_Jesus_
"The martyred Christ of the working class, the inspired evangel of the
downtrodden masses, the world's supreme revolutionary leader, whose
love for the poor and the children of the poor hallowed all the days
of his consecrated life, lighted up and made forever holy the dark
tragedy of his death, and gave to the ages his divine inspiration and
his deathless name."--_Debs._
Jesus
BY EUGENE V. DEBS
(See page 144)
The martyred Christ of the working class, the inspired evangel
of the downtrodden masses, the world's supreme revolutionary
leader, whose love for the poor and the children of the poor
hallowed all the days of his consecrated life, lighted up and
made forever holy the dark tragedy of his death, and gave to
the ages his divine inspiration and his deathless name.
Crusaders
BY ELIZABETH WADDELL
(Contemporary American writer)
They have taken the tomb of our Comrade Christ--
Infidel hordes that believe not in Man;
Stable and stall for his birth sufficed,
But his tomb is built on a kingly plan.
They have hedged him round with pomp and parade,
They have buried him deep under steel and stone--
But we come leading the great Crusade
To give our Comrade back to his own.
Jesus the Revolutionist
(_From "Christianity and the Social Crisis"_[A])
[A] By permission of the Macmillan Co.
BY WALTER RAUSCHENBUSCH
(Theologian, born 1861; professor in Rochester Theological
Seminary)
There was a revolutionary consciousness in Jesus; not, of
course, in the common use of the word "revolutionary," which
connects it with violence and bloodshed. But Jesus knew that
he had come to kindle a fire on earth. Much as he loved peace,
he knew that the actual result of his work would be not peace
but the sword. His mother in her song had recognized in her own
experience the settled custom of God to "put down the proud
and exalt them of low degree," to "fill the hungry with good
things and to send the rich empty away." King Robert of Sicily
recognized the revolutionary ring in those phrases, and thought
it well that the Magnificat was sung only in Latin. The son of
Mary expected a great reversal of values. The first would be
last and the last would be first. He saw that what was exalted
among man was an abomination before God, and therefore these
exalted things had no glamour for his eye. This revolutionary
note runs even through the beatitudes, where we should least
expect it. The point of them is that henceforth those were to
be blessed whom the world had not blessed, for the kingdom of
God would reverse their relative standing. Now the poor and the
hungry and sad were to be satisfied and comforted; the meek
who had been shouldered aside by the ruthless would get their
chance to inherit the earth, and conflict and persecution would
be inevitable in the process.
We are apt to forget that his attack on the religious leaders
and authorities of his day was of revolutionary boldness and
thoroughness. He called the ecclesiastical leaders hypocrites,
blind leaders who fumbled in their casuistry, and everywhere
missed the decisive facts in teaching right and wrong. Their
piety was no piety; their law was inadequate; they harmed
the men whom they wanted to convert. Even the publicans and
harlots had a truer piety than theirs. If we remember that
religion was still the foundation of the Jewish State, and
that the religious authorities were the pillars of existing
society, much as in mediæval Catholic Europe, we shall realize
how revolutionary were his invectives. It was like Luther
anathematizing the Catholic hierarchy.
His mind was similarly liberated from spiritual subjection
to the existing civil powers. He called Herod, his own liege
sovereign, "that fox." When the mother of James and John tried
to steal a march on the others and secure for her sons a pledge
of the highest places in the Messianic kingdom, Jesus felt
that this was a backsliding into the scrambling methods of the
present social order, in which each tries to make the others
serve him, and he is greatest who can compel service from
most. In the new social order, which was expressed in his own
life, each must seek to give the maximum of service, and he
would be greatest who would serve utterly. In that connection
he sketched with a few strokes the pseudo-greatness of the
present aristocracy: "Ye know that they which are supposed
to rule over the nations lord it over them, and their great
ones tyrannize over them. Thus shall it not be among you."
The monarchies and aristocracies have always lived on the
fiction that they exist for the good of the people, and yet
it is an appalling fact how few kings have loved their people
and have lived to serve. Usually the great ones have regarded
the people as their oyster. In a similar saying reported by
Luke, Jesus wittily adds that these selfish exploiters of the
people graciously allow themselves to be called "Benefactors."
His eyes were open to the unintentional irony of the titles
in which the "majesties," "excellencies," and "holinesses" of
the world have always decked themselves. Every time the inbred
instinct to seek precedence cropped up among his disciples he
sternly suppressed it. They must not allow themselves to be
called Rabbi or Father or Master, "for all ye are brothers."
Christ's ideal of society involved the abolition of rank
and the extinction of those badges of rank in which former
inequality was incrusted. The only title to greatness was to
be distinguished service at cost to self. All this shows the
keenest insight into the masked selfishness of those who hold
power, and involves a revolutionary consciousness, emancipated
from reverence for things as they are.
To the "Christians"
BY FRANCIS ADAMS
(See pages 219, 266)
Take, then, your paltry Christ,
Your gentleman God.
We want the carpenter's son,
With his saw and hod.
_We_ want the man who loved
The poor and the oppressed,
Who hated the Rich man and King
And the Scribe and the Priest.
