Great Lion of God (47 page)

Aristo yawned. “You Jews,” he said, with a fond smile at his former pupil. “You speak of your Messias as the Anointed, presumably of your God, the Christus, as the Romans would call Him. You think that a miracle of miracles. But as you know our gods and our goddesses mated regularly with mortals and had a multitude of sons and daughters, and we do not marvel and contemplate the thought in ecstasy. Gods are gods, and they have the attributes of mortals as well as their venalities, and I think the thought charming and beautiful. In any event, my friend, who is a man of considerable learning, swore that the rabbi who cured him was the Unknown God Whom we await.”

“Blasphemy,” said Saul. “Do not smile. Was not your Socrates given the hemlock cup because he blasphemed?”

“I believe the real reason was because he urged young men to think, and not meekly accept the beliefs of their fathers and their government as sacred, but to reflect for themselves. Who knows what turmoil he would have created had he been permitted to live? Good and wise men surely deserve to die, for they are alien to this world.”

“You are not serious, of course,” said Saul, with a flash of his usual deep impatience before jesting. “Ah, I wish that mountebank, of which your friend has spoken, as did Jochanan, the Essene, that pretender who permits the ignorant to believe he is the Messias, would come to Jerusalem, and I would denounce him to his face and expose him to punishment!”

“But, I heard he has already visited this city, many times. Do not you Jews have a command that those able to walk or ride appear in this city on your High Holy Days? Yes. You have told me. So that poor Nazarene, from the misery and dejection of Galilee, must have been here very often in his lifetime. I also heard he performed miracles here.”

“I have heard of no such miracles!” cried Saul. Then he halted. He stared at Aristo with his eyes which were so like the blue glaze on a sword. “Did your friend note his appearance?” He had turned somewhat pale and the freckles on his gaunt face were prominent.

Aristo thought, then described the rabbi as his friend had told him, and as he did so Saul’s red eyebrows became a knot over his eyes and his long wide mouth whitened.

“What is wrong?” asked Aristo, finally noting all this.

“Nothing,” said Saul. “I think I have seen that Nazarene, twice in reality, once in a feverish dream. I knew him for what he was, immediately. A sorcerer. Therefore, he stands condemned, for such have a devil.” He shivered, and then, to his own amazement, he felt a deep pang of a grief which had no name, but seemed connected with a betrayal.

Aristo was growing more bored with the conversation. They were seated in Saul’s appalling little bedroom, with its earthen floor and all its pungent smells. Aristo had brought wine and cakes with him, which Saul had absently shared. The dull little lamp flickered; the day was drawing to sunset.

Aristo said, “My friend told me, later, that the rabbi, holy or not, was not alone, that he was accompanied by disciples, or followers. Among them was the son of your great and powerful Annas, himself, of whom even King Herod is terrified and whom Pilate honors above all else. Who truly rules the Temple, but Annas, as the Jewish elder told my friend, and who can ruin or raise men up, and who controls the treasures of the Temple, but Annas? Is he not also a high priest, father-in-law of the High Priest in Jerusalem, one Caiphas? Yes. You see, I inquired of these things, for then they interested me, though I confess they no longer do. Annas has a son, one Judas Iscariot, a rich young man, and he is a follower of your ragged holy rabbi.”

“Nonsense,” said Saul. “I have heard of that son, an Essene, whom his father disinherited, though his mother dotes on him and sends him rich gifts of money. Nonsense.”

Aristo yawned very widely now. He had stayed long over his time in Israel, because of the Lady Ianthe, to whom he was betrothed, and whom he adored. There was still the matter of the dowry to settle, and though Telis now proclaimed himself a completely honorable man he was not above shrewd dealing. Men, even with a vision, are still men, Aristo thought, smiling. He would return for his bride in six months, for her period of mourning for her dead husband had not yet been completed. Aristo was also certain that Telis, that careful trader and rascal, was doing some investigating, very quietly, of his prospective son-in-law. Aristo was not offended. He would have done the same, and in fact, he had already done so.

He said to Saul now, “You have matters of estate to settle in Tarsus. Are you not returning with me?”

“I have lawyers there, and agents,” said Saul. “What does property matter to me? I will arrange to have it given to the temple in Tarsus, a certain tithe for the Temple in Jerusalem.”

