xl. 6, 7, for a clause of which a parenthesis is given, saying:

"Sacrifice and offering thou wouldst not (Thou hast furnished me this body)-- In whole burnt offerings and sin offerings thou delighted not: Then said I (in that chapter of the book it is written for me), 'Lo, I come to do thy will, O God.'"

The sentence preserved by Eusebius, however, shows that his attitude toward sacrifices was not merely to "lift" from men (Heb. x. 9, anairei) the burden of sacrifice, but to denounce it as an offering to the devil. "Unless ye cease from sacrificing, the Wrath shall not cease from you."

In this sentence "the Wrath" (hê orgê) is clearly a personification. It does not in the same form occur elsewhere in the Bible. Matthew and Mark report John the Baptist as speaking of "the impending wrath," and Paul occasionally gives "Wrath" a quasi-personification (e. g., "children of Wrath," Eph. ii. 1-3). These expressions, and the "destroyer" Abaddon or Apollyon, of Revelations ix. and (xii. 12) the devil "in great temper" (thymon), all show that the Jewish mind had become familiar with the idea of a dark and evil power quite detached from official relation to Jahveh, no longer "the wrath of God" executing divine judgments, but organized Violence, eager to afflict mankind as the creation of his enemy.

In the "Wisdom of Solomon" (xviii.) there is a complete picture of the two opposing Destroyers. The divine destroyer ("thine Almighty Word") leaps down with his sword and slays the firstborn of Egypt; the antagonist Destroyer begins the same kind of work among the Israelites in Egypt, but Moses by prayer and the "propitiation of incense" sets himself "against the Wrath" and overcomes him,--"not with physical strength, nor force of arms, but with a word." The incense used by Moses to put the demon to flight recalls the "perfume" used by Tobit, on the advice of the angel, to put to flight Asmodeus; and Asmodeus is notoriously the Persian Aêshma, a name meaning "Wrath," who occupies so large space in the Parsî scriptures. [55] The especial antagonist of Aêshma "of the wounding spear," is Sraosha, "the incarnate Word, a mighty-speared god." (Farvardin Yast, 85.) As Moses overcomes "the Wrath" "with a word," Zoroaster is given a form of words to conquer Aêshma ("Praise to Armaîti, the propitious!") and the Vendîdâd says, "The fiend becomes weaker and weaker at every one [repetition] of those words." The Zamyâd Yast says, "The Word of falsehood smites, but the Word of truth shall smite it." Aêshma is the child of Ahriman, the Deceiver of the World, and a Parsî would recognize him in the declaration ascribed to Jesus, "The devil is a liar and so is his father." (John viii. 44.)

That Jesus regarded the whole realm of evil as absolutely antagonistic to the Good is reflected in the epistle "To the Hebrews." There his mission is to abolish the devil (ii. 14), which is very different from abolishing death (2 Tim. i. 10). For a long time the devil was suppressed in the "Lord's Prayer," but in that brief collection of Talmudic ejaculations the only original thing is, "Deliver us from the evil one." In the Clementine Homilies Jesus is quoted as having said, "The evil one is the tempter," and "Give not a pretext to the evil one." Nay, the single clause preserved in Matthew, that it is an enemy that sows tares,--these being as much parts of nature as corn,--is a sentence that divides the Ahrimanic creation from the Ahuramazdean creation as clearly and profoundly as anything ascribed to Zoroaster.

Theological harmonists have for centuries been at work on the contrarious doctrines of all scriptures, and even among the Parsîs some kind of metaphysical alliance has taken place between the Kingdoms of Good and Evil. Devout Christians find it quite consistent that one person of the trinity should say, "I create good and I create evil," and another person of the trinity should say of natural evil, "An enemy hath done this." But no such harmony existed in the Jerusalem of Jesus. Under a teaching that symbolized the deity as the Sun, shining alike on the thankful and thankless, individually, desiring no sacrifices, and concentrating human effort against the forces of evil in nature, in society--the evil principle--Jahveh falls like lightning from heaven. Like "the blameless man" of the "Wisdom of Solomon," Jesus "sets himself against the Wrath," however sanctified as the Wrath of God, and sees all sacrifices as eucharists of the Adversary. He not only repudiates the name "Jahveh," but tells the official agents of Jahvism that their god is his devil. (John viii. 44).

Of course one can only refer cautiously to anything in the fourth Gospel, for it is a composite book, but it contains, as I believe, passages or fragments of the early apostolic theology, wherein dualism, until crushed by Paul, was prominent, and the good God represented in hard struggle with Satan for the rescue of mankind.

