Lessons in the Christian Evidence: The Cheque and the Counterfoil

There are many ways in which intelligent readers have come to the conclusion that the books of Scripture are genuine, that their narrative is authentic, and that the message which they carry to mankind is indeed the Word of the living God. Some of these proofs require a certain amount of erudition in order to feel their force, or considerable powers of attention in order to follow the argument; but others are so obvious that he who runs may read. Nor should it ever be forgotten, tEatTto the sound mind Christ is His own witness, and Christianity carries its own commendation. There is also a class of proofs intrinsic to the Bible itself, which to the most of minds are very conclusive when rightly brought out, and which are all the more valuable, because they need no cumbrous apparatus of external evidence. Of these we shall try to give an example in this and the following chapters.

Coming home, a ship’s company describes a remarkable scene which it has witnessed in the course of its wanderings. Discredited by some and believed by others, the deponents adhere to their statement with wonderful tenacity; nor can imprisonment and torture induce them to alter a single iota. After they are dead, and when all evidence is converging towards the truth of their story, many regret that they can no longer see and cross-question the original narrators. However, it turns out that in a public collection are sundry pictures containing an elaborate representation of the controverted incident, and believed to be the work of some of the spectators, or exact facsimiles from their originals. In settling the dispute, it is obvious that great interest will attach to these drawings, and it will be a matter of the utmost moment to ascertain their trustworthiness. Are they not modern forgeries? Do they contain no fatal incongruities? no anachronism in costume? no solecism in the landscape, or the objects which people it? and are they not flagrant copies the one from the other? — all four the same cunning fable in so many different disguises?

No, says the artist: they are not modern.

42 Lessons in the Christicui Evidence.

They are as old as the time they profess. Their transmission is straightforward and abundantly established; and, even though there were no other proof, I know their antiquity from their style, and from the pigments and vehicles employed in their production.

No, say the physical geographer and the antiquary: they are true to the given time and place. That is the exact aspect of the country, and those are its characteristic birds and flowers. And this is the dress of the period; and some of the personages introduced I can recognise as contemporaries, and very correctly represented they are.

No, says the critic: they do not copy one another. Some of them may have used pre-existing sketches, or they may have had access to certain materials in common. But they are all distinct and independent; and some of them, at least, have drawn from the life. They give traits and details which would never occur to any but an actual observer.

So says the scholar: The Gospels are as old as the commencement of the Christian era. For the professed antiquity of no books is the documentary evidence so abundant: but even though all manuscripts and versions were destroyed, their very speech bewrayeth them. Their language is the Greek of Galileans. After the first centuries that Hellenistic dialect ceased to

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be spoken by any people; and, after it became a dead language, to write in it such books as we now possess, would have required a scholarship almost supernatural. We can have no more pictures the same as these; for the very pigment which makes them so peculiar has perished.

We agree with you, say the naturalist and the archaeologist: they are true to the region they represent. The Gospels are still written on the face of Palestine. To return to your comparison, — they remind me of a picture where, in representing some remarkable coloured strata, that there might be no dispute as to the truth of the tinting, the artist had actually painted with specimens of the several rocks finely pounded. In these Hebrew sketches I recognise the very dust and stones of Zion; and I have no manner of doubt that they are the work of Jews anterior to the destruction of Jerusalem.

And asked to pronounce on these old pictures, how does the critic proceed?

Setting them side by side, he is first of all struck by the different style of all the four. Each artist has his own affinities, — an eye for something which another overlooks, — his own touch and impasto and finish. This first, with his careful draughtmanship and scientific exactitude, is a manifest systematist, and gives every object as a philosopher would see it. That other, more eclectic, is withal more picturesque; and his pencil everywhere scatters the expressive minutiae and the happy hits of the descriptive poet. In the masterly perspective, the wavy flow, and the skilful grouping of the third, you recognise the practised strokes and pleasing effects of the accomplished limner. Whilst in the flaming fragments of the fourth, — in the empyrean background, and in the warm air and summer joy of the nearer distances, as also in the divine animation with which the canvas heaves and palpitates, you perceive a soul which had life abundantly, and which labours to convey a glimpse of its own glorious vision, only grudging the imperfection of all material vehicles. Each is distinct and independent. Each could repeat himself in manifold variety; but not one of all the four could pass for his neighbour.

Laying the four Gospels alongside of one another, you observe the Hebrew instincts of St Matthew. With heraldic accuracy the commencement of his narrative is a long genealogy, supremely interesting to a nation compared with whose youngest family our British Percies and Howards are men of yesterday. Then with a sort of black-letter fondness for precedent, or rather with a believing Israelite’s reverence for prophetic Scripture, ever and anon he is repeating, “As it is written,” — “That it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the prophet.” And in the large collection of parables, so pleasing to Eastern readers; in the recital of those miracles which especially attested the Messiahship of Jesus; and in the prominence given to incidents and discourses which throw light on the “Root and Offspring of David,” you discern the Hebrew of the Hebrews, — the Jewish historian, so systematic, so scriptural, so conscious of his country.