_We_ want the Galilean
Who knew cross and rod.
It's your "good taste" that prefers
A bastard "God!"
Life of Jesus
BY ERNEST RENAN
(French philosopher and historian, 1823-1892)
The chosen flock presented in fact a very mixed character, and
one likely to astonish rigorous moralists. It counted in its
fold men with whom a Jew, respecting himself, would not have
associated. Perhaps Jesus found in this society, unrestrained
by ordinary rules, more mind and heart than in a pedantic
and formal middle class, proud of its apparent morality....
He appreciated conditions of soul only in proportion to the
love mingled therein. Women with tearful hearts, and disposed
through their sins to feelings of humanity, were nearer to his
kingdom than ordinary natures, who often have little merit in
not having fallen. We may conceive on the other hand that these
tender souls, finding in their conversion to the sect an easy
means of restoration, would passionately attach themselves to
Him. Far from seeking to soothe the murmurs stirred up by his
disdain for the social susceptibilities of the time, He seemed
to take pleasure in exciting them. Never did anyone avow more
loftily this contempt for the "world," which is the essential
condition of great things and great originality. He pardoned a
rich man, but only when the rich man, in consequence of some
prejudice, was disliked by society. He greatly preferred men
of equivocal life and of small consideration in the eyes of
the orthodox leaders. "The publicans and the harlots go into
the kingdom of God before you. For John came unto you and ye
believed him not: but the publicans and the harlots believed
him." We can understand how galling the reproach of not having
followed the good example set by prostitutes must have been to
men making a profession of seriousness and rigid morality.
FROM THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO LUKE
And as he spake, a certain Pharisee besought him to dine
with him: and he went in, and sat down to meat. And when the
Pharisee saw it, he marvelled that he had not first washed
before dinner.
And the Lord said unto him, "Now do ye Pharisees make clean
the outside of the cup and the platter; but your inward part
is full of ravening and wickedness. Ye fools, did not he, that
made that which is without, make that which is within also? But
rather give alms of such things as ye have; and, behold, all
things are clean unto you. But woe unto you, Pharisees! for
ye tithe mint and rue and all manner of herbs, and pass over
judgment and the love of God; these ought ye to have done, and
not to leave the other undone. Woe unto you, Pharisees! for ye
love the uppermost seats in the synagogues, and greetings in
the markets. Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!
for ye are as graves which appear not, and the men that walk
over them are not aware of them."
Then answered one of the lawyers, and said unto him, "Master,
thus saying thou reproachest us also."
And he said, "Woe unto you, also, ye lawyers, for ye lade men
with burdens grievous to be borne, and ye yourselves touch not
the burdens with one of your fingers. Woe unto you! for ye
build the sepulchres of the prophets, and your fathers killed
them.... Woe unto you, lawyers! for ye have taken away the key
of knowledge; ye entered not in yourselves, and them that were
entering in ye hindered."
And as he said these things unto them, the scribes and the
Pharisees began to urge him vehemently, and to provoke him to
speak of many things: laying wait for him, and seeking to catch
something out of his mouth, that they might accuse him.
A Tramp's Confession
(_From "The Cry of Youth"_)
BY HARRY KEMP
(See page 37)
We huddled in the mission
Fer it was cold outside,
An' listened to the preacher
Tell of the Crucified;
Without, a sleety drizzle
Cut deep each ragged form,--
An' so we stood the talkin'
Fer shelter from the storm
They sang of God an' angels,
An' heaven's eternal joy,
An' things I stopped believin'
When I was still a boy;
They spoke of good an' evil,
An' offered savin' grace--
An' some showed love for mankin'
A-shinin' in their face,
An' some their graft was workin'
The same as me an' you:
But most was urgin' on us
Wot they believed was true.
We sang an' dozed an' listened,
But only feared, us men,
The time when, service over,
We'd have to mooch again
An' walk the icy pavements
An' breast the snowstorm gray
Till the saloons was opened
An' there was hints of day.
So, when they called out "Sinners,
Won't you come!" I came ...
But in my face was pallor
And in my heart was shame ...
An' so forgive me, Jesus,
Fer mockin' of thy name--
Fer I was cold an' hungry!
They gave me grub an' bed
After I kneeled there with them
An' many prayers was said.
An' so fergive me, Jesus,
I didn't mean no harm--
An' outside it was zero,
An' inside it was warm....
Yes, I was cold an' hungry,--
An', O Thou Crucified,
Thou friend of all the Lowly,
Fergive the lie I lied!
The Call of the Carpenter[A]
[A] By permission of Doubleday, Page & Co.
BY BOUCK WHITE
(American Congregational clergyman, born 1874; imprisoned for
protesting in a church against the Colorado massacres)
Jesus held that self-respect required of the rich young man
that he refuse to accept too long a handicap over his fellows
in the race of life, and start as near as may be from the
same mark with them. But he went also a step further. He
exacted of the young man that he de-class himself. "Come,
follow me." This was the staggerer. To stay in his own set
and invest his fortune in works of charity, would have been
comparatively easy. Philanthropy has been fashionable in every
age. Charity takes the insurrectionary edge off of poverty.