Aristo stared at him as if he was mad. “It is riches!” he cried. “You are a rich man, a man of power! And you would give it all away! Come, my Saul. You are not demented, are you? You are not serious?”

“I am not demented, and I am serious,” said Saul.

“O gods,” Aristo groaned, rolling up his eyes. He had another thought. “What of your beautiful sister, Sephorah, and her children? Do you not wish to leave them a fat legacy?”

“Sephorah has her own dowry and she is married to riches,” said Saul. Then he fell into thought. “I should like to see my dear father’s tomb,” he said in a sad deep voice. “I should like to say Kaddish for him in his own temple in Tarsus. Yes. I know my sorrow will grow greater in Tarsus, but it cannot be avoided.”

“At least, keep your house, which your father loved,” said Aristo. “It will be a refuge for you, in Tarsus, when the world grows too much for you.”

“Perhaps,” said Saul, with indifference. But at heart he was not indifferent. He thought of the house in which he had been born, and which was filled with loved memories. He would keep that house, for it was Sephorah’s home also, and she spoke of it wistfully.

He said, “There is one thing of which I cannot forgive myself: I never understood my father.”

Aristo sighed. “Saul, Saul. Do you understand me, or your sister, or your friends? Do you even understand yourself? No. Therefore, do not reproach yourself for not understanding your father. It is more than possible that he did not understand you, either.”

“I do not know why,” said Saul, smiling his pale and reluctant smile, “but in some way you comfort me, as none other can, no, not even Rabban Gamaliel nor Joseph of Arimathaea.”

“It is, probably, because I speak sensibly,” said Aristo, “and not in mysteries and in symbols.”

He took his leave of Saul with affection. Saul sat alone after his friend had gone, and absently drank some of the good wine, which he really did not taste, and he pondered, and there was more than sorrow in his heart. There was a dread and shadowy uneasiness which he could riot name, but which was like the haunting of great wings over his soul.

Chapter 21

R
ABBAN
G
AMALIEL
was discussing philosophies with his pupils, among them Saul of Tarshish.

“The Greeks,” he said, “have declared that there is a great similarity between their Ascetics and our ancient Faith, and have pointed out that God, blessed be His Name, has commanded us not to be obsessed with the secular world—for fear of losing our eternal spirits and the world hereafter—and their Ascetics have declared that the world of men is extraneous to the spirit, ordered by arcane and demonic divinities and inspirations.

“But there is a difference of tremendous proportions between us and the Ascetics. The world is not irrelevant to us; it is part of our being, as our body is of the earth and the dust thereof, and our physical manifestation is as animal as that of the bull and the horse and the bird. In that manifestation we must deal with the material part of the world, and if we fail in this, our duty, we have failed the Almighty Father, also, for has He not told us that His Messias will take on our flesh, and would He take on our flesh if it were despicable and unworthy of Him—He who created it? To despise the world, therefore, and the creatures of the world, is, in a measure, to despise God, Himself. Why do you frown, Saul of Tarshish?”

“Forgive me,” said Saul. “I am afraid my mind wandered somewhat, for a moment.”

The famous Rabban’s lively face puckered slightly. He knew that Saul had not been entirely candid in his reply, for the young man was flushing. The Rabban resumed:

“We Jews acknowledge that there is a spirit of Evil in this world, Lucifer, the fallen archangel, for in the Book of Job it is related that God and Lucifer contended for the soul of that faithful man. Whether symbolic or not, we know, each man of us, that good is always warring with evil in our own hearts, and that is not mystical but actual. As God has His Legions of the Blessed to assist Him, so Lucifer must have his legions of the Damned to assist him, and so we acknowledge the actuality of demons, though the Sadducees smile superbly at the idea and speak only of a man’s ‘conscience,’ which they allege is the creation of the superstitions of the man’s parents or his own response to living, or his particular religion or of no religion. But the Sadducees do not explain why a man has a conscience at all, whether fantasy or reality! Only man possesses such. Why? No matter. That not part of this argument, though the Sadducees do aver that man is good, is inclined to good, and therefore has the inner voice of Goodness.

