SECTION VII

the Christian theological criticism of the gospel narratives

A course of argument which proceeds upon no definite principles, or upon principles not decidedly those of the Christian point of view, can by no means be brought forward or recognized as theological criticism. Many works making pretensions to this title, have been characterized by their denial of the principles of Christianity, the principles of historical criticism, and even the principle of being consistent with themselves. Every utterance and evasion of subchristian or antichristian assumption, every sophistry and chicane employed in the examination of the Gospels, has been called criticism. To lay down an organon of criticism, is therefore of the first necessity.

It has been laid down as the first principle of criticism, that it should be entirely free from assumption. Freedom from assumption has even been said to be criticism. Hence a more accurate definition of this notion may reasonably be demanded. The requisition that the critic should not allow himself to be influenced by preconceived opinions, is quite another from that which demands that he should not start from Christian premisses. The saying is, however, too indefinite to settle anything satisfactorily. This freedom from assumptions is never found as a gift of nature, for even the most mindless of men has his interests. If he has no holy, he has unholy interests, because he is a man, a being whose inner nature can never sink or stiffen into absolute indifference. The most indolent exhibit some kind of party spirit, and even the despairing are destroyed by the fearful power of false assumptions. It is only when moral and religious development has reached its climax, that a kind of energetic freedom from assumptions can appear, which is then, however, identical with the most sublime assumption. For it is not till man clearly recognizes that pure reality is identical with truth, that he attains the courage and gladness which enable him to look upon the facts he is investigating in a purely objective manner, and to perceive that truth will gain most by an utter renunciation of the selfish interference of his own special interests, by a complete surrender to the divine, in its naked reality. Thus man does not become free from assumptions till he assumes that truth appears in reality. But this is, in fact, the assumption of the eternal truth of Christianity; namely, that the ideal is realized, not merely in myths, but in facts; that the God-man must be manifested, not merely in scattered reflections, but in the plenipotence of individuality and personality. It is in this fundamental dogma that Christianity appears as the religion of the spirit. Hence Christianity is identical with objective criticism, and the Christian spirit, as such, is free from assumptions, because it consists in the highest assumption, and vice versa.

Absolute freedom from assumption then, is, in the relation of a vital contrast, one with absolute assumption, and this contrast, in its oneness, forms the chief principle of Christian criticism. Its results are not merely a series of absolute critical propositions, but of absolute critical acts. Partial freedom from assumption, on the contrary, is more or less unconsciously connected with the partial assumption, that a perpetual schism exists between spirit and nature, between truth and reality, an abyss between Godhead and manhood, which can only be covered over by artifices on the part of either. Hence it looks upon reality as a world infected, in its very nature, with illusions. This low-pitched and false assumption begets, as has been seen, a criticism after its own kind. The first principle of true criticism, however, is the conviction that the actual world unfolds truth, and that truth is exhibited in facts, the highest truth in the highest fact. Hence arises the general requisition, that the critic should test the matter in hand with a morality corresponding to this conviction. He is seeking truth in the object he is testing; he must therefore approach it with truth. Generally speaking, truth is the absolute connection, the conformity of the particular with the whole, and with the infinite. But in the province of criticism, truth exhibits itself in a definite succession of incidents. First, the speech or expression is self-consistent; this is its logical truth. Then the saying is consistent with the inner nature of the person speaking; this is its moral truth. Further, its conformity with already accredited testimony is apparent; this is its historical truth. Finally, the saying is in accordance with the Eternal, as manifested in the heart of every man, and expressed in the life of the holy; this confirms its religious truth. In all these respects, it cannot but be required of the true critic, that he should himself be in accordance with truth, that he should be truthful, or ‘do’ the truth, as St John expresses it, in order to pass judgment concerning the truth of the matter to be tested.

Thus what criticism demands in its object, it must first exhibit in its own transactions. It must be true, to be able to demand, to appreciate, and to recognize truth. Criticism of the Gospels demands of the Gospel which it is testing, first, that it should be consistent with itself. The Evangelist may indeed, nay must, appear to contradict himself. For the appearance of contradiction is the mark of life, depth, and concrete vigour. Nature appears to contradict herself a thousand times. If the critic finds a difficulty in this appearance of inconsistency, if he requires of the Gospels a lawyer-like accuracy of expression, he does but proclaim his own inability to appreciate them. He may, however, and must expect them to be free from real contradictions. The measure of their logical consistency is but the measure of their credibility. Such a consistency is the first demand of the critic. But it is therefore also his first duty. If he contradicts himself,—if, for instance, he at one time designates the dulness of the narrative, and at another its picturesqueness, as tokens of its unhistorical nature, if he at different times applies different and mutually opposing rules of judgment,—he forfeits all claims to the credibility which he seems in search of.

