could not be mistaken, _ergo_ they
must spiritualise his words. The limited knowledge of Jesus is further
evident from his confusing Zacharias the son of Jehoiada with Zacharias
the son of Barachias: the former, a priest, was slain in the temple
court, as Jesus states; but the son of Barachias was Zacharias, or
Zachariah, the prophet.* He himself owned a limitation of his knowledge,
when he confessed his ignorance of the day of his own return, and said
it was known to the "Father only." Of the same class of sayings is
his answer to the mother of James and John, that the high seats of
the coming kingdom "are not mine to give." That Jesus believed in the
fearful doctrine of eternal punishment is evident, in spite of the
ingenious attempts to prove that the doctrine is not scriptural:
that he, in common with his countrymen, ascribed many diseases to the
immediate power of Satan, which we should now probably refer to natural
causes, as epilepsy, mania, and the like, is also self-evident. But on
such points as these it is useless to dwell, for the Christian believes
them on the authority of Jesus, and the subjects, from their nature,
cannot be brought to the test of ascertained facts. Of the same
character are some of his sayings: his discouraging "Strive to enter
in at the strait gate, _for_ many," etc.; his using in defence of
partiality Isaiah's awful prophecy, "that seeing they may see and not
perceive," etc.; his using Scripture at one time as binding, while he,
at another, depreciates it; his fondness for silencing an opponent by an
ingenious retort: all these things are blameworthy to those who regard
him as man, while they are shielded from criticism by his divinity to
those who worship him as God. There morality is a question of opinion,
and it is wasted time to dwell on them when arguing with Christians,
whose moral sense is for the time held in check by their mental
prostration at his feet. But the truth of the quoted prophecies, and
the historical fact of the parentage of Zachariah, can be tested, and on
these Jesus made palpable mistakes. The obvious corollary is, that being
mistaken--as he was--his knowledge was limited, and was therefore human,
not divine.
* See Appendix, page 12.
In turning to the teaching of Jesus (I still confine myself to the three
gospels), we find no support of the Christian theory. If we take his
didactic teaching, we can discover no trace of his offering himself as
an object of either faith or worship. His life's work, as teacher, was
to speak of the Father. In the sermon on the Mount he is always striking
the keynote, "your heavenly Father;" in teaching his disciples to
pray, it is to "Our Father," and the Christian idea of ending a prayer
"through Jesus Christ" is quite foreign to the simple filial spirit
of their master. Indeed, when we think of the position Jesus holds in
Christian theology, it seems strange to notice the utter absence of any
suggestion of duty to himself throughout this whole code of so-called
Christian morality. In strict accordance with his more formal teaching
is his treatment of inquirers: when a young man comes kneeling, and,
addressing him as "Good Master," asks what he shall do to inherit
eternal life, the loyal heart of Jesus first rejects the homage, before
he proceeds to answer the all-important question: "Why callest thou _me_
good: there is none good but one, that is, God." He then directs the
youth on the way to eternal life, and _he sends that young man home
without one word of the doctrine on which, according to Christians,
his salvation rested_. If the "Gospel" came to that man later, he would
reject it on the authority of Jesus, who had told him a different "way
of salvation;" and if Christianity is true, the perdition of that young
man's soul is owing to the defective teaching of Jesus himself. Another
time, he tells a Scribe that the first commandment is that God is
one, and that all a man's love is due to Him; then adding the duty of
neighbourly love, he says: "There is _none other_ commandment greater
than these:" so that "belief in Jesus," if incumbent at all, must come
after love to God and man, and is not necessary, by his own testimony,
to "entering into life." On Jesus himself then rests the primary
responsibility of affirming that belief in him is a matter of secondary
importance, at most, letting alone the fact that he never inculcated
belief in his Deity as an article of faith at all. In the same spirit of
frank loyalty to God are his words on the unpardonable sin: in answer
to a gross personal affront, he tells his insulters that they shall be
forgiven for speaking against him, a simple son of man, but warns them
of the danger of confounding the work of God's. Spirit with that of
Satan, "because they said" that works; done by God, using Jesus as His
instrument, were done by Beelzebub.
There remains yet one argument of tremendous force, which can only
be appreciated by personal meditation. We find Jesus praying to
God, relying on God, in his greatest need crying in agony to God for
deliverance, in his last: struggle, deserted by his friends, asking why
God, his God, had also forsaken him. We feel how natural, how true to
life, this whole account is: in our heart's reverence for that noble
life, that "faithfulness unto death," we can scarcely bear to think of
the insult offered to it by Christian lips: they take every beauty
out of it by telling us that through all that struggle Jesus was
the Eternal, the Almighty, God: it is all apparent, not real: in his
temptation he could not fall: in his prayers he needed no support: in
his cry that the cup might pass away he foresaw it was inevitable: in
his agony of desertion and loneliness he was present everywhere with
God. In all that life, then, there is no hope for man, no pledge of
man's victory, no promise for humanity. This is no _man's_ life at all,
it is only a wonderful drama enacted on earth. What God could do is no
measure of man's powers: what have we in common with this "God-man?"