Almost as Western as Matthew is Eastern, Mark gives the Syriac Addas, and Ephphathas, and Talitha-cumis, along with their translation; and “centurions,” “speculators,” “quadrantes,” or farthings, are set down or explained just as they would have been by a Greek or Roman Jew returning to Palestine. But still more characteristic are his selection of striking incidents and the vivid precision of his picturesque language. The shortest of all the evangelists, he is nevertheless the most graphic; and his work may be compared to the cabinet picture of a true master of the old Netherlands school, — sharp in its outline, full without crowding, and clear in its lucid compactness. And like such a master, too, a touch will often add another feature; an expressive dot will light up a wide surface with new significance. It was “green grass” on which the multitude was made to sit down; it was at a “place where two ways met” that the colt would be found which the disciples were to bring to their Master; not only did a young ruler come to ask a question at Jesus, but he came “running and kneeling down; “not only was our Lord forty days in the wilderness, but He was” there with the wild beasts; “not only did He slumber in the tempest-tossed vessel, but He lay “in the hinder part of the ship asleep upon a pillow not only did He suffer the little children to come to Him, but He was “much displeased” with those who forbade them, “and He took them up in His arms, put His hand upon them, and blessed them.”*

Then, with his elegant exordium, comes a fluent and skilful biographer, whose orderly sequence aids the memory, as much as his graceful periods charm the ear. Not professing to be autoptical, but claiming a “perfect understanding of all the incidents from the very first,” from the materials which “eye-witnesses” supplied he has compiled a narrative continuous and lively, and worthy of an accomplished historian — though ever and anon professional allusions and the recurrence of medical terms remind us of “Luke, the beloved physician.”

Need we — can we characterise the picture with which the series ends? Omitting every parable, and recording those miracles only in which the heart as well as the power of his Master was exhibited; detailing at length His

* “The Literary History of the New Testament,” p. 41.

conversations and His confidential addresses to His followers, as well as the various traits of majesty or tenderness which had most deeply impressed the narrator’s own mind, from its transcendent commencement to its touching close, it is a mighty effort to perpetuate the grace and truth which came in Jesus Christ: whilst over the whole there hovers an atmosphere of “joyful solemnity” * and seraphic benevolence, itself sufficient to show that the author was once in contact with the heavenly Original.

Such is the first inference which we draw from this comparison of the four Gospels. They are not four productions of one biographer, but each is the work of a distinct individual. In other words, there are four evangelists as well as four Gospels. To say nothing of external evidence, but judging entirely from their intrinsic style and manner, especially when read in the original, these four memoirs are the work of four separate biographers.

Looking at them again, we are struck with their circumstantial minuteness. One canvas may be more crowded than another; but each of them contains, perhaps, a hundred heads, and many of them with very decided and definite features. Not only is the great central object carefully depicted in all, but there is no tendency to slur over, in safe and shadowy vagueness, the

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subordinate and accessory figures. Each is given fresh and firm, and with the precision of those who had the original before them. Looking at these historic sketches, you instantly observe the copiousness of truth and the exactitude of personal information. Romancers lay the scene in a distant region or a departed time; the evangelists recount events happening in their own country and in their living day. And deceivers confine the story to their own immediate coterie, and take care to introduce no names which might be apt to resent the fraud and publish the imposition. But, strong in conscious truthfulness, the evangelists abound in dates, and in names of well-known persons and places. Jerusalem, and Jericho, and Nazareth, are introduced as freely as Capernaum or Bethsaida; men in public station, like Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus, and hostile personages, like Annas and Caiaphas, Pontius Pilate, the Herods and Herodias, are brought in with no more hesitation than Peter, and James, and John. Miracles do not happen to nameless people in unknown regions; but it is on the road from Jericho to Jerusalem, and on the eve of a memorable Passover, that Bartimeus, the blind beggar, the son of Timeus, is restored to sight; and it is at Bethany, a village two miles from the capital, that a few days afterwards Lazarus is recalled from the tomb. Everything is distinct and express; and having nothing to fear from contradiction, by multiplying incidents, and by introducing well-known persons and places, they put it in the power of every contemporary to ascertain the truth of their testimony.

