The Secret of the Kingdom

SEVENTH LETTER

MARCUS TO TULLIA:

I am still writing to you, Tullia, as if to greet you. My good tutor in Rhodes taught me to appreciate the deceptiveness of memory, by which we readily confuse and alter things in retrospect, and forget the order of events. Even those who have witnessed the same event retain different impressions of it, and describe it differently, each according to the aspect which most aroused his curiosity. I write now to remind myself how, and in what order, these things have occurred.

I began writing on the eve of the Sabbath, when the temple gates closed with a rumble that could be heard across the city to the most distant valleys. During the Sabbath itself I still stayed in my room and wrote, for the Jews like foreigners too to respect that day and not run about the streets. They themselves attend their synagogues in feast-day dress to pray and hear the scriptures, and the steps they may take are restricted to a set number. I have heard that in the temple their priests make double sacrifice, but this is not reckoned as a breach of the Sabbath.

Before sunset and the end of the feast, the centurion Adenabar came to greet me. He had left his helmet at home and put on a Syrian mantle so as not to attract attention in the streets. With a great yawn he said, “What belongs to your peace? Are you yet alive? I have not seen you these many days. There is no more tedious day than the Jewish Sabbath, for we may not so much as march out to the circus on exercise for fear lest the sound of our footsteps offend the Jews. Give me a drop of wine, for in Antonia they keep it locked up today. If they did not, the legionaries would brawl from sheer boredom or go down into the city, drunk, and annoy the Jews by showing them the ear of a pig.”

My Syrian landlord looked after me well. To keep me quiet and in a good humor he had brought me a jar of Galilean wine, which he prizes as the wholesomest of all wines. It seems not to be too heady, nor does it upset the stomach; and there is no need to mix resin with it to make it keep, provided one drinks it before it has time to turn sour.

Adenabar drank of it avidly, wiped his mouth, regarded me attentively and said, “Upon my soul, you’ve changed so much that no one would know you from a Hellenized Jew. You’re growing a beard, there is ink on your fingers, and a look in your eyes that I don’t like. Surely it can’t be just the imageless god of the Jews that has bemused you? That often happens to foreigners who come here merely to see the temple, and then start brooding over things that no ordinary brain can stand. Only Jewish heads are equal to it, for Jews have been accustomed to their God since childhood, and by the time they’re twelve years old they’re so steeped in their faith that they no longer need their parents’ help in blessing bread or leading in prayer.”

“Adenabar, my friend,” I said, “you and I together have experienced certain things. Therefore I confess to you that I am indeed bemused. I’m not even ashamed of it.”

But he interrupted me swiftly. “Address me by my Roman name, for I feel more Roman in mind than ever before. My Roman name is Petronius. Under that name I sign the quaestor’s receipt for my pay, and receive my written orders—when anyone troubles to jot those orders down on a wax tablet. You see, I now have hopes of a whole cohort and a posting to Gaul or Spain, or perhaps even to Rome itself. So I’m trying to improve my Latin, and accustom myself to my Roman name.”

Again he looked at me searchingly, as if trying to estimate how unhinged I really was, and how far he might venture to confide in me.

“To me you’re Abenabar,” I told him. “I don’t despise you for your Syrian birth. I myself no longer feel a foreigner, even among the Jews; I am trying to learn about their customs and beliefs. But I wonder they don’t send you out on guard duty in the desert, or somewhere within range of Scythian arrows. You’d lose your life sooner then, so that what you know would no longer be an embarrassment to anyone.”

“What I know? Are you raving? Are you quite out of your mind, or have you been at this good wine ever since this morning?” Adenabar asked, in mild reproof. “But you’re right in this: I do feel of considerably greater consequence than before. And don’t talk about the desert, for that dazzles a man and makes the most hardened of us see visions.” Looking at me askance, with a sly smile, he went on, “You must have heard that Jerusalem has become a bad place for sensible people. Do you remember the earthquake we had one morning? They are saying that the graves of many holy men opened then—that those precious corpses walked away, and have already appeared to crowds of Jews.”