Therefore the philanthropic rich man is a benefactor to his
fellow magnates, and is made to feel their gratitude; to him
all doors of fashion swing. But Jesus issued a veto. He denied
the legitimacy of alms-giving as a plaster for the deep-lying
sore in the social tissue. Neighborly help, man to man, was
acceptable to him, and he commended it. But philanthropy as a
substitute for justice--he would have none of it. Charity is
twice cursed--it hardens him that gives and softens him that
takes. It does more harm to the poor than exploitation, because
it makes them willing to be exploited. It breeds slavishness,
which is moral suicide. The only thing Jesus would permit a
swollen fortune to do was to give itself to revolutionary
propaganda, in order that swollen fortunes might be forever
after impossible. Patchwork reformers are but hewing at a
hydra. Confronted with this imperative, the rich young ruler
made the great refusal. To give up his fashionable set and join
himself to this company of working-class Galileans, was a moral
heroism to which he was unequal. Therefore he was sorrowful; he
went away, for he had a great social standing.
Something of the same brand of atonement was evidently
in the mind of Dives when he awoke to the mistake he had
made--desirous to send from hell and tell his five brothers
to use the family fortune in erecting a "Dives Home for the
Hungry," belike with the family name and coat of arms over
the front portal. Jesus would concede no such privilege. He
referred those "five brethren" to "Moses and the prophets; let
them hear them"--Moses being the leader of the labor movement
which had given to the slaves in the Goshen brick-yards
their long-deferred rights; and the prophets being those
ardent Old Testament tribunes of the people who had so
hotly contended for the family idea of society against the
exploiters and graspers at the top. Dante's idea that each sin
on earth fashions its own proper punishment in hell receives
confirmation in this parable. "The great gulf fixed," which
constituted Dives's hell, was the gulf which he himself had
brought about. For the private fortune he amassed had broken
up the solidarity of society--had introduced into it a chasm
both broad and deep. The gulf between him and Lazarus in this
world exists in the world to come to plague him. The thirst
which parched Dives's tongue, "being in torments," was the
thirst for companionship, the healing contact once more with
his fellows, from whom his fortune had sundered him like a
butcher's cleaver. Jesus had so exalted a notion of the working
class, their absence of cant, their rugged facing of the facts,
their elemental simplicities, their first-hand contact with the
realities of life, that he regarded any man who should draw
himself off from them in a fancied superiority, as immeasurably
the loser thereby, and as putting himself "in torments."
Lazarus
(_From the London "Spectator"_)
ANONYMOUS
Still he lingers, where wealth and fashion
Meet together to dine or play--
Lingers, a matter of vague compassion,
Out in the darkness across the way;
Out beyond the warmth and the glitter,
The light where luxury's laughter rings,
Lazarus waits, where the wind is bitter,
Receiving his evil things.
Still ye find him when, breathless, burning,
Summer flames upon square and street,
When the fortunate ones of the earth are turning
Their thoughts to meadows and meadow-sweet;
Far away from the wide green valley,
The bramble patch where the white-throat sings,
Lazarus sweats in his crowded alley,
Receiving his evil things....
In the name of Knowledge the race grows healthier,
In the name of Freedom the world grows great;
And men are wiser, and men are wealthier,
But--Lazarus lies at the rich man's gate.
Lies as he lay through human history,
Fame of heroes and pomp of kings,
At the rich man's gate, an abiding mystery,
Receiving his evil things.
A Parable
BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL
(See page 189)
Said Christ our Lord, "I will go and see
How the men, my brethren, believe in me."
He passed not again through the gate of birth,
But made himself known to the children of earth.
Then said the chief priests, and rulers, and kings,
"Behold, now, the Giver of all good things;
Go to, let us welcome with pomp and state
Him who alone is mighty and great."
With carpets of gold the ground they spread
Wherever the Son of Man should tread,
And in palace chambers lofty and rare
They lodged him, and served him with kingly fare.
Great organs surged through arches dim
Their jubilant floods in praise of him;
And in church, and palace, and judgment-hall,
He saw his image high over all.
But still, wherever his steps they led,
The Lord in sorrow bent down his head,
And from under the heavy foundation-stones
The son of Mary heard bitter groans.
And in church, and palace, and judgment-hall,
He marked great fissures that rent the wall,
And opened wider and yet more wide
As the living foundation heaved and sighed.
"Have ye founded your thrones and altars, then,
On the bodies and souls of living men?
And think ye that building shall endure,
Which shelters the noble and crushes the poor?
"With gates of silver and bars of gold
Ye have fenced my sheep from their Father's fold;
I have heard the dropping of their tears
In heaven these eighteen hundred years."
"O Lord and Master, not ours the guilt,
We build but as our fathers built;
Behold thine images, how they stand,
Sovereign and sole, through all our land.
"Our task is hard,--with sword and flame
To hold thine earth forever the same,
And with sharp crooks of steel to keep
Still, as thou leftest them, thy sheep."
Then Christ sought out an artisan,
A low-browed, stunted, haggard man,
And a motherless girl, whose fingers thin
Pushed from her faintly want and sin.