Surveying our pictures once more, we are finally struck with sundry delicate and undesigned coincidences between them; and when we say “delicate and undesigned,” we purposely exclude those obvious and outstanding features which could scarcely elude the notice of even a copyist; but we refer to those little and recondite ingredients which can only occur in sketches direct from the original. For instance, in numbers One and Two this gray speck might pass for a stone or a sheep, and it is only when we refer to number Three that we find it is meant for a human figure. In a corner of one picture is what seems to be a single tree; in another, a lozenge of light opens tnrough the trunk; and in a third sketch, the perforated bole resolves into two distinct trees planted near to one another. And as these remote agreements -and recondite mutual illustrations successively arise to our earnest gaze, the conviction grows at last irresistible, that whatever they may have known of one another, there was a common original to which the artists were indebted alike for their variations and their concord. When we take up the evangelists, we are struck with that free 50 Lessns in the Christian Evidence.

and independent way in which each gives his version of events, as if secure that his statement will speak for itself, and no less confident in the veracity of his several colleagues. He shows no nervousness as to his reception. He makes no effort to soften down what is strange, or to give extra effect to what is surprising. He offers no explanation to make his narrative tally with some previous history, or to establish its own self-consistency. But, on the other hand, there is occasionally a seeming contradiction; a pretermission of particulars, or a condensation of incidents, or a peculiarity in the spectator’s standing-point, which gives the narrative all the air of a meaningless tale, or an entirely different story, till a careful comparison supplies the gap and completes the harmony.

For instance, in his account of the crucifixion, Matthew tells that “the soldiers smote Jesus with the palms of their hands, saying, Prophesy unto us, thou Christ, Who is he that smote thee?” And in this challenge there seems nothing very difficult, and we could not have seen the force of the insult nor the meaning of the passage, had not another evangelist written down, “And when they had blindfolded hint, they struck him on the face, saying, Prophesy, Who is it that smote thee?” (Luke xxii. 64.*)

* See the Rev. J. J. Blunt on “The Veracity of the Gospel, and Acts of the Apostles.” In this work, and its companion

All the evangelists agree in telling, that when the high priest’s officers came out to arrest Jesus, Peter drew a sword, and smote off a servant’s ear. And yet both Matthew and Mark agree in relating, that when Christ’s persecutors sought all sorts of evidence against Him, so as to make out a case before the Roman governor, they could procure none. But is it not very strange, that when the high priest had in his own palace such a striking proof of the violent character and dangerous designs of these Galileans, he should not have called as a witness his own wounded servant? Had we possessed no information beyond the narratives of Matthew and Mark, this would have been a flagrant difficulty. You say that the whole effort of the priests was to prejudice Pilate against Jesus, as a seditious and turbulent character; but they could substantiate nothing. Why was not this recent and conclusive witness forthcoming? Especially when Jesus said to Pilate, “My kingdom is not of this world; if my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight, that I should not be delivered to the Jews,” — why did none of His accusers reply, “Yes, but your servants did fight, and one of them has inflicted a wound on

volume on the Five Books of Moses, in the “Horse Paulinas” of Paley, and the Rev. T. R. Birks’s ingenious Supplement, the reader will find these undesigned coincidences accumulated to an amount absolutely overwhelmirg.

the sacred person of the high priest’s servant?” Now, had we possessed no Gospels except these two, we could not have accounted for so strange an oversight on the part of the priestly faction. But Luke mentions a circumstance which sufficiently explains it. From his account we find, that as soon as Peter smote off the ear Jesus healed it agai7i; and by doing this He effectually disqualified the wounded servant from appearing as a witness against Him. The priests were in this dilemma. If next morning they produced the servant as a proof of the violence of Christ and His followers, how could Pilate credit them? That wound was never inflicted overnight, or it could not be cured so soon. Or if, to explain this latter circumstance, they acknowledged that Christ had instantaneously healed it, they would at once have trod on dangerous ground, and would have given Pilate another reason for suspecting — what he was already very apt to surmise — the superhuman’ character of his prisoner.

In Matthew (viii. 16) we read, that “when the even was come they brought unto him many that were possessed with devils, and he cast out the spirits with his word, and healed all that were sick.” But why was it eve7iing when they brought to Jesus those demoniacs and sick persons? From Mark (i. 21, 32) we find that it was the Sabbath-day; and from Luke (xiii.

14) we find that the Jews thought it sinful for “men to come and be healed on the Sabbath-day.” But we also know that the Jewish Sabbath ceased at sunset; so that when the evening was come the people would feel no scruple in bringing their afflicted friends to Jesus to be healed. But observe how far we have to travel before we can complete Matthew’s simple statement. He merely mentions that it was in the evening Jesus wrought these cures; and had we possessed Matthew’s narrative alone, we might have laid no particular stress on the time of day. But we go on to Mark, and we find that it was the Sabbath evening, “when the sun was set.” And we go on to Luke, and find, though in a totally different connexion, that these Jews would have thought it very wicked to carry the sick or to accept a cure on the Sabbath. And it is just because the particulars are so minute that the coincidence is so valuable. They are just such trifles which a true historian is apt to omit, and just such trifles that a fabricator would never think of supplying. Or if we could imagine a forger systematically attempting to complete the omissions of his predecessor, he would not deposit his supplemental information in nooks and by-paths, where ages might elapse before it was discovered; but he would exhibit his addendum in some conspicious position, and would take care that it should arrest the reader’s attention.