“I know of only one who has risen,” I said, “and you know who that is. They are inducing you, through promotion and a foreign posting, to hold your tongue about him. It’s not as easy to silence a centurion as it is a common legionary.”

Abenabar stared at me in feigned bewilderment and replied, “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. But do you remember the legionary Longinus? Whenever he picks up his spear now it behaves very queerly. During exercises he can’t throw it straight. It has already wounded him in the foot, and once when he was at target practice with the sack of hay, it slipped from his grasp and nearly transfixed me, although I was standing behind him. But there’s nothing wrong with the spear; the fault lies in Longinus himself. I threw his spear myself, as an example to the rest who refused to touch it, and hit the sack perfectly at forty paces. And Longinus can handle any other spear, but not his own.”

“You evidently mean the spear that he drove into the side of the son of God,” I remarked.

Adenabar shook himself, as if to rid his person of vermin, and protested, “Never call that man the son of God—it sounds terrible to me. But the provost marshal has grown so stiff in the arms that he can’t even lift the scourge. It’s all he can do to carry food to his mouth, and that only by making a real effort with both hands. The surgeon in Antonia can find nothing the matter with him, and suspects him of malingering so as to get his plot of land a little earlier and live comfortably in the veterans’ town. He has only another two years of his twenty-year service to run. He has been flogged, for according to army surgery, flogging cures many aches and pains that don’t appear on the surface. But he took it like an old legionary, with a bit of leather between his teeth, and his arms regained none of their strength. I think he’ll be invalided out with rheumatism; that is a lawful complaint in the legion. We officers suffer from it even more than the men when we have to exchange our comfortable garrison duty for lying on hard ground in the cold and wet.

“But,” Adenabar ended reflectively, “I can’t remember that the Nazarene cursed any of us. On the contrary, he cried out to his father from the cross, asking him to forgive us because we didn’t know what we were doing. I thought he was delirious, though, for his father wasn’t there.”

I said irritably, “I can’t see what all this has to do with Longinus and the provost marshal of the legion.”

“I believe we were all thoroughly frightened by the Nazarene,” said Adenabar. “He was no ordinary man. And when those who had been there heard that he had risen again they were even more frightened; for soldiers will believe any rumor that breaks into their monotonous life. And the wilder the rumor the more readily do they believe it. Now it has come to such a pitch that if a child falls from the wall during the night, or an old oil jar cracks and leaks over the floor, the whole garrison gets on its legs and calls upon all the gods for help.

“But it’s said that the Jews in the city are having just as much trouble,” he went on. “No one dares sleep by himself these days. Children wake in the night and say that some stranger has been bending over them and touching them. Others say that they’ve been roused by something warm dripping into their faces, yet when they light the lamp they can see nothing. There’s a report that even members of the Council wash their hands continually, and busy themselves with all kinds of purification according to the strictest letter of the law—even the Sadducees, who are not usually so particular in these matters. But nothing evil has happened to me; I have not even had bad dreams. How is it with you?”

“With me?” I answered. “I’m looking for a way.”

Adenabar stared at me oddly. He had drunk half the wine in the jar, without troubling to mix water with it; yet I could detect no sign of drunkenness in him. “I’ve heard it said,” he began warily, “that there are many ways and many false guides. How can you, a Roman citizen, believe that you can find the Way, when the Jews themselves are not sure of it?”

I was greatly surprised at these words, and cried, “You don’t mean to tell me that you know the quiet ones in the land and are also seeking the Way?”

Adenabar burst into loud laughter, slapped his knees and shouted, “Ha, you fell into the trap! Never believe I don’t know what you’ve been about these last days. I have friends in the city, too—more than you have.”