This aspect of the teaching of Jesus cannot be dealt with here as its importance deserves. We live in an age whose clergy deal apologetically with the prominence of the Adversary of Man in the teachings of Jesus. For this fundamental principle of Jesus Jewish monotheism has been substituted. But there are many records to attest that the moral perfection and benevolence of the deity, which is certainly inconsistent with his omnipotence, or his "permission" of the tares in nature, was the only new principle of religion affirmed by Jesus; and, also, that it was so subversive of sacrifices, priesthood, and the very foundations of the temple--all dependent on Jahveh's menaces--that the execution of Jesus appears more rationally explicable by this dualistic propaganda than by any other ascribed to him.

It was the birth of a new God that moved Jerusalem: a unique God in Judea--and almost unknown in modern Christendom--namely, a GOOD God. As the Arabian gospel significantly relates, the Eastern Wise Men came to the cradle of Jesus as that of a saviour "prophesied by Zoroaster,"--the one prophet who separated deity from the realm of evil.

It is now even unorthodox to deny that the agonies of nature are part of the providence of God: but herein orthodoxy is in direct antagonism to what it maintains as the authentic teaching of Jesus. "Then was brought unto him one possessed of a devil, blind and dumb; and he healed him, insomuch that the dumb man spake and saw. And all the multitudes were amazed and said, Is this the Son of David? But when the Pharisees heard it, they said, This man doth not cast out devils but by Beelzebub, the prince of devils. And knowing their thoughts he said, Every dominion divided against itself is brought to desolation; and every city or house divided against itself shall not stand; and if Satan casteth out Satan, he is divided against himself: how then shall his dominion stand?"

Those therefore who believe these to be the words of Jesus, and yet believe blindness, dumbness, and other physical diseases to be in any sense of divine providence or even permission, are believing in a God whom Jesus implicitly pronounced to be Satan.

And those who do not believe that Jesus healed such diseases, nor believe in a personal Satan, may still regard the above legend as characteristic. The separation of Good and Evil into eternally antagonistic dominions could not have been affirmed by any Jew other than Jesus (or John the Baptist, probably however an Oriental dervish). Though the Jews popularly believed in Beelzebub and other devils, they were all regarded as under the omnipotence and control of Jahveh, who proudly claimed that he was the creator of all evil, and who even had lying spirits in his employ.

Whether Jesus believed in the personality of the evil principle, in any strict sense, may be questioned. He may have meant no more than Emerson, who pictured ill health as a ghoul preying on the heart and life of its victims. Memories of similar teachings may have given rise to the tales of healing afterwards associated with Jesus. But the personality of evil is a more philosophical generalization than the personification of a power representing both the good and the evil phenomena of nature. Evil acts in concrete forms, and often in combinations of forces which can not be analysed and distributed into particular causes. History records instances of moral epidemics driving whole peoples as if down a steep place into seas of blood, as if by some pandemoniac possession, impressing the ordinarily humane along with the vindictive, the lawless and destructive. A great deal of crime seems disinterested, and still more is due to the fanatical inspiration of cruel deities, whose names become in other religions the names of devils. Out of manifold experiences in the tragical annals of mankind came the terrible Ahriman.

That Jesus did not adopt the Zoroastrian theology is shown in his hostility to sacrifices which are of vital importance in the Parsî system, though they were not of the cruel kind; nor, as we have seen, were they to propitiate gods, but to assist them. Moreover, belief in Ahriman had naturally evoked a militant spirit in the war against evil, and Jesus seems to have for this reason separated himself from the dervish, John the Baptist, whose violence had landed him in prison. The incident (Matt. xi.) is so wrapped in post-resurrectional phraseology that any rational interpretation must be conjectural; but there is a certain accent about it which can hardly be explained as part of the evangelical doctrine that the Baptist was a mere preface to Christ. Jesus seems to regard John the Baptizer as the ablest man of his time (verse 11), but as of a revolutionary spirit, as if the reformation were a siege against some political kingdom or throne. Violent people had been pressing around John, and the cause of spiritual liberation had suffered. There was too much of the old law with its thunders, too much of fiery Elijah, surviving in John. The ideal is not a thing to be clutched at, or taken by force, but all of the conditions--every tittle--must be fulfilled. (Luke xvi. 17.)

This is in substance a doctrine of evolution as opposed to revolution, and my interpretation may be suspected of rationalistic anachronism; but it must be remembered that the Golden Age behind Israel was an epoch of Peace, which was represented in the ancient name of their city (Salem), and of its greatest monarch, Solomon. The prophets had long been painting the visionary dawn with pigments of that glorious sunset. Solomon, true to his name, had allowed dismemberment of his kingdom rather than go to war against rebellion; and it is noticeable that in the apostolic age there was a principle against carnal weapons, the Epistle to the Hebrews (xii. 3, 4) especially reminding the brethren of the patient endurance of Jesus, and commending their not having "resisted unto blood." This peacefulness of Jesus had indeed become a basis of the doctrine that the triumph of Jesus over Satan was conditioned on his not using any force, or other satanic weapon. Those who took to the sword would perish thereby--i. e., remain in sheol.