These set he in the midst of them,
And as they drew back their garment-hem,
For fear of defilement, "Lo, here," said he,
"The images ye have made of me!"
FROM THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO MATTHEW
Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, "Come, ye
blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from
the foundation of the world: For I was a hungered, and ye gave
me meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink; I was a stranger,
and ye took me in; naked, and ye clothed me; I was sick, and ye
visited me; I was in prison, and ye came unto me."
Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, "Lord, when saw we
thee a hungered, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
when saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and
clothed thee? or when saw we thee sick or in prison, and came
unto thee?"
And the King shall answer and say unto them, "Verily I say unto
you, inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these
my brethren, ye have done it unto me."
Then shall he say also unto them on the left hand, "Depart from
me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil
and his angels: for I was a hungered, and ye gave me no meat;
I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink; I was a stranger, and
ye took me not in; naked, and ye clothed me not; sick, and in
prison, and ye visited me not."
Then shall they also answer him, saying, "Lord, when saw we
thee a hungered, or athirst, or a stranger, or naked, or sick,
or in prison, and did not minister unto thee?"
Then shall he answer them, saying, "Verily I say unto you,
inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did
it not to me."
The Easter Children
(_From "The Frozen Grail and other Poems"_)
BY ELSA BARKER
(See page 315)
"Christ the Lord is risen!"
Chant the Easter children,
Their love-moulded faces
Luminous with gladness,
And their costly raiment
Gleaming like the lilies.
But last night I wandered
Where Christ had not risen,
Where love knows no gladness,
Where the lord of Hunger
Leaves no room for lilies,
And no time for childhood.
And today I wonder
Whether I am dreaming;
For above the swelling
Of their Easter music
I can hear the murmur,
"Suffer _all_ the children."
Nay, the world is dreaming!
And my seeing spirit
Trembles for its waking,
When their Saviour rises
To restore the lilies
To the outcast children.
The Quest
BY FREDERIK VAN EEDEN
(The most widely read of modern Dutch novels, this story of the life
of "Little Johannes" is perhaps the most successful of the many
attempts that have been made to portray the coming of Jesus into the
modern world. Johannes is a boy of good family, who meets a strange,
homeless workingman, to whom he becomes devoted, and whom he calls his
"Brother." The present selection narrates how Johannes was taken to
church.)
"You see, Father," said the countess, "we have come to seek
Jesus. Johannes, also."
"He is waiting for you," replied the priest, solemnly, pointing
out the great crucifix above the altar. Then he disappeared
into the sacristy.
Johannes immediately fastened his eyes upon that figure, and
continued to contemplate it while the people were taking their
places.
It hung in the strongest light of the shadowy church.
Apparently it was of wood stained to a pale rose, with peculiar
blue and brown shadows. The wounds in the side and under the
thorns on the forehead were distinct to exaggeration--all
purple and swollen, with great streaks of blood like dark-red
sealing-wax. The face, with its closed eyes, wore a look of
distress, and a large circle of gold and precious stones
waggishly adorned the usual russet-colored, cork-screwy,
woodeny locks. The cross itself was of shining gold, and each
of its four extremities was ornamented, while a nice, wavy
paper above the head bore the letters I. N. R. I. One could
see that it was all brand-new, and freshly gilded and painted.
Wreaths and bouquets of paper flowers embellished the altar.
For a long time--perhaps a quarter of an hour--Johannes
continued to look at the image. "That is Jesus," he muttered
to himself, "He of whom I have so often heard. Now I am going
to learn about Him, and He is to comfort me. He it is who has
redeemed the world."
But however often he might repeat this, trying seriously
to convince himself--because he would have been glad to be
convinced and also to be redeemed--he could nevertheless see
nothing except a repulsive, ugly, bloody, prinked-up wooden
doll. And this made him feel doubly sorrowful and disheartened.
Fully fifteen minutes had he sat there, looking and musing,
hearing the people around him chatting--about the price they
had paid for their places, about the keeping on or taking
off of women's hats, and about the reserved seats for the
first families. Then the door of the sacristy opened, and the
choir-boys with their swinging censers, and the sacristan, and
the priests in their beautiful, gold-bordered garments, came
slowly and majestically in. And as the congregation kneeled,
Johannes kneeled with them.
And when Johannes, as well as the others, looked at the
incoming procession, and then again turned his eyes to the high
altar, behold! there, to his amazement, kneeling before the
white altar, he saw a dark form. It was in plain sight, bending
forward in the twilight, the arms upon the altar, and the face
hidden in the arms. A man it was, in the customary dark clothes
of a laborer. No one--neither Johannes nor probably any one
else in the church--had seen whence he came. But he was now in
the full sight of all, and one could hear whisperings and a
subdued excitement run along the rows of people and pass on to
the rear, like a gust of wind over a grain-field.
As soon as the procession of choir-boys and priests came
within sight of the altar, the sacristan stepped hastily out
of line and went forward to the stranger, to assure him that,
possibly from too deep absorption in devotion, or from lack
of familiarity with ecclesiastical ceremony, he was guilty of
intrusion.