Grave once more, he declared, “I think the Romans make a great mistake in keeping the same legion here in this country year after year. Elsewhere, this principle is well enough; the men get to know the land where they keep order, and the inhabitants make friends with them and teach them their ways and customs. After twenty years’ service every legionary is given a piece of land in the same country, marries a local woman, and teaches Roman ways to those about him. But this is not so in Judea and in Jerusalem. The longer a foreigner lives here, the more he begins to fear the Jewish god, or else detest the Jews to the point of mania. Believe it or not, there are even Roman officers, especially in the smaller garrisons, who have been secretly converted to the Jewish faith and allowed themselves to be circumcised. But not I, be sure of that! It’s out of sheer curiosity that I’ve learned something of the different ways that are followed by the Jews; not in order to spy upon them, but to understand them better and avoid falling into the clutches of their terrible God.”

“At the cross, you yourself acknowledged him to be the son of God,” I reminded him. “You entered his tomb with me and saw his graveclothes lying untouched after he had risen.”

“True enough,” Adenabar admitted. Suddenly he flung the earthenware beaker to the floor so that it shattered to pieces, sprang up with face distorted, and yelled, “Cursed be that Jewish king! Cursed be all this city of sorcery where there’s not even an image to smash! It’s a queer thing if one may not take a single life. Innocent people have been crucified before without rising up and haunting the place. That Nazarene is undermining discipline.”

“I’ve come to the conclusion,” I said, “that for some reason incomprehensible to us he wanted everything to come about as it has. One day we may understand why, for his kingdom is still with us on earth. No doubt that’s why shields fall in the fortress: it’s a sign that he requires something of us Romans, as well. But you need have no fear of him. He taught that evil is not to be repaid with evil. ‘If anyone should strike you on one cheek, turn the other to him.’ And other things of that kind, which are against all reason.”

Adenabar was not startled by what I said, but owned, “I too have heard such things about his teaching, so I believe him to be a harmless man and am not afraid of him, though of course it would be disagreeable to meet him if he really is still walking about the city. My hair would probably stand on end if he suddenly appeared and spoke to me. But he reveals himself to no one who is uncircumcised, so I heard; only to his disciples and to the women who came with him from Galilee.”

His wily words fired me so that I abandoned caution and told him of the apparition I had seen in Simon of Cyrene’s house, of how I thought I had beheld the risen man in the shape of a gardener the very day he came out of his tomb. Adenabar shook his head pityingly and said, “You must have led a most dissolute life in Alexandria, and certainly studied more than your head could stand. The climate here doesn’t suit you. You would do well to leave this place without delay. Fortunately for you, I’m your friend and won’t inform against you, so long as you promise to be calm and patient.”

In a burst of anger I exclaimed, “I have been suspected enough of spying for the Romans. I am loth to suspect anyone myself, or I might fancy you’d been sent to warn me against meddling in Jewish affairs.”

Adenabar avoided my eyes, looking somewhat ashamed, rubbed his hands together between his knees and confessed, “To be frank with you, the garrison commander did hint that I was welcome to come along and hear what belongs to your peace, for on no account does he want any friend of the Proconsul to become embroiled with the Jews. I think he might like to know what you’ve discovered about this odd conspiracy of theirs. But of course he can’t have you spied upon, since you’re a citizen and are said to carry a letter of recommendation from so exalted a source that I daren’t even name it. Nor do I mean to pass on what I’ve heard in friendly conversation. At most I might say that you are disturbed in your mind, as most people are these days. But on the subject of apparitions and visions I shall be dumb. He’s a stern man and doesn’t believe in those things. I should only make myself ridiculous and risk my promotion by reporting such tales.”

He wiped his forehead, looked up at the ceiling and remarked, “I thought just now your roof was leaking, for I seemed to feel a drop or two on my face. This cheap Galilean wine is stronger than I thought. Shall we make a pact? Will you bring a reconciliation between the Nazarene and me, if you ever meet him and he will listen to you? I cannot run after him myself, because of my rank, as you may understand, but I must be at peace with him.”

He began busily scratching himself, looked about and remarked, “There ought not to be any vermin here. I would never have recommended this place to you had I known that things start crawling over one as soon as one sits down.”

