state first collections which no longer exist (logia of Matthew, lecqenta h pracqenta of Mark); second, the state of simple mixture, in which the original documents are amalgamated with no effort at composition, without disclosing any personal view on the part of the authors (the present gospels of Matthew and Mark); third, the state of combination or of intended and premeditated digestion, in which we perceive the effort to reconcile the different versions (Luke’s gospel). The Gospel of John, as we have said, is a composition of a different order, and entirely peculiar.
It will be remarked that I have made no use of the apocryphal gospels. These compositions can in no way be put upon the same footing as the canonical gospels. They are flat and puerile amplifications, based upon the canonical gospels. On the contrary, I have been very careful to collect the fragments preserved by the Fathers of the Church of ancient gospels which once existed along with the canonical and which are now lost, such as the Gospel according to the Hebrews, the Gospel according to the Egyptians, and the Gospels called those of Justin, Marcion and Tatian, The two first are especially important in that they were written in Aramaic like the Logia of Matthew, that they appear to constitute a variety of the gospel of that apostle, and that they were the gospel of the Ebionim, that is, of those little Christian communities of Batanea who kept up the use of the Syro-Chaldaic, and who appear in some respects to have continued the line of Jesus. But it must be confessed, that in the state in which they have reached us, these gospels are inferior, for critical authority, to the form of Matthew’s gospel which we possess.
The historic value which I attribute to the gospels is now, I think, quite understood. They are neither biographies after the manner of Suetonius nor fictitious legends. They are legendary biographies. I would compare them with the legends of the saints, the lives of Plotinus, Prochis, Isidorus, and other works of the same kind, in which historic truth and the intention of presenting models of virtue are combined in different degrees. Inaccuracy is one of the peculiarities of all popular compositions; it is especially perceptible in them. Suppose that ten years after the death of Napoleon, three or four old soldiers of the empire had each sat down to write the story of his life from memory. It is clear that their relations would present numerous errors and great discrepancies. One of them would put Wagram before Marengo; another would write without hesitation that Napoleon drove the government of Robespierre from the Tuileries; a third would omit expeditions of the highest importance. But one thing would certainly be realized with a good degree of truth from these artless relations – the character of the hero and the impression which he made upon those about him. In this view, such popular histories are better than formal, authoritative history. The same thing may be said of the gospels. Intent solely on setting prominently forth the excellence of the Master, his miracles and his teachings, the evangelists exhibit complete indifference to everything which is not the very spirit of Jesus. Contradictions as to times, places, persons were regarded as insignificant, because the higher the degree of inspiration attributed to the words of Jesus, the farther they were from according this inspiration to the narrators. These were looked upon simply as scribes and had but one rule: to omit nothing that they knew.
Rembrandt Harmensz. van Rijn, Descent from the Cross, 1633.
Oil on panel, 89.4 × 65.2 cm.
Alte Pinakothek, Munich.
Rembrandt Harmensz. van Rijn, The Ascension of Christ, 1636.
Oil on canvas, 93 × 68.7 cm.
Alte Pinakothek, Munich.
It is not necessarily contradictory that to some extent preconceived ideas must have mingled with these memories. Several stories, of Luke especially, were devised in order to bring out, vividly, certain traits of the physiognomy of Jesus. This physiognomy itself suffered changes every day. Jesus would be a phenomenon unique in history, if, with the part which he enacted, had not been transfigured early. The legend of Alexander was complete before the generation of his companions in arms was extinct; that of St. Francis of Assisi began while he was still alive. A rapid work of metamorphosis was also going on during the twenty or thirty years which followed the death of Jesus and imposed upon his biography the absolute traits of an ideal legend. Death adds perfection to the most perfect man and it renders him faultless to those who have loved him. At the same time, moreover, that they wished to paint the Master, they wished to demonstrate him. Many anecdotes were conceived to prove that in him the prophecies considered as Messianic had been accomplished. But this process, the importance of which must not be denied, cannot explain all. No Jewish work of the time gives a series of prophecies precisely set forth which the Messiah was to accomplish. Many of the Messianic allusions seized upon by the evangelists are so subtle, so distorted, that we can believe only that all that corresponds to a doctrine generally admitted. Sometimes the reasoning was thus: “The Messiah was to do something specific: now Jesus is the Messiah; therefore Jesus has done a certain thing.” Sometimes it was the opposite: “A certain thing happened to Jesus; now Jesus is the Messiah; therefore a certain thing was going to happen to the Messiah.” Explanations that are too simple are always false in an analysis of the tissue of these profound creations of popular sentiment, which defy all systems by their richness and their infinite variety.
It is hardly necessary to say that with such documents, in order to give only what is incontestable we must limit ourselves to general lines. In nearly all ancient histories, even in those which are much less legendary than these, the details leave room for infinite doubt. When we have two accounts of the same act, it is extremely rare that the two accounts agree. Is not this a reason, when we have but one, for imagining many perplexities? We may say that among the anecdotes, the speeches, the celebrated sayings reported by the historians, not one is rigorously authentic. Were there stenographers to fix these fleeting words? Was there an annalist always present to note the gestures, the manner, or the feelings of the actor? Endeavour to arrive at the truth in regard to the manner in which this or that conveys that the event happened. Two accounts of the same quality given by eyewitnesses differ essentially. Must we therefore renounce all the colouring of narratives and confine ourselves to the general enunciation of facts? This would be to suppress history. Indeed, I do believe that, if we except certain short, almost mnemonic axioms, none of the discourses reported by Matthew are literal – our stenographed trials scarcely are. I willingly admit that this admirable relation of the Passion contains a multitude of approximations. Should we, however, write the life of Jesus omitting these teachings which represent so vividly the physiognomy of his discourses, and confine ourselves to saying with Josephus and Tacitus that “he was put to death by the order of Pilate at the instigation of the priests?” That would be, in my opinion, a species of inaccuracy worse than that to which we are exposed by admitting the details which the texts famish us. These details are not true to the letter; but they are true with a superior honesty; they are truer than the naked truth, in this sense, they are truth rendered expressive and eloquent, raised to the height of an idea.
I beg those persons who may think I have accorded too great a confidence to great legendary stories to remember the observation which I have just made. To what would the life of Alexander be reduced, were we to confine ourselves to that which is absolutely certain? Even the traditions that are in part erroneous contain a portion of truth which history cannot neglect. M. Sprenger has not been blamed for making, in writing the life of Muhammad, great account of the habits or oral traditions in regard to the prophet, or for often attributing literally to his hero sayings known only from this source. The traditions in regard to Muhammad, however, have no historical character superior to that of the discourses and narratives which compose the gospels. They were written between the year 50 and 140 of the Hegira. In writing the history of the Jewish schools during the centuries which immediately preceded and followed the birth of Christianity, we should have no scruples about attributing to Hillel, Schammai and Gamaliel the maxims which are assigned to them by the Misohna, although these great compilations were put into form several hundred years after the doctors in question.
Ridolfo Ghirlandaio, The Procession to Calvary, c. 1505.
Oil on canvas, transferred from wood, 166.4 × 161.3 cm.
National Gallery, London.