But in a realm of practically oppressive and cruel superstitions, established and consecrated, an absolute appeal to the moral sentiment cannot escape being revolutionary. The American Anti-Slavery Society were non-resistants; their great leader, William Lloyd Garrison, thus apostrophised his "elder brother" of Jerusalem:

"O Jesus! noblest of patriots, greatest of heroes, most glorious of all martyrs! Thine is the spirit of universal liberty and love--of uncompromising hostility to every form of injustice and wrong. But not with weapons of death dost thou assault thy enemies, that they may be vanquished or destroyed; for thou dost not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against 'principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places'; therefore hast thou put on the whole armor of God, having the loins girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness, and thy feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace, and going forth to battle with the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, the sword of the Spirit! Worthy of imitation art thou, in overcoming the evil that is in the world; for by the shedding of thine own blood, but not even the blood of thy bitterest foe, shalt thou at last obtain a universal victory."

So, across the ages, does deep answer unto deep. But all the same Garrison's feet were unconsciously shod with the preparation of the gospel of war, even as those of Jesus were. In a realm of consecrated wrong every appeal to the moral sentiment is necessarily revolutionary; far more so than physical rebellion, against which preponderant moral forces combine with the immoral, as being a greater evil than the orderly wrong assailed. Satan cannot be cast out by Beelzebub. A god of wrath, enthroned on reeking altars, could better stand the axe of the Baptist than the sunbeam of Jesus, the arrow feathered with gentleness and culture. John the Baptist was not a religious martyr; he suffered from a ruler quite indifferent to his religion, with whose personal affairs he had interfered. But Jesus suffered because he proclaimed, with irresistible eloquence, a new religion, one involving practically the existing institutions of the priesthood, and their whole moral system. It was virtually the setting up of a new deity in place of Jahveh, reason in place of the Bible, the heart worshipping in spirit and in truth in place of the temple, and humanizing the moral sentiment--turning the conventional morality to "dead works" (Heb. vi. 1). He expected the reform to be peaceful!

Rousseau's remark that Socrates died like a philosopher, but Jesus like a god, has in it a truth more important than those who often quote it recognise. Jesus died, legendarily, so much like a god that it is difficult to make out just what happened to the man. Strong arguments have been made to prove that he did not die at all on "the cross" (a word unknown to the New Testament), [56] and that Pilate not only "set himself" to save Jesus (John xix. 12), but succeeded. There may have been from the stake a despairing cry, afterwards shaped after a line from a psalm, but it can hardly be determined whether this may not have been part of the first post-resurrectional doctrine that the Son must be absolutely left by his divine Father, and pass unaided through the ordeal of Satan, in order to fulfil the conditions of a return from death. It is true, however, that this primitive idea had almost vanished when the earliest Gospel was written, and, although a relic of it may have been preserved by tradition, there is an equal probability that Jesus did utter at the stake a cry of despair. The whole miserable murderous affair, unforeseen and disappointing, must have appeared to him a horrible display of diabolism; and even after his friends believed in his resurrection, and saw in the tragedy a sacrifice, they regarded it a sacrifice hateful to his Father, and exacted only by the Devil.

Did he pray, "Father forgive them, they know not what they do"? Only Luke reports this; its suppression by the other Gospels suggests that its doctrinal significance was perceived. I heard a preacher in the church of the Jesuits at Rome argue that Judas himself is now in Paradise, because Jesus thus prayed for those who slew him, and the prayer of the Son of God must have been answered. There is no apparent dogmatic purpose in this incident, and it may be true.

The story of his confiding his mother to the disciple "whom he loved," told only by John, is evidently meant to complete the assumption of a special favoritism towards that disciple, who is the type of the good Spirit on one side of Jesus in contrast with Judas, Satan's agent, on the other. The two are equally unhistorical and allegorical. John and Judas became the good and evil Wandering Jews of mediæval folklore.

The first Solomon had perished as a teacher of wisdom when he was summoned from his tomb to utter the Jahvism of the "Wisdom of Solomon": the second and last Solomon was forever buried on the day when Mary Magdalene saw his apparition, and cried, "My master!" From that time may be dated the loss of the man Jesus, and restoration in Christ of the Jahvism whose burden the wise teacher had endeavored to lift from the heart and mind of the people. Vicisti Jahveh!