He touched the man's shoulder, but the man did not stir. In the
breathless stillness that followed, while everyone expectantly
awaited the outcome, a deep, heartrending sob was heard.
"A penitent!" "A drunken man!" "A convert!" were some of the
whispered comments of the people.
The perplexed sacristan turned round, and beckoned Father
Canisius, who, with impressive bearing, stepped up in his
white, gold-threaded garb, as imposingly as a full-sailed
frigate moves.
"Your place is not here," said the priest, in his deep voice.
He spoke kindly, and not particularly loudly. "Go to the back
of the church."
There was no reply, and the man did not move; yet, in the still
more profound silence, his weeping was so audible that many
people shuddered.
"Do you not hear me?" said the priest, raising his voice a
little, and speaking with some impatience. "It is well that
you are repentant, but only the consecrated belong here--not
penitents."
So saying, he grasped the shoulder of the stranger with his
large, strong hand.
Then, slowly, very slowly, the kneeling man raised his head
from his arms, and turned his face toward the priest.
What followed, perhaps each one of the hundreds of witnesses
would tell differently; and of those who heard about it later,
each had a different idea. But I am going to tell you what
Johannes saw and heard--heard quite as clearly as you have seen
and heard the members of your own household, today.
He saw his Brother's face, pale and illumined, as if his head
were shone upon by beams of clearest sunlight. And the sadness
of that face was so deep and unutterable, so bitter and yet so
gentle, that Johannes felt forced, through pain, to press both
hands upon his heart, and to set his teeth, while he gazed with
wide, tear-filled eyes, forgetting everything save that shining
face so full of grief.
For a time it was as still as death, while man and priest
regarded each other. At last the man spoke, and said:
"Who are you, and in whose name are you here?"
When two men stand thus, face to face, and address each other
with all earnestness in the hearing of many others, one of them
is always immediately recognized to be the superior--even if
the listeners are unable to gauge the force of the argument.
Every one feels that superiority, although later many forget
or deny it. If that dominance is not very great, it arouses
spitefulness and fury; but if it is indeed great, it brings,
betimes, repose and submissiveness.
In this case the ascendency was so great that the priest lost
even the air of authority and assurance with which he had
come forward, and did that for which, later, he reproached
himself--he stopped to explain:
"I am a consecrated priest of the Triune God, and I speak in
the name of our Lord Jesus Christ--our Saviour and Redeemer."
There ensued a long silence, and Johannes saw nothing but the
shining, human face and the eyes, which, full of sorrow and
compassion, continued to regard the richly robed priest with a
bitter smile. The priest stood motionless, with hanging hands
and staring eyes, as if uncertain what next to say or do; but
he listened silently for what was coming, as did Johannes and
all the others in the church--as if under an overpowering spell.
Then came the following words, and so long as they sounded no
one could think of anything else--neither of the humble garb of
him who spoke, nor of the incomprehensible subjection of his
gorgeously arrayed listener:
"But you are not yet a man! Would you be a priest of the Most
High?
"You are not yet redeemed, nor are these others with you
redeemed, although you make bold to say so in the name of the
Redeemer.
"Did your Saviour when upon earth wear cloth of silver and of
gold?
"There is no redemption yet--neither for you nor for any of
yours. The time is not come for the wearing of garments of gold.
"Mock not, nor slander. Your ostentation is a travesty of the
Most High, and a defamation of your Saviour.
"Do you esteem the kingdom of God a trifle, that you array
yourself and rejoice, while the world still lies in despair and
in shackles?...
"You are so commanded to serve your Father in spirit and in
truth, and you have served Him with the letter and with lies.
"His prophets, who loved the truth better than their lives, you
have burned at the stake, and have made them martyrs....
"You pull the carriage of prince and moneyed man, and make
grimaces before the powerful.
"They build your churches, and you say masses for them,
although they be Satan himself....
"What have you done for the sheep committed to your care--for
the poor and bereaved--for the oppressed and the disinherited?
"Submission you have taught them--ay--submission to Mammon. You
have taught them to bow meekly to Satan.
"God's light--the light of knowledge--you have withheld from
them. Woe be to you!
"You have taught them to beg, and to kiss the rod that smote
them. You have cloaked the shame of alms-receiving, and have
prated of honor in servitude.
"Thus have you humbled man, and disfigured the human soul....
"Of the love of the Father you have made commerce--a sinful
merchandise. Not because you love virtue do you preach it, but
because of the sweet profit. You promise deliverance to all
who follow your counsel; but as well can you make a present of
moon and stars.
"Are you not told to recompense evil with good? And is God less
than man that He should do otherwise?
"It is well for you that He does not do otherwise, for where
then were your salvation?
"For you, and you only, are the brood of vipers against whom
is kindled the wrath of Him who was gentle with adulterers and
murderers."
While speaking, the man had risen to his full height, and he
now appeared, to all there assembled, impressively tall.
When he had spoken, reaching his right hand backward he grasped
the foot of the great golden crucifix. It snapped off like
glass, and he threw it on the marble floor at the feet of the
priest. The fragment broke into many bits. It was apparently
not wood, but plaster.
