More serious than any criticism in detail is the general objection that
the narrative of the Fourth Gospel does not, like the ground-document of
the Synoptics, supply a reasonable and natural evolution of events. It
is said—and not without cause—that in the Fourth Gospel we see the end
from the very beginning. Whereas in the Synoptics, and more particularly
in St. Mark, Jesus does not at first put Himself forward as the Messiah,
and is not recognized as such even by His disciples before the
Confession of St. Peter, or by the public before the triumphal entry
into Jerusalem; in the very first chapter of St. John He is twice over
greeted as the Messiah (vers. 41, 45) and twice described as the Son of
God (vers. 34, 49), and the Baptist also at this early stage already
points to Him as ‘the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the
world’ (ver. 29, cf. 36). Nor is it enough that His disciples are said
to have believed on Him from the first (ii. 11), but we are also told
that in Jerusalem at the Passover ‘many believed on his name’ (ii. 23).
In chap. iii advanced teaching is given to Nicodemus, and John the
Baptist is represented as using very exalted language about Him (iii.
31-6). In chap. iv Jesus reveals Himself as the Messiah to the Samaritan
woman (ver. 26); and we are not only told that many of the Samaritans
believed on Him, but that they actually acknowledged Him as ‘the Saviour
of the world’ (vers. 39-42). In chap. v He is accused of ‘making himself
equal with God’ (ver. 18). In chap. vi the people are so carried away by
enthusiasm that they want to force Him to place Himself at their head
(ver. 15); and once more very advanced teaching is imparted (vers.
26-58).
These earlier chapters are the more important because in the latter part
of the ministry the advanced teaching that we find may seem more in
place. The difficulty that we have to deal with is threefold: it relates
partly to the anticipated confessions, partly to the free use of the
word ‘believed,’ and partly to the advanced character of the teaching.
This last point may be dealt with more appropriately when we come to
speak of the teaching generally; but the other two call for
consideration at once.
Before passing on to this, I should like to say frankly that I am not
going to deny or to minimize the facts. I do not honestly believe that
everything happened exactly as it is, or seems to be, reported. But in
saying this I must add that I also do not believe that, even if the
argument were made good to the full extent that is alleged, it would at
all decisively impugn the conclusion at which we have hitherto seemed to
arrive—that the Gospel is really the work of an eye-witness and of St.
John.
In looking back over a distant past it is always difficult to keep the
true perspective; the mind is apt to forget, or at least to foreshorten,
the process by which its beliefs have been reached; and when once a
settled conviction has been formed it is treated as though it had been
present from the beginning. It would have been strange indeed if the
aged disciple had nowhere allowed the cherished beliefs of more than
half a lifetime to colour the telling of his story, or to project
themselves backwards into those early days when his faith was not as yet
ripe but only ripening. It would not in the least disturb our conclusion
to admit, that in the earlier chapters of the Gospel there are a number
of expressions that are heightened in character and more definite in
form than those that were really used.
i. Anticipated Confessions.
What has just been said will apply especially to the terms in which the
first disciples who gathered round our Lord are described as giving in
their adhesion. The author of the Gospel was himself a convinced
Christian—a Christian so convinced that he could hardly recall the time
when he had been anything else. It was natural to him to think of his
comrades in the faith as he thought of himself. And if he puts into
their mouths stronger expressions than they actually used, it was only a
little antedating the fact.
But, apart from this, it is a question whether we ourselves do not read
into the words more than they really contain. There can be no doubt that
the half-century, or rather more, before the fall of Jerusalem was a
time of high-strung expectation on the part of the Jews. The belief that
the Messiah was about to appear was widely diffused among all classes of
the people. It was this belief which gave a transient success to the
many pretenders of whom we read in the Acts and in the pages of
Josephus. There was the feeling that the Messiah might come at any
moment, and no Jew would have been surprised if He had appeared in his
own immediate neighbourhood. Vague rumours were everywhere about, and we
may be sure would readily attach themselves to individuals. It is
probable enough that among the crowds which gathered round the Baptist
this expectation was even more rife than elsewhere. Those who came to
his baptism, we may well believe, were among the most earnest, the most
patriotic, and the most sanguine spirits of the nation. That little
groups, united by local ties, would be readily formed, and readily seek
to attach themselves to one who seemed to possess the qualities of a
leader, would be only what we should expect. And if their enthusiasm was
easily aroused, that would be all in harmony with their surroundings.