This Jesus, whom we had thought our brother, is after all, removed from
us by the immeasurable distance which separates the feebleness of man
from the omnipotence of God. Nothing can compensate us for such a loss
as this. We had rejoiced in that many-sided nobleness, and its very
blemishes were dear, because they assured us of his brotherhood to
ourselves: we are given an ideal picture where we had studied a history,
another Deity where we had hoped to emulate a life. Instead of the
encouragement we had found, what does Christianity offer us?--a perfect
life? But we knew before that God was perfect: an example? it starts
from a different level: a Saviour? we cannot be safer than we are with
God: an Advocate? we need none with our Father: a Substitute to endure
God's wrath for us? we had rather trust God's justice to punish us as
we deserve, and his wisdom to do what is best for us. As God, Jesus can
give us nothing that we have not already in his Father and ours: as man,
he gives us all the encouragement and support which we derive from every
noble soul which God sends into this world, "a burning and a shining
light":
"Through such souls alone
God stooping shows sufficient of
His light For us in the dark to rise by."
As God, he confuses our perceptions of God's unity, bewilders our reason
with endless contradictions, and turns away from the Supreme all those
emotions of love and adoration which can only flow towards a single
object, and which are the due of our Creator alone: as man, he gives us
an example to strive after, a beacon to steer by; he is one more leader
for humanity, one more star in our darkness. As God, all his words would
be truth, and but few would enter into heaven, while hell would overflow
with victims: as man, we may refuse to believe such a slander on our
Father, and take all the comfort pledged to us by that name. Thank God,
then, that Jesus is only man, "human child of human parents;" that
we need not dwarf our conceptions of God to fit human faculties, or
envelope the illimitable spirit in a baby's feeble frame. But though
only man, he has reached a standard of human greatness which no other
man, so far as we know, has touched: the very height of his character is
almost a pledge of the truthfulness of the records in the main: his life
had to be lived before its conception became possible, at that period
and among such a people. They could recognise his greatness when it was
before their eyes: they would scarcely have imagined it for themselves,
more especially that, as we have seen, he was so different from the
Jewish ideal. His code of morality stands unrivalled, and he was the
first who taught the universal Fatherhood of God publicly and to the
common people. Many of his loftiest precepts may be found in the books
of the Rabbis, but it is the glorious prerogative of Jesus that he
spread abroad among the many the wise and holy maxims that had hitherto
been the sacred treasures of the few. With him none were too degraded
to be called the children of the Father: none too simple to be worthy of
the highest teaching. By example, as well as by precept, he taught that
all men were brothers, and all the good he had he showered at their
feet. "Pure in heart," he saw God, and what he saw he called all to see:
he longed that all might share in his own joyous trust in the Father,
and seemed to be always seeking for fresh images to describe the freedom
and fulness of the universal love of God. In his unwavering love of
truth, but his patience with doubters--in his personal purity, but his
tenderness to the fallen--in his hatred of evil, but his friendliness
to the sinner--we see splendid virtues rarely met in combination. His
brotherliness, his yearning to raise the degraded, his lofty piety, his
unswerving morality, his perfect self-sacrifice, are his indefeasible
titles to human love and reverence. Of the world's benefactors he is the
chief, not only by his own life, but by the enthusiasm he has known to
inspire in others: "Our plummet has not sounded his depth:" words fail
to tell what humanity owes to the Prophet of Nazareth. On his example
the great Christian heroes have based their lives: from the foundation
laid by his teaching the world is slowly rising to a purer faith in God.
We need now such a leader as he was--one who would dare to follow the
Father's will as he did, casting a long-prized revelation aside when
it conflicts with the higher voice of conscience. It is the teaching
of Jesus that Theism gladly makes its own, purifying it from the
inconsistencies which mar its perfection. It is the example of Jesus
which Theists are following, though they correct that example in some
points by his loftiest sayings. It is the work of Jesus which Theists
are carrying on, by worshipping, as he did, the Father, and the Father
alone, and by endeavouring to turn all men's love, all men's hopes, and
all men's adoration, to that "God and Father of all, who is above all,
and through all, and," not in Jesus only, but "_in us all_."
APPENDIX: "Josephus mentions a Zacharias, a son of Baruch ('Wars of
the Jews,' Book iv., sec. 4), who was slain under the circumstances
described by Jesus. His name would be more suitable at the close of the
long list of Jewish crimes, as it occurred just before the destruction
of Jerusalem. But, as it took place about thirty-four years after the
death of Jesus, it is clear that he could not have referred to it;
therefore, if we admit that he made no mistake, we strike a serious
blow at the credibility of his historian, who then puts into his mouth a
remark never uttered."