The more delicate these coincidences are, the surer is the inference from them. If you were comparing a cheque with the cheque-book from which it was said to be taken, and found not only the cut portion to correspond with the counterfoil, but if on microscopic examination the torn corner finely coincided, — if you found its rough and ragged edge and each riven fibre to match exactly the surface from which it was said to be sundered, you could no longer doubt that the piece of paper in your hand had been taken from that book. And these delicate agreements of one evangelist with another show that their story is an extract from the Book of Truth, — a leaf from the volume of actual occurrences, — a derivation from a counterpart original. The evangelist John tells us, (vi. 5,) that on one occasion, when surrounded by a weary multitude, Jesus said, “Whence shall we buy bread, that these may eat?” And in putting this question He addressed Himself to Philip. But John hints no reason why He should have put this inquiry to Philip rather than to any other apostle. Luke, however, (ix. 10,) mentions that the place was a desert near to Bethsaida; and John himself happens to have mentioned, in the opening of his Gospel, (i. 44,) that Bethsaida was the city of Philip. And laying these three

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insulated passages together, we see how natural it was to put the question, “Where is bread to be bought?” to one acquainted with the neighbourhood. Had we not possessed John’s Gospel, we should never have known that such a question was asked; and had we not possessed Luke’s Gospel, we should never have seen the special propriety of asking it at Philip.

We have chosen these examples because in them the truth of certain miracles happens to be implicated. If the coincidences now quoted be real and undesigned, then, not only are they an irresistible argument for the truth of the collective narrative, but they establish directly as facts the healing of Malchus’s ear, the cure of many sick and demoniacs, and the miraculous feeding of the multitude with five loaves and two fishes, — for it is in the recital of these miracles that those coincidences, so truthvouching, occur. And if, again, these miracles be true, then is Jesus all that He professed,- — for it was in support of His claims as Messiah that He wrought these miracles.

But from the Gospels we may transfer this test to other portions of the New Testament. We have there a book mainly occupied with the travels of St Paul; and alongside of it we have thirteen Epistles ascribed to the same apostle. Now, even supposing that the author of the Epistles and the author of the Acts were the same individual, it has been triumphantly shown, by a sort of microscopical survey, that nothing but scrupulous truth or omniscient falsehood could account for the complex and involute agreement which subsists between them. To detect these latent harmonies was, perhaps, the greatest service to historic Christianity which acumen and sound sense united have ever rendered; and though it is impossible to offer any abstract here, we may safely congratulate as proof against circumstantial evidence the sceptic who reads the u Horae Paulinae,” and still doubts whether such a man as Paul existed, whether his Epistles be genuine, and whether the Acts of the Apostles be true.

We have often visited the ruins of a famous castle, with which, no doubt, many of our readers are well acquainted. Long ago it was captured, and that it might never be a stronghold to the patriots of Germany again, the enemy burnt it and blew up the walls. But in ’ the weedy foss is still shown a huge fragment of a tower, which, when exploded, alighted there; and in the goodly joining of its stones and the hardening of its ancient mortar such a rocky mass had it become, that when lifted from its base, instead of descending in a shower of rubbish, it came down superbly a tower still. And, like that massy keep, the books we have been considering are so knit together in their exquisite accuracy, the histories are so riveted to one another, and the epistles so mortised into the histories, — and the very substance of epistles and histories alike is so penetrated by that cement of all-pervasive reality, that the whole now forms an indissoluble concrete. And though all coeval literature had perished, — though all the external confirmations were destroyed, — though all the monuments of antiquity were annihilated, strong in its intrinsic truthfulness, the New Testament would still hold its lofty place — a tower of self-sustaining integrity. And though the efforts of enmity were to succeed as they have signally failed, — though learned hostility were to undermine its documentary foundations, and blow up that evidence of manuscripts and early versions on which it securely reposes, so finely do its facts fit into one another, so strongly are its several portions clamped together, and in the penetration and interfusion through all its parts of its ultimate inspiring Authorship, into such a homogeneous structure has it consolidated, that it would come down again on its own basis, shifted, but nowise shattered. Such a book has God made the Bible, that, whatever theories wax popular, or whatever systems explode, “the Scripture cannot be broken.”