"Sacrilege!" cried the priest, in a stifled voice, as if
the sound were wrung from his throat. His eyes seemed to be
starting out of his great purple face.
The man quietly replied:
"No, but my right; for you are the sacrilegist and the
blasphemer who makes of the Son of man a hideous caricature."
Then the priest stepped forward, and gripped Markus by the
wrist. The latter made no resistance, but cried in a loud voice
that reverberated through the church:
"Do your work, Caiaphas!"
After that he suffered himself to be led away to the sacristy.
The Image in the Forum
BY ROBERT BUCHANAN
(English novelist and dramatist, 1814-1901)
Not Baal, but Christus-Jingo! Heir
Of him who once was crucified!
The red stigmata still are there,
The crimson spear-wounds in the side;
But raised aloft as God and Lord,
He holds the Money-bag and Sword.
See, underneath the Crown of Thorn,
The eye-balls fierce, the features grim!
And merrily from night to morn
We chaunt his praise and worship him
Great Christus-Jingo, at whose feet
Christian and Jew and Atheist meet!
A wondrous god! most fit for those
Who cheat on 'Change, then creep to prayer;
Blood on his heavenly altar flows,
Hell's burning incense fills the air,
And Death attests in street and lane
The hideous glory of his reign.
O gentle Jew, from age to age
Walking the waves thou could'st not tame,
This god hath ta'en thy heritage,
And stolen thy sweet and stainless Name!
To him we crawl and bend the knee,
Naming thy Name, but scorning Thee!
The Quest
BY FREDERIK VAN EEDEN
(Sequel to the scene quoted on page 360. Jesus has been held
for examination as to his sanity)
"Does he often have those whims, Johannes," asked Dr. Cijfer,
"when he will not speak?"
"He has no whims," said Johannes, stoutly.
"Why, then, will he not reply?"
"I think you would not answer me," returned Johannes, "if I
were to ask you if you were mad."
The two learned men exchanged smiles.
"That is a somewhat different situation," said Bommeldoos,
haughtily.
"He was not questioned in such a blunt manner as that,"
explained Doctor Cijfer. "I asked about his extraction, his
age, the health of his father and mother, about his own youth,
and so forth--the usual memory promptings. Will you not give
us some further information concerning him? Remember, it is of
real importance to your brother."
"Mijnheer," said Johannes, "I know as little as yourself about
all that...."
There was a knock at the door. The nurse came and said, "Here
is the patient." Then he let Markus in....
Markus had on a dark-blue linen blouse, such as all the
patients of the working-class wear. He stood tall and erect,
and Johannes observed that his face was less pale and sad than
usual. The blue became his dark curling hair, and Johannes felt
happy and confident as he looked at him--standing there so
proud and calm and handsome.
"Take a seat," said Dr. Cijfer.
But Markus seemed not to have heard, and remained standing,
while he nodded kindly and reassuringly to Johannes.
"Observe his pride," said Professor Bommeldoos, in Latin to Dr.
Cijfer.
"The proud find pride, and the gloomy, gloom; but the glad find
gladness, and the lowly, humility," said Markus.
Dr. Cijfer stood up, and took his measuring instrument from the
table. Then, in a quiet, courteous tone, he said:
"Will you not permit us, Mijnheer, to take your head measure?
It is for a scientific purpose?"
"It gives no pain," added Bommeldoos.
"Not to the body," said Markus.
Said Dr. Cijfer, "There is nothing in it to offend one. I have
had it done to myself many a time."
"There is a kind of opinionativeness and denseness that offend."
Bommeldoos flushed. "Opinionativeness and denseness! Mine,
perchance? Am I such an ignoramus? Opinionated and stupid!"
"Colleague!" exclaimed Dr. Cijfer, in gentle expostulation.
And then, as he enclosed Markus's head with the shining
craniometer, he gave the measurement figures. A considerable
time passed, nothing being heard save the low voice of the
doctor dictating the figures. Then, as if proceeding with his
present occupation, taking advantage of what he considered a
compliant mood of the patient, the crafty doctor fancied he saw
his opportunity, and said:
"Your parents certainly dwelt in another country--one more
southerly and more mountainous."
But Markus removed the doctor's hand, with the instrument, from
his head, and looked at him piercingly.
"Why are you not sincere?" he then asked, with gentle stress.
"How can truth be found through untruth?"
Dr. Cijfer hesitated, and then did exactly what Father Canisius
had done--something which, later, he was of the opinion he
ought not to have done: he argued with him.
"But if you will not give me a direct reply I am obliged to get
the truth circuitously."
Said Markus, "A curved sword will not go far into a straight
scabbard."
Professor Bommeldoos grew impatient, and snapped at the doctor
aside, in a smothered voice: "Do not argue, Colleague, do not
argue! Megalomaniacs are smarter, and sometimes have subtler
dialectic faculties than you have. Just let _me_ conduct the
examination."
And then, after a loud "h'm! h'm!" he said to Markus:
" ... Now just tell me, frankly, my friend, are you a prophet?
An apostle? Are you perhaps the King? Or are you God himself?"
Markus was silent.
"Why do you not answer now?"
"Because I am not being questioned."