Perhaps the most remarkable of all the anticipations in these early
chapters is the announcement attributed to the Baptist, ‘Behold, the
Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world!’ There is no doubt
that the Baptist had a prophetic gift. In all our authorities he is
represented as predicting the coming greatness of his successor. But it
was one thing to feel a dim presentiment of a mission higher than his
own, and another thing to predict for that mission at the very outset a
form which it did indeed actually take, but which it seems impossible
that anything should have suggested at the moment. It would be difficult
to find a better example of what we may call the ‘interpretative
function’ of the Evangelist. It is evident that the events of these
first days made the deepest impression upon him, an impression that no
lapse of time could obliterate. Certainly something occurred which in
later years gave its shape to this remarkable saying. In the next
chapter we have a similar saying, the history of which is fully related:
‘When therefore he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered
that he spake this; and they believed the scripture, and the word which
Jesus had said.’ In this case the whole process was consciously
realized; the Evangelist distinguished in his own mind between the word
as originally spoken and the sense which he was led to put upon it. May
we not suppose that in regard to the earlier saying a similar process
went on, but with just the difference that it was in great part
unconscious, and not conscious? The Baptist is represented as repeating
his exclamation twice; but on the second occasion the qualifying clause
is dropped; the words are only, ‘Behold, the Lamb of God!’ Is it not
possible that this, or something like it, is all that was actually
spoken? Perhaps not so much even as this; but in some way or other we
may believe that the Baptist did, as a matter of fact, compare the
Figure approaching him to a lamb. This comparison sank deep into the
mind of one at least of his hearers; and imperceptibly the words filled
out with all the full religious significance of the lamb—the paschal
lamb, the lamb dumb before his shearers, the suffering Servant, whose
sufferings were also an atonement, the Lamb of God which taketh away the
sin of the world.
This is a process which psychologically we can follow. But here, as in
so many other places, we can follow it far more easily, if we take as
our starting-point some actual phrase which the Evangelist had heard and
which had lodged in his mind, than if we are compelled to regard it as
pure invention. We may well ask what conceivable train of thought could
put it into the head of a second-century writer to introduce so strange
and remote a thought at a point in his narrative with which it seems to
have no natural connexion.
ii. The Use of the Word ‘Believe.’
I have long suspected that one of the reasons for the apparent want of
progressive development in the Fourth Gospel has been the ambiguity of
its use of the word ‘believe.’ We are told from the first that disciples
and others ‘believed,’ and it is natural enough that we should take the
word in the full sense of complete conversion and acceptance of Jesus as
the Messiah. But there can be little doubt that to do so is to read into
the word a great deal more than the writer intended. We do not make
sufficient allowance for the extreme simplicity of his vocabulary. He
has but one word to denote all the different stages of belief. We must
attend closely to the context if we would see when he means the first
dawning of belief and when he means full conviction. Many times over he
uses the word of what must have been a quite transient impression. The
impression might be confirmed and become rooted, or it might pass
rapidly away. As applied to members of the Twelve the word denotes
successive stages of acceptance, culminating—but even then only
provisionally—in St. Peter’s confession. As applied to the Samaritans
and to the mixed crowds in Galilee and Jerusalem, the word probably does
not cover more than faint stirrings of curiosity and emotion which
lightly came and lightly passed away. One example of the use of the word
is especially interesting. The writer is speaking of the visit of Peter
and the unnamed disciple to the tomb, and he tells how, after Peter had
entered, the other disciple also entered, ‘and he saw, and believed’
(xx. 8); but he immediately adds: ‘For as yet they knew not the
scripture, that he must rise again from the dead.’ We might perhaps
paraphrase: ‘The wonder of the resurrection began to dawn upon them,
though they were not prepared for it. At a later date they came to
understand that prophecy had distinctly pointed to it, and that the
whole mission of the Messiah would have been incomplete without it: but
as yet this was hidden from them. They saw that something mysterious had
happened, and they felt that what had happened was profoundly important;
as yet they could not say more. The first step towards a full belief had
been taken, though the full belief itself was still in the future.’
iii. Traces of Development in the Fourth Gospel.
