CHAPTER IX.

THE CONCLUSION.

"And it came to pass, when Jesus had ended these sayings, the people were astonished at his doctrine; for he taught them as one having authority and not as the Scribes." (v. 28, 29.)

HE Scribes were accustomed to take some topic for

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discussion, or some scripture for particular consideration amongst their disciples, and to offer various interpretations of this, partly symbolical, partly mystical. They seem to have alleged the opposite views of ancient doctors without scruple, and to have allowed the utmost freedom of discussion.* In contrast with a mode of instruction, so well adapted to the inferior object of simply exercising and disciplining the human mind, the direct, unhesitating and dogmatical teaching of the Lord must necessarily have excited much astonishment.

* See Conybeare and Howson. Life and Letters of St. Paul, V. i. p. 63. Chrysostom first stated the opinions of others on Gal. ii. 11, and then his own, leaving his hearers to choose for themselves. T. v. p. 815.

Truth was no longer announced as a matter of opinion, or of private discussion; because it is not a speculative, but a practical thing, a positive and eternal law. Whatever doubt or hesitation might befit human expositors of philosophical theories, conscious of their liability to err, there could be no place for these, where the Teacher came from heaven to announce the mind of God. But the authority with which He now spoke was not that of a Lawgiver, but of a Witness.

It was thus, that, when He stood before the Roman governor, who sat arrayed in all the pomp and dignity of his office, as the proud representative of the triumphant rulers of the world, and who examined with unwonted curiosity such a mysterious Prisoner, Jesus replied in the loftier dignity and more sublime triumph of meek simplicity and unsullied innocence, and referred without hesitation to the character of His mission. "To this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness unto the Truth." His very presence struck awe into unprejudiced spectators; and every one who was of the truth heard His voice. They felt it to be divine; for it touched a responsive chord in every divinely inspired soul.

Truth has a two-fold aspect, the objective and the subjective; for we may either regard it in its essential character, in relation to things to be believed, or in its relation to ourselves, as an experience to be realised, or a moral code to be observed. Pilate probably regarded it exclusively in the first point of view, in which he knew

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that it had been the object of long and earnest investigation by men of mighty intellect, and of admired virtue, though himself incapable of any personal sympathy with their longing aspirations after the only treasure, which is alike pleasant and precious, or really sufficient to satisfy an immortal spirit. Many of their various systems and conflicting guesses, or elaborate efforts to roll back the veil, which concealed the majesty and exquisite proportions of its divine and eternal form from mortal view, had been beautifully impressed with characteristic marks of their sublime intellects. These were still enforced by the fervid eloquence and lofty imaginations of their authors; but they had all manifestly failed. Vague contradictory speculations were rapidly multiplied; every one had something to add, or to omit, or to qualify and explain; and each successive tide effaced one or more of the subtle schemes, which each successive generation traced so elaborately upon the shifting sand. Plausibility could not satisfy the anxious soul, sparks of human kindling could not really warm the heart; a well defined object was still wanting to give efficacy to the facts asserted, and to the doctrines inculcated. Despair consequently too often succeeded to the baffled anticipations of ardent hope. Many hastily concluded that the prosecution of inquiries, hitherto so barren and inconclusive, was utterly fruitless; and that all positive assertion was more or less unwarrantable and ridiculous. Truth was therefore represented as sunk in a deep unfathomable well; for

even in the dense gloom of scepticism, men instinctively recognised its existence, though practically valueless. Such probably was the feeling of Pilate, as he paused awhile in wonder, and then exclaimed, "what is truth?" and without waiting for a reply passed on, and regarding the accused before him, as a mere daydreamer and harmless enthusiast, who vainly pretended that He could solve the mystery, hitherto unexplained, and by mere human reason really inexplicable, simply told an infuriated multitude, that he found no fault in Jesus of Nazareth.

And, indeed, had He not come down from heaven to unfold the Eternal and Immutable, and to reveal Him unto us, as far as it was possible for the finite creature to receive the revelation of such transcendent glory, we should be still wandering on the dark mountains in confirmed despair. Human reason has been tested, and failed; speculation has exhausted its resources; it only remains for authority to speak, and to exact implicit faith in the foolishness of preaching," or in the testimony of an infallible witness, first speaking by Himself, and subsequently by His representatives.

But it was in the second point of view, that the truth was now contemplated by the people, who listened to Jesus with wonder and delight. He had not discussed doctrines, or heavenly and unseen realities; He had made no new revelation of the Godhead; He had unfolded no abstract, mysterious idea. It was the will of the Father, which had been declared in simple but

authoritative language; and the consciences of the hearers bore witness to its equity and excellence.

For the immutable distinction between good and evil may be overlaid by the passions and desires of individuals, or by the perverse ingenuity of speculators, or by the prevalent illusions of a corrupt generation; but it cannot be suppressed, or entirely concealed.* The heathen, as the apostle testifies to the Romans, showed the work of the law, to which literally and formally they were strangers, written in their hearts, by the testimony of their own accusing or approving consciences. Their moral vision might be darkened;

* Archelaus held that right and wrong were not defined by nature, but by law or the received opinions of mankind, but this notion is justly ridiculed by the celebrated Aristophanes, as opposed to our common instincts. (Aves v. 755, 756; Ranæ v. 1471, parodying a line of Euripides. Cf. Machon ap. Athen. xiii. p. 502.) No sophistry or art can altogether efface "the work of the law written in the heart.” Tacitus forcibly alludes to the inherent odiousness of crime; (adeo invisa sunt scelera. Hist. iii. 31.) Compare a fine passage in Persius, Sat. iii. v. 35-38. Whatever, indeed, may be the variations of opinion prevalent amongst different nations, Hartley justly observes that "the rule of life drawn from the practice and opinions of mankind corrects and improves itself perpetually, till at last it determines entirely for virtue, and excludes all kinds and degrees of vice." Compare Cicero de Fin. iii. 11. (Quis autem honesta in familia institutus, et educatus ingenue, non ipsa turpitudine, etiam si eum læsura non sit, offenditur? quis animo æquo vidit eum, quem impure ac flagitiose putet vivere? quis non odit sordidos, vanos, leves, futiles?) De Amicit c. 7. (Stantes plaudebant in re ficta: quid arbitramur in vera fuisse faeturos? facile indicabat ipsa natura vim suam: cum homines, quod facere ipsi non possent, id recte fieri in altero judicarent.) † Rom. ii. 15.