"Not being questioned! What, then, am I now doing?"
"Raving," said Markus.
Bommeldoos flushed, and lost his composure.
"Be careful, my friend. You must not be impertinent. Remember
that we may decide your fate here."
Markus lifted his head, with a questioning air, so earnest that
the professor held his peace.
"With whom rests the decision of our fate?" asked Markus. Then,
pointing with his finger: "Do you consider yourself the one to
decide?"
After that he uttered not a word. Dr. Cijfer questioned with
gentle stress, Professor Bommeldoos with vehement energy; but
Markus was silent, and seemed not to notice that there were
others in the room.
"I adhere to my diagnosis, Colleague," said Bommeldoos.
Dr. Cijfer rang, and ordered the nurse to come.
"Take the patient to his ward again. He will remain, for the
present, under observation."
Markus went, after making a short but kindly inclination of the
head to Johannes.
"Will you not tell us now, Johannes, what you know of this
person?" asked Dr. Cijfer.
"Mijnheer," replied Johannes, "I know but little more of him
than you do yourself. I met him two years ago, and he is my
dearest friend; but I have seen him rarely, and have never
inquired about his life nor his origin."
"Remarkable!" exclaimed Dr. Cijfer.
"Once again, Colleague, I stand by my diagnosis," said
Bommeldoos. "Initial paranoia, with megalomaniacal symptoms, on
the basis of hereditary inferiority, with vicarious genius."
[Illustration: ECCE HOMO
CONSTANTIN MEUNIER
(_Belgian sculptor, 1831-1905_)]
[Illustration: DESPISED AND REJECTED OF MEN
SIGISMUND GOETZE
(_Contemporary German painter_)]
The Swordless Christ
BY PERCY ADAMS HUTCHISON
(American poet, born 1875)
"_Vicisti Galilaee_"
Ay, down the years behold he rides,
The lowly Christ, upon an ass;
But conquering? Ten shall heed the call,
A thousand idly watch him pass:
They watch him pass, or lightly hold
In mock lip-loyalty his name:
A thousand--were they his to lead!
But meek, without a sword, he came.
A myriad horsemen swept the field
With Attila, the whirlwind Hun;
A myriad cannon spake for him,
The silent, dread Napoleon.
For these had ready spoil to give,
Had reeking spoil for savage hands;
Slaves, and fair wives, and pillage rare:
The wealth of cities: teeming lands.
And if the world, once drunk with blood,
Sated, has turned from arms to peace,
Man hath not lost his ancient lusts;
The weapons change; war doth not cease.
The mother in the stifling den,
The brain-dulled child beside the loom,
The hordes that swarm and toil and starve--
We laugh, and tread them to their doom.
They shriek, and cry their prayers to Christ;
And lift wan faces, hands that bleed:
In vain they pray, for what is Christ?
A leader--without men to lead.
Ah, piteous Christ afar he rides!
We see him, but the face is dim;
We that would leap at crash of drums
Are slow to rise and follow him.
How Long, O Lord
BY HALL CAINE
(English novelist and dramatist, born 1853)
Look down, O Lord, look down. Are the centuries a waste? Nigh
upon two thousand years have gone since Thou didst walk the
world, and the face of things is not unchanged. In _Thy_ Name
now doth the Pharisee give alms in the street to the sound of a
trumpet going before him. In Thy Name now doth the Levite pass
by on the other side when a man hath fallen among thieves. In
Thy Name now doth the lawyer lay on the poor burdens grievous
to be borne. In Thy Name now doth the priest buy and sell the
glad tidings of the kingdom, giving for the gospel of God
the commandments of men, living in rich men's houses, faring
sumptuously every day, praying with his lips, "Give us this day
our daily bread," but saying to his soul, "Soul, thou hast much
goods laid up for many years: take thine ease, eat, drink, and
be merry."
Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles? Is it this
Thy gospel that yields that Thy fruit? Then will the master of
the vineyard come shortly and say, "Cut it down; why cumbereth
it the ground?"
In a Siberian Prison Church
(_From "Resurrection"_)
BY LEO TOLSTOY
(See pages 88, 110, 148, 276)
The service began.
It consisted of the following. The priest, having dressed
himself up in a strange and very inconvenient garb of gold
cloth, cut and arranged little bits of bread on a saucer and
then put most of them in a cup with wine, repeating at the same
time different names and prayers. Meanwhile the deacon first
read Slavonic prayers, difficult to understand in themselves,
and rendered still more incomprehensible by being read very
fast; he then sang them turn and turn about with the convicts.
The essence of the service consisted in the supposition that
the bits of bread cut up by the priest and put into the wine,
when manipulated and prayed over in a certain way, turned into
the flesh and blood of God.