“But we do not believe that the spirits of evil, however malign, are more powerful or as powerful as the Spirit of Good, which is God. The Greeks believe that in their realm they are as powerful, and that is why they often sacrifice to them to propitiate them. The more pious among us exorcise them, if manifesting externally, though we know that the internal manifestation is more formidable. We should, therefore, perhaps,” and the Rabban smiled his genial smile, “exorcise ourselves!”

The pupils gave him the expected chuckle. He became serious again. “We know that some unfortunate men are possessed by demons. However, these are rare. The true evil lives in the heart of men. But that is not the argument. The Ascetics of the Greeks believe that as the world is alien to men, under the reign of demonic divinities and therefore inhospitable to the spirit of man, it is necessary to destroy the world and all its manifestations, including our learning, our art and our law. In short, anarchy. The Ascetics may believe this desirable—but can man live in chaos? No, he would perish. I believe that is the malicious desire of the Ascetics. They appear to believe that if the world is destroyed and the physical manifestation of man is destroyed thereby, the spirit of man is released. To what they do not specify. Can spirit live without manifestation in some form? God, Himself, manifests Himself in His Creation.

“The Ascetics and the Jews, accordingly, are far apart in explaining the world and evil. But we do acknowledge the Golden Mean of the Greeks. A man should not be entirely of the world, lest he lose his soul, nor must he be entirely of the spirit, lest he lose his common humanity—which is a manifestation of the Lord, blessed be His Name. We have understood this for a long time, and that is why we fear and suspect the man of absolute mind who does not know how to labor and to deal with the things of the earth. Absolute mind can be evil as well as good. Moreover, it has a tendency to madness and excess. Man stands with a foot on materialism and with the other foot in the realm of spirit. That is why, knowing this, we have said that the world is truly our home, and that the Messias will transfigure it, and our flesh, and make it a house worthy of the spirit. We cannot encompass the thought as yet, for we think of the world as of boundaries and limitations, but to the spirit there are no boundaries and no limitations. It is a great mystery. It is Truth, but it is always a mystery to our finite minds.

“In conclusion, we should remember this: If God did not love this world of ours, but only despised it, He would not send His Messias to us. Rather, He would lift the souls of men above the world, and destroy the earth beneath—this lovely green garden of God. Let us, then, love the world of men, not with maudlin sentimentality or with delicate tears of insincere compassion, but because the world of men is a manifestation of the Almighty. Man must be judged justly but never with lenience. His sins must never be explained away, lest God is mocked. As he pays for his errors of spirit in the world hereafter, so he must pay for his errors of flesh in this world. He is responsible for his actions, which the chaotic Ascetics would deny. Whether weak or strong, foolish or wise, slothful or industrious, beggarly or proud-man must answer solely for himself, judged wisely and impartially among his fellows. He is not a slave to circumstance, as the Ascetics imply. He is master of all he thinks and does. Other men may oppress him, but in his soul he is free. How he responds to that freedom is answerable to God.

“In short, we Jews declare that man is born free and remains free, no matter his environment, whereas the Greeks talk of Fate, especially the Ascetics, who would prefer to blame Fate for their own sins and evils and not themselves, and wail that it is the world of their fellows which is responsible for their immediate state—and not their own weakness and indifference and apathy, and inferiority of will. I have my own theory about the Ascetics: They hate and loath themselves, for they know what is in their hearts, and therefore, for all their protestations of love for man and sorrow for his fate, they truly hate man, as an extension of themselves.”

He sighed. “It is an old aphorism: We hate and condemn in others what is really in the secret places of ourselves. But rather than condemn ourselves—for man is conceited without reason—we prefer to chastise and denounce our brother, and accuse him of the vileness that lives in us. And, to conceal that vileness, we will eagerly sacrifice the reputation, the happiness and even the life of our neighbor.”

“Then,” said Saul, “man is truly contemptible?”

The Rabban studied him intently for a few moments. “I did not say that, Saul of Tarshish. Have you not been listening to me?”

He seldom rebuked his pupils, and this was the first time he had rebuked Saul. The young man flushed with mortification, and his harsh blue eyes hardened. The other pupils, who did not love him, bent their heads demurely and smiled in their young beards. This further mortified him, and his lips became tight.