As he clawed himself I too began to feel an itching on my skin, and every hair of my body seemed on end. I shuddered. “There are no vermin here; the room is perfectly clean,” I said. “I believe someone is coming to see us.”

Adenabar quickly stood up, wrapped his mantle around him and said, “If that is the case, I’ll go my way. We’ve had our talk, and the wine is nearly finished.”

But he had no time to leave, for we heard the voice of the Syrian landlord below, and then steps on the stairs. Adenabar backed against the wall and stuck out two fingers for protection. In stepped Zaccheus of the large head, dragging with him a man whose face was hidden under his mantle. “Peace be with you, Zaccheus,” I said. “I have kept to my room all this time, eagerly awaiting word from you.”

“Peace with you also, Roman,” returned Zaccheus with marked coolness. He seemed quite to have forgotten how he had flung his arms about my neck and kissed me, after Simon of Cyrene’s wine had gone to his head. But the man with him recoiled a step at the sight of Adenabar, and asked, “Who is that?”

My landlord had politely attended them to my door, and now said, “That is only a centurion from Antonia and a good friend of mine, for all his rank. Do not fear him. He understands Jews and will defile you no more than do I or my house, now that you’re in it.”

The stranger gave Zaccheus a box on the ear and cried, “So it was treachery after all, and you’ve led me into a trap—you Judas Iscariot, and worse!” He turned to flee, but I reached him first, seized his arm and held him back; for I thought it wrong of him to strike the crippled Zaccheus.

Zaccheus rubbed his cheek, stared at Adenabar and me in a startled way and declared, “Had I known this I would never have brought you here. The Roman is craftier than I would have thought. Strike me on the other cheek too; I deserve it.”

Adenabar surveyed both Zaccheus and his companion and said, “I believe I recognize you, Jew, by your face and your look of guilt. Why else should you have been so scared at the sight of a Roman centurion? I suppose you’re not one of the companions of that Jewish king we crucified the other day? You certainly talk like a Galilean.”

Zaccheus, anxiously speaking on his friend’s behalf, asserted, “No, no, you’re quite mistaken, sir! He is a publican and tax-gatherer just like me. Both of us are true friends of Rome, as are all those children of Israel who love peace and good order.”

But the stranger said, “Heap no more sins upon your conscience, Zaccheus. Neither of us is any friend of Rome. It is true that I have been a publican, but I have repented of my deeds and that sin has been forgiven me.”

I dropped his arm hastily and rubbed my hand, which was burning like fire. “Peace be with you,” I said. “I believe I know who you are, and you must not fear the centurion, for he means you no harm. On the contrary, he desires to be reconciled with your lord, if that is in any way possible.”

Then the stranger drew himself up, and looking me and Adenabar in the face he said, “I am not ashamed of my Lord’s name, for he who denies him denies also his kingdom. I am Matthew, one of the twelve whom he chose, and not even death has power over me, for he will give me eternal life in his kingdom. You Romans he will hurl into outer darkness, where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth.”

This was something new to me, and I exclaimed in surprise, “I did not know he spoke such harsh words! But peace be with you, however this may be, and blessed be this room where you have been pleased to set your foot, you messenger of the king. Sit down, and you too, Zaccheus, and tell us of your Lord, for I burn with the desire to know more of him.”

Matthew sat down cautiously, and Zaccheus squeezed himself almost into his lap in alarm. Matthew glared in an ugly way at Adenabar and said, “I suppose your legionaries have surrounded the house now that it is dusk. I could never have believed a Roman would think of so treacherous a trap.”

Adenabar was offended and answered vehemently, “You, Galilean, should not blame us Romans for all evils. Not even the Proconsul himself desired to condemn your teacher; it was the Jews who compelled him to it. I have no quarrel with you or your king, and as far as I am concerned you may slink away anywhere you like. The Jewish Council might have something to say to you, but not the Romans.”

No doubt Matthew was ashamed of his fear, for when he realized that he was safe and that no one sought his life he became boastful, as Jews will, and said, “I would not have called upon you, Roman, if I had not heard far too much about you. Without knowledge of the law and the prophets you, an uncircumcised, pretend to be in search of the Way; you mislead foolish women and spy upon our secrets. I can only suppose that you are possessed by an evil spirit, or are a sorcerer, since you were able to persuade even John to answer your questions. Leave us in peace, go your own ways and don’t meddle in matters of which you can understand nothing. This was what I came to tell you, so that you may no longer trouble bewildered women.”

His words wounded me sorely. Within me I felt a deep ill-will toward him, and would have liked most to quarrel with him; but I was forced to look at his face. In his features and eyes and in the wrinkles of his brow I discerned the same unexplained something which distinguished him from other people and marked him as one of the king’s disciples. It was assuredly true that he knew and understood these things better than I could ever do. Therefore I answered him humbly:

“I won’t contradict you. I simply believed that his Way would be open to all who desired to seek it in simplicity, with a humble heart. I believed that the door would open to me too if I knocked upon it with fervor. At least explain to me why he made himself known to me in the house of Simon of Cyrene.”

Zaccheus looked imploringly at Matthew, but Matthew’s face hardened and he replied, “Our master came to seek the lost of Israel. That was why he called me too, the day he sat at my toll table in Capernaum. I stood up at once and followed him. For his sake I left my house and my property—yes, and my family too. Zaccheus also was a lost child of Israel, and even Simon of Cyrene belongs to a Greek synagogue and carried the cross for him. We might possibly understand if he had shown himself to both of them, but never can we believe that he would appear to an uncircumcised Roman. So we have talked the matter over among ourselves. Little faith though we can put in the visions of flurried women, we place even less in a Roman. You may be a sorcerer and a magician, and desire to acquire our knowledge for your own dark purposes. You may be the man spoken of by a blind beggar of this city: the man who changed a stone into bread by the wrongful use of our teacher’s name. You hoodwinked Simon of Cyrene and Zaccheus. Everything that happened in Simon’s house when you were there resembled sorcery, and was not like the kingdom at all.”

Zaccheus nodded and agreed: “Quite so! I was confused and frightened by all that I had heard. He conjured in such a way that Simon of Cyrene saw the wraith of his servant Eleazar whilst Eleazar was still on his way to the city; then he persuaded Simon to give us strong wine, so that we were utterly befuddled. I would rather believe you, Matthew, whom I know, than a Roman whom I do not know.”

Turning to me he went on, “Simon of Cyrene too has thought better of it and will have no more to do with you, since you do not belong to the lost children of Israel. He bears you no ill-will, although your witchcraft has involved him in considerable financial loss. But it would be well for you not to seek his company any more, for indeed there are too many false guides in the world.”

I think Matthew sensed my dejection and respected my humility when I did not gainsay them, but turned my head away to hide my tears; for he relented, saying, “Try to understand us, Roman. I am far from wishing to impute evil intentions to you, and would rather put the best construction on everything. Perhaps you are not a sorcerer; perhaps some powerful demon has gained possession of you and makes you abuse the name of our crucified master, though you know neither him nor the secret of his kingdom. But I must give you stern warning, for it was upon us alone, his chosen, that he bestowed power and strength to heal the sick and cast out evil spirits in his name. We failed the test, I confess, and because of our little faith that strength went from us; but we know that in due time it will return. Until then we can do no more than watch and pray and await his kingdom.”

With a look of reproof he raised his hand against me so that I felt his strength, though he himself disclaimed it. He was sitting at some distance from me, and never touched me, yet it was as if he had struck me a violent blow.

“I bid you and your errors depart from us!” he said. “And here I can best quote his own words, for he warned us, saying, ‘Do not give what is holy to the dogs.’ He came not to overthrow the law and the prophets, but to fulfill them. He forbade us to go among heathen or even into the cities of Samaria. How then may we reveal his Way and his Truth to you, who are a Roman?”

His words did not wound me, although in the coarse manner of the Jews he called me “dog.” So profound was my dejection that I said, “I thought his teaching was altogether different; yet I must believe you since he called you to be his messenger. In your eyes, then, I may be no more than a dog—but even dogs are tolerated in their master’s house; they hear his voice and obey him. Let me cite to you that king of Israel who said that a live dog is better than a dead lion. Do you begrudge me a live dog’s place at the gates of the kingdom?”

At this Adenabar, who until now had sat silent, jumped up, made the sign of the horn with two fingers and cried, “Are you, a citizen of Rome, so demented as to beg for a dog kennel near the king of the Jews? Truly you are the one who has been bewitched and had his vision distorted, and the mystery of the risen man is more terrible than I thought.”

Zaccheus huddled against Matthew, but Adenabar dared not so much as touch them. On the contrary, as soon as he was calmer he raised his hands in entreaty and explained, “I am a soldier and a centurion, and did not wittingly commit a crime against your king in obeying the order I’d been given, and keeping watch at his crucifixion. But if you will reconcile me with him, I will gladly wash my hands in the Jewish fashion, or burn my old clothes, or scrape leaven from cracks in the walls, or whatever form of purification you may prescribe. I do not want to quarrel with your lord, nor have I any designs on his kingdom; I would prefer to go my own way in peace.”

I believe that Matthew was glad to find that he and the other disciples had nothing more to fear from the Romans, at least so far as Adenabar was concerned. He said, “I have heard that when he was on the cross he forgave you Romans because you knew not what you were doing. I did not hear it myself, but for my part you may go in peace.”

Adenabar said vehemently, “No, no; I may not have known what I did, but even if I had known, as a soldier I could have done naught else. Therefore your words bring comfort, and I believe that your master too seeks no quarrel with me.”

But Matthew turned to me again, wiped his eyes and said wearily, “I know not what to think of you. Your humility speaks in your favor, and you don’t talk like a man possessed.”

He raised his hand sharply, and in argument with himself went on, “Yet on no account can I acknowledge you as my brother, since you are a heathen and a Roman, and eat what is unclean. Had you been a proselyte at least...but those tassels on your mantle do not make you a child of Israel.”

Zaccheus too smote his gaunt breast and said, “No, he does not belong to the lost children of Israel as I did. Jesus himself called me a child of Israel, but this man is uncircumcised. How could he be gathered to Abraham’s bosom?”

I reminded him, “Only yesterday your words had a different ring; you even laid your arm about my neck and gave me the kiss of brotherhood.” Yet as I said this I was much aware of how dependent both these Jews were on their covenant with the God of Israel, rejecting all those who remained outside it. Zaccheus became ugly again in my eyes.

He replied, “I was tired after my journey, and still bewildered by all that I had heard of events in Jerusalem. Moreover, you tempted me to drink of that strong wine. I knew not what I was doing; but now I understand things better.”

Adenabar said to me in derision, “In your place I should need less to convince me. You’ve been struck first on one cheek, then on the other; and the more you turn your head, the harder are you hit. Stop this nonsense and face facts: it was not for your sake that their king rose from the dead.”

Yet, although I had already bidden farewell to my hopes, I said stubbornly, “My head is my own, and I’ll turn it as I choose. None but Caesar has the right to deprive me of it. Go in peace now, Adenabar, since you have no longer any reason to fear.”

Adenabar said reluctantly, “I won’t leave you defenseless with these two.”

Taking Matthew by the hand, Zaccheus said, “No, no; it is we who will go. Remain alone together, Romans; our way is not yours.”

But I wouldn’t let them go. I went out with Adenabar, heedless of his warning; then returned, and so humbled myself as to fall on my knees before the implacable publican and plead, “Have pity on me, you who are called his chosen! Wherein is your doctrine so extraordinary, if it allows you to offer friendship to your brothers alone? We Romans do as much. I believed his teaching to be compassionate: but your heart must be of stone if you can reject me thus. The rich man tosses scraps to dogs from his abundant table even though he despise them. Therefore teach me.”