So far I have not questioned the indictment that the Gospel is wanting
in historical development. All that I have done has been to urge some
mitigating or qualifying considerations. But I believe that the extent
within which it can be said that there is no development, and that the
end appears from the beginning, is often much exaggerated. The
unfavourable instances are observed and the favourable are neglected.
If, instead of fixing our attention upon what is said of the disciples
in the first few chapters, we were to look at the attitude of those who
are not disciples from chap. vii onwards, we should find a state of
things differing somewhat from our expectations, and one that really
bears out the Synoptic version of the great reserve and reticence with
which the claims of Christ were prosecuted.
Use has already been made of the opening paragraph of chap. vii to show
that in the conception of the Fourth Evangelist as well as in that of
his predecessors the ministry of Christ had been in the main carried on
in a province and not in Judaea or Jerusalem. The evidence of the same
passage, and indeed of the whole chapter, is not less clear that He did
not go about definitely proclaiming Himself as the Messiah, but that He
left His claim to be inferred, and doubtfully inferred, from the
indirect implications of His teaching. The brethren of Jesus insinuate
that He shrank from putting His claims really to the test. It was a
paradox to suppose that He could work in secret, and yet expect public
recognition. If He desired this He should go about the right way to
obtain it; He should come forward to the front of the stage, where He
could be seen and known (vii. 3, 4). On the other hand, the answer which
the brethren received implies that the time for this complete
manifestation was not yet come; it was to come before His work was
finished, but the hour had not yet struck.
Again, when Jesus does at last go up to the feast, the crowds begin to
speculate about Him; but their speculations are as yet quite vague. Was
He really a good man or a deceiver? (ver. 12). Had He really a mission
from God? (vers. 15-18). Only by degrees do some throw out the tentative
question, ‘Can it be that the rulers indeed know that this is the
Christ?‘ They throw out the question, but they seem inclined for
themselves to answer it in the negative (vers. 26, 27). Others think
that even the Christ, when He came, would not do greater wonders (ver.
31). As these discussions went on, some were emboldened to go further,
and expressed the belief that Jesus was really that great Prophet whom
they were expecting. Yet others—but still tentatively—returned to the
idea that He may be the Christ. But no sooner do they suggest this than
they are met by the reply that the Christ must be born at Bethlehem, and
cannot come out of Galilee. Thus there is a division of opinion, and no
advance is made (vers. 40-3). This tentative and interrogative attitude
is not confined to the crowds. Even in the Sanhedrin itself, though the
great majority scornfully reject Him, there is at least one (Nicodemus)
who pleads that the accused should be heard before He is condemned. He
too is met by the same test; ‘out of Galilee ariseth no prophet’ (vers.
45-52).
It is very clear that no sharply defined issue was set before the
people. They are left to draw their own conclusions; and they draw them
as well as they can by the help of such criteria as they have. But there
is no _Entweder-oder_—either Messiah or not Messiah—peremptorily
propounded by Jesus Himself.
Nor does this state of things last only to the Feast of Tabernacles. It
still continues at the end of the December before the Passion. At the
Feast of the Encaenia, as Jesus is walking in Solomon’s Porch, the Jews
are represented as coming round Him and saying to Him, ‘how long dost
thou hold us in suspense (τὴν ψυχὴν ἡμῶν αἴρεις)? If thou art the
Christ, tell us plainly’ (x. 24). It is evident that up to this point,
so near the end, the claim of Jesus to be the Christ had never been so
plainly made as to be a matter of notoriety. It is true that Jesus
replied, ‘I told you, and ye believed not.’ The reference no doubt is to
the rather enigmatical sayings found in this Gospel. But even from these
it would seem that the inference was not direct and inevitable; and our
Lord is represented as going on to appeal not to His words, but to His
works (ver. 25). As to the nature of the sayings, there will be more to
be said later. But the broad conclusion seems to be that the writer of
this Gospel is as clearly conscious as any of the Synoptists of the real
course of events, and that he too was well aware that the Messiah, when
He came, had not forced a peremptory claim upon an unwilling people. It
may thus be seen that the anticipated confessions of the early chapters,
whatever we may otherwise think of them, are really subordinate and (so
to speak) accidental; the main course of the ministry is not conceived
differently in the Fourth Gospel and in the Synoptics.