These manipulations consisted in the priest, hampered by the
gold cloth sack he had on, regularly lifting and holding up
his arms and then sinking to his knees and kissing the table
and all that was on it; but chiefly in his taking a cloth by
two of its corners and waving it rhythmically and softly over
the silver saucer and the golden cup. It was supposed that at
this point the bread and the wine turned into flesh and blood;
therefore this part of the service was performed with the
utmost solemnity. And the convicts made the sign of the cross,
and bowed, first at each sentence, then after every two, and
then after three; and all were very glad when the glorification
ended and the priest shut the book with a sigh of relief and
retired behind the partition. One last act remained. The priest
took from a table a large gilt cross with enamel medallions
at the ends, and came out into the center of the church with
it. First the inspector came up and kissed the cross, then
the jailers, and then the convicts, pushing and jostling, and
abusing each other in whispers. The priest, talking to the
inspector, pushed the cross and his hand, now against the
mouths and now against the noses of the convicts, who were
trying to kiss both the cross and the hand of the priest. And
thus ended the Christian service, intended for the comfort and
edification of these brothers who had gone astray.
And none of these present, from the inspector down, seemed
conscious of the fact that this Jesus, whose name the priest
repeated such a great number of times, whom he praised with
all these curious expressions, had forbidden the very things
that were being done there; that he had not only prohibited
this meaningless much-speaking and the blasphemous incantation
over the bread and wine, but had also, in the clearest words,
forbidden men to call other men their master or to pray in
temples; had taught that every one should pray in solitude;
had forbidden to erect temples, saying that he had come to
destroy them, and that one should worship not in a temple, but
in spirit and in truth; and, above all, that not only had he
forbidden to judge, to imprison, to torment, to execute men, as
was done here, but had even prohibited any kind of violence,
saying that he had come to give freedom to the captives.
No one present seemed conscious that all that was going on here
was the greatest blasphemy, and a mockery of that same Christ
in whose name it was being done. No one seemed to realize that
the gilt cross with the enamel medallions at the ends, which
the priest held out to the people to be kissed, was nothing but
the emblem of that gallows on which Christ had been executed
for denouncing just what was going on here. That these priests,
who imagined they were eating and drinking the body and blood
of Christ in the form of bread and wine, did in reality eat
and drink his flesh and his blood, only not as wine and bits
of bread, but by ensnaring "these little ones" with whom he
identified himself, by depriving them of the greatest blessings
and submitting them to most cruel torments, and by hiding from
men the tidings of great joy which he had brought--that thought
did not enter the mind of any one present.
Before a Crucifix
BY ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE
(English poet of nature and liberty, 1837-1909)
Here, down between the dusty trees,
At this lank edge of haggard wood,
Women with labor-loosened knees,
With gaunt backs bowed by servitude,
Stop, shift their loads, and pray, and fare
Forth with souls easier for the prayer.
The suns have branded black, the rains
Striped gray this piteous God of theirs;
The face is full of prayers and pains,
To which they bring their pains and prayers;
Lean limbs that shew the laboring bones,
And ghastly mouth that gapes and groans.
God of this grievous people, wrought
After the likeness of their race,
By faces like thine own besought,
Thine own blind helpless, eyeless face,
I too, that have nor tongue nor knee
For prayer, I have a word to thee.
It was for this then, that thy speech
Was blown about the world in flame
And men's souls shot up out of reach
Of fear or lust or thwarting shame--
That thy faith over souls should pass
As sea-winds burning the grey grass?
It was for this, that prayers like these
Should spend themselves about thy feet,
And with hard overlabored knees
Kneeling, these slaves of men should beat
Bosoms too lean to suckle sons
And fruitless as their orisons?
It was for this, that men should make
Thy name a fetter on men's necks,
Poor men made poorer for thy sake,
And women withered out of sex?
It was for this, that slaves should be,
Thy word was passed to set men free?
The nineteenth wave of the ages rolls
Now deathward since thy death and birth.
Hast thou fed full men's starved-out souls?
Hast thou brought freedom upon earth?
Or are there less oppressions done
In this wild world under the sun?
Nay, if indeed thou be not dead,
Before thy terrene shrine be shaken,
Look down, turn usward, bow thine head;
O thou that wast of God forsaken,
Look on thine household here, and see
These that have not forsaken thee.
Thy faith is fire upon their lips,
Thy kingdom golden in their hands;
They scourge us with thy words for whips,
They brand us with thy words for brands;
The thirst that made thy dry throat shrink
To their moist mouths commends the drink....
O sacred head, O desecrate,
O labor-wounded feet and hands,
O blood poured forth in pledge to fate
Of nameless lives in divers lands,
O slain and spent and sacrificed
People, the grey-grown speechless Christ!
Is there a gospel in the red
Old witness of thy wide-mouthed wounds?
From thy blind stricken tongueless head
What desolate evangel sounds
A hopeless note of hope deferred?
What word, if there be any word?
O son of man, beneath man's feet
Cast down, O common face of man
Whereon all blows and buffets meet,
O royal, O republican
Face of the people bruised and dumb
And longing till thy kingdom come!...
The tree of faith ingraft by priests
Puts its foul foliage out above thee,
And round it feed man-eating beasts
Because of whom we dare not love thee;
Though hearts reach back and memories ache,
We cannot praise thee for their sake....
Nay, if their God and thou be one,
If thou and this thing be the same,
Thou shouldst not look upon the sun;
The sun grows haggard at thy name.
Come down, be done with, cease, give o'er;
Hide thyself, strive not, be no more.