Logical untrustworthiness may be the result of enthusiastic delusion. It may, however, be connected also with moral untrustworthiness. Detailed testimony always makes a moral impression: the person who speaks is always apparent in the background of the speech. It may be perceived from the relation of the whole to the parts, whether the highest degree of conviction prevails, or whether the speaker is endeavouring to persuade himself as well as others. When, then, logical inconsistency appears, on closer observation, to be moral inconsistency,—when, for instance, a hesitation between the dictates of holiness and immoral opinions is apparent,—the moral trustworthiness of the speaker is doubtful. The critic examines him in this respect. He may condemn him if he betrays a decided inconsistency between his isolated sayings and his moral nature. But he is himself subject to the same law. If he is continually showing himself prejudiced, while laying down as a principle entire freedom from prejudice,—if, e.g., he insists on seeing anecdotes in myths, or myths in anecdotes, while it is the nature of the anecdote to give prominence to the occasional, and of the myth to express the general, if he applies different weights and measures to different passages, according to the requirements of his special judgment,—the spirit of the critic has become his possessing demon, which is powerfully rending him in the midst of the process.

In communications of a historical kind, criticism investigates their historical truth by considering their relation to already admitted testimony. Historical truth must, first of all, be distinguished from the truth exhibited by a legal document or a protocol. The latter must exhibit the utmost completeness in the description of an event, the former a lively and spirited view and condensation of it. The legal reporter endeavours to transcribe an occurrence with the greatest possible accuracy, though even this cannot be accomplished without the co-operation of the mind’s interpretation. The historical narrator, on the contrary, draws a free and artistic portrait of the circumstance; he tries to exhibit its essential features, as they have mentally affected himself. History is the actual world viewed and exhibited in the element of the mind, of enthusiasm, of the ideal. A protocol-like history will never descend to posterity; it is only by means of the joint testimony of the ideal that pictures of the world’s history can retain their brilliancy to the world’s end, and to eternity. This peculiar nature of historic truth seems to make history utterly uncertain, and does make it uncertain to every man who is only susceptible of the kind of evidence furnished by natural science. But that which makes it uncertain in this respect, is the very circumstance which, on the other hand, constitutes its certainty, viz., the epic spirit with which it is allied. The human mind obtains its highest conviction, concerning such distant and ancient occurrences as are narrated to it, by epic, or, as it might with equal propriety be called, moral assurance. History does not, however, therefore become a mere subjective delusion. The objective credibility of historical testimony is one of the most unshakeable convictions of the human mind. But the relative degrees of this credibility form an endless multitude of historical paths, which entangle the uncandid mind like a labyrinth, while the candid mind finds the brightest traces of truth to guide it. The relative degrees of certainty correspond with these relative degrees of credibility. There are certainties of ancient times, which shine through all time, like the stars, nay, like the sun and moon in heaven. But as soon as the particular features of facts generally certain are treated of, the particular views both of the witnesses and the recipients of their testimony are apparent. The general historical image appears under infinitely various modifications, according to the position and disposition of the minds that perceive it. The Thirty Years’ War assumes one colour in the eyes of the Protestant, another in the eyes of the Catholic. The Englishman talks of the battle of Waterloo, the Prussian of the battle of La Belle Alliance; it is one battle, but each nation has its special interest in the more defined conception and description of it. If, then, different stand-points produce different views of the same occurrence, the essential and non-essential must first be distinguished, unless all historical truth is to be despaired of. But not only will the view formed of an event depend upon the spirit in which it is contemplated, but this view will be also infinitely modified by differences in the means by which knowledge of it is obtained, by the circumstances of nearness or distance, and especially by the individuality of those who consider it. The variety of historical images which the same event will impress upon different individuals will, however, be the more striking in proportion as the event itself is, on one hand, more important, ideal, and significant, and, on the other, as the individuals who report it are original and significant. But among all varieties of outline and colouring, the historical narrative must, when tested, present in all essential matters the same image as other accredited testimony presents: this is its historic truth. The critic must require historic truth in a narrative. But to require this, he must possess the historic sense. He must have the ability of being assured of distant events by means of the historic spirit; the power of transposing himself into the past by means of the perpetuity of moral divination; and sufficient delicacy of perception to discern between the objective matter of a narrative, and its subjective setting. If this sense is wanting, he will either, with superstitious submission, identify all the witnesses of a fact with the fact itself, and thus, e.g., make out of two different representations of one occurrence, two separate histories; or he will, with historical incredulity, require that history should be everywhere accredited by its lawyer-like accuracy, that its truth should be officially and juridically established.

Finally, since the Gospels announce that which is ever valid in the sphere of religious life, the facts which they relate must correspond with the religious consciousness, in those respects in which it is in all ages alike. The critic may and must test the religiousness of the narratives as well as of the facts. Hence arises the necessity that he should address himself to his task in a religious spirit, with a sense for the holy and the eternal in mankind. But the religiousness of the Evangelists announces itself as Christian in its nature. Does it become the critic then to test such witnesses, nay, the facts themselves which they narrate, with respect to their Christianity? Such a task seems both difficult and dangerous. But yet it was once accomplished by the primitive Church, when consciously forming the canon. In this case, the standard is always the collection of the New Testament Scriptures, as formed by the mind of the Church into a definite unity; or, in other words, the Christian spirit as originally and normally defined by the Sacred Scriptures. It is, for instance, entirely in accordance with a due relative subordination, that the Christianity of Mark, the disciple of the apostles, should be tested by the Christianity of apostolic teaching. But the critic who should feel himself called to this examination, must, on that very account, be a Christian. If he is deficient in Christian faith and spirit, he is deficient in the spirit of criticism—of criticism at the climax of its glory. These are the principles which the criticism of the Gospels must always cultivate and develop, and it is according to their dictates that its work must be carried on.