Matthew had been calmed by Adenabar’s departure; he sat down again, and suddenly—abandoning all opposition—he hid his face in his hands, so that I realized that his agony was now greater than mine. His voice had changed when he said, “Try to understand me, and don’t reproach me for lacking compassion. That breaks my heart, and my heart is broken already. We are like sheep scattered by a pack of wolves. Even if we could seek refuge with one another when danger threatens, we are all astray now that our lord is gone. Ah, Roman, why must you torment me? We know not what to do beyond steadfastly defending what is left to us. We quarrel even amongst ourselves, and wound each other with words; for Peter says one thing and John another, and not all of us can yet believe in his resurrection, and comprehend it. You seek your way to us in sheep’s clothing, but how can we be sure you’re not a wolf? Grapes are not to be harvested from thorns. How are we to believe any good of a Roman?”

He wrung his hands, and spoke out: “He bade us love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us—but how can any man do that? And he said, too, ‘If your eye cause you to offend, pluck it out and throw it away; if your hand cause you to offend, cut it off and throw it away.’ As long as he was with us we believed him, but when he went the strength in us went too, and we no longer know where we are. How should we distinguish between true and feigned understanding in another, when we ourselves have not yet attained understanding?”

“But,” said I in despair, “he must surely have taught you to pray in the right way, and made a covenant with you, and given you a mystery through which you may keep in touch with him, for he was more than just a man.”

Zaccheus tapped Matthew warningly on the shoulder, saying, “You see? There he goes nosing after your secrets, of which I too have no knowledge. He’s crafty, for all his innocent looks. He made me drunk, to coax out of me what the Messiah confided to me in my own house.”

But Matthew was not angry. On the contrary, he seemed to have grown calmer and to have thought over what I had said, and he replied, “You are right, stranger. He did indeed teach us the right prayer and seal a pact with us. But I cannot teach you what he gave to us alone.”

It was as if he had become more mildly disposed toward me, and his whole nature was suddenly filled with gentleness. Smiling like a child, he pressed the palms of his hands together and said, “He knew why he called us. In each of us he must have seen something he needed for the building of his kingdom, although we didn’t understand that at the time. For my part I, being a customs officer, can read and write-in Greek too—do difficult sums and use various kinds of weights and measures. Thus in my mind I continue to measure and weigh very carefully all that is said and done. Having no new measure I must use the old one: that of Moses and the prophets and the holy scriptures. And with that one the heathen cannot be measured. No, it won’t work, try as one may. And my heart is heavy still, because these very qualities of mine—for which he must have chosen me—caused me to take one of his sayings especially to heart: ‘With what measure you mete it shall be measured to you again.’ I have an idea that he has given us an altogether new measure, but I still don’t know what it is. So I have to keep turning back to the old ones, which I learned as a child.”

These words struck deep and I remembered my good tutor in Rhodes, who taught me that man is the measure for everything. For this reason, mistrust and error have hitherto been my only yardstick for life and the world. This doctrine has made me as tolerant of others’ failings as of my own, and I can judge no one over-severely. I have contented myself with aiming at the middle way—the way of balance—having found it as great a struggle to live up to the rigors of Stoic virtue as to pursue a life of unbridled pleasure.

But in a flash I understood what Matthew was saying, and sensed that Jesus of Nazareth was indeed introducing a new kind of measure into the world. He had walked the earth as a man and as God’s son, and returned from the grave to bear witness to his divine origin. Had the new measure been introduced by a human being it would have been just one more human scale among many, subject to dispute and doubt; but coming from him it is not to be conceived of by reason, or quarreled about: it is the one true measure, and could save a man if he made it his own.

What manner of measure is this? How should I know, when his own messengers can only guess at its nature? Is it perhaps for Jews alone, who regard themselves as God’s chosen people and therefore hold aloof from all others? Yet it was these who rejected their king.

Matthew may have read my thoughts, for he said, “We grope in darkness between old and new, and still do not apprehend his kingdom. We thought he had chosen us twelve to rule over the twelve tribes of Israel. Through Messiah, Israel is to rule all the peoples of the world. We can’t ignore the prophets, and all that is written. Here is a contradiction too terrifying for us to understand. When he cleansed the temple he called it his father’s house. How could we reject a covenant entered into by God with Abraham and Moses? All Israel would be divided. Therefore we cannot open his way to outsiders and heathen. We might as well eat what is unclean. Go your way, tempter.”

Zaccheus said, “I have served the Romans and learned to know them. Therefore my deliverance was sweet. It was a glorious thing to return to Abraham’s bosom from my straying. Torment us no longer. We have enough to endure without that.”

Noting his self-satisfaction, I remembered my own pride and said, “Be it as you will. I have made myself a dog before you. Now I see that you both suffer from Jewish avarice. You want to keep everyone else out, although you yourselves don’t yet understand what has happened. Nor do I. Yet what I do understand is this: if God is born on earth as a man, if he suffers and dies as a man, and then rises from the dead, it concerns every human being in all the earth, and not just you Jews alone. Therefore I mean to go on trying to solve his riddle and to seek him—if not with you, then alone. Depart in peace.”

Matthew stood up to go, and Zaccheus did the same, with a hostile glance at me. But Matthew was not hostile. Rubbing his forehead he said, “Your thought is too unreasonable for me to understand. How would it be possible? Could the God of Israel so extend his power to all nations that no one would fall into perdition? No, no. He said himself that many are called but few are chosen.”

He began vigorously wiping his face and passing his hands down his body as if to brush off spiders’ webs, and cried aloud, “No, no! This is error and possession! He warned us, saying that by no means all who acknowledge him as their lord shall enter his kingdom. I remember his own words very plainly: ‘Many shall say to me in that day: Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in your name and driven out evil spirits and done many deeds of power? And I shall say to them: I have never known you; away out of my sight, you lawless!’ Those words condemn you too, whatever you may be able to achieve by the abuse of his name in your conjurations. You will harm only yourself by this, not us whom he knew and knows.”

Matthew’s words made me tremble with fear, for I remembered the time when I had met the blind man on the road and tested the power of his name, and how the stone had been transformed into a cheese in the beggar’s hand. But I had meant no harm by it. Therefore I trusted that Jesus of Nazareth would forgive my action, even if his disciples did not. But I understood now that I must not abuse the power of his name, as I did not know him as his chosen did.

I therefore said humbly, “I confess I don’t know him enough. I have no right to use his name. But you have given me much to think about, and Jesus of Nazareth is plainly less gentle and merciful than I thought if he requires me to pluck an eye from my head or cut off a hand to follow him. Are you sure you rightly understood him?”

Matthew gave no direct answer to this question, but said, “I do not believe my Lord requires anything of you, since you are outside it all, and lost. I don’t believe you can win any place in his kingdom unless you first acknowledge the God and the law of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Only then could you begin to seek his way.”

He wrapped his mantle about him, covered his head and went out and down the dark stairs. Zaccheus followed him, and neither of them wished me peace. When they had gone I threw myself on my bed, desolate and wishing I were dead. I grasped my head in both hands and asked myself who I was and how I had fallen into this predicament. It seemed as if it would be better for me to leave this haunted city, where nothing happens as it does elsewhere, and where a God without image rules. People shun me and look over their shoulders at me because I am a Roman. The incomprehensible kingdom of Jesus of Nazareth is not for me. But if I gathered up my belongings and went to Roman Caesarea, I could seek distraction in theatre and circus, wager on chariot races, and find delights enough and to spare.

As I was thinking this I beheld a vivid picture of myself in years to come. I saw myself from outside. I saw a fat body and a bloated face. I had grown bald and lost several teeth, and with a babbling tongue I was repeating a story which I had already told a thousand times. My tunic was stained with wine and vomit, and I was surrounded by flute players and by girls who tried in vain to stimulate my jaded senses to enjoyment. This was my future if I now gave up and returned to seek the middle way. After that, the flames of the funeral pyre, ashes, and shadows.

I did not rebel against this vision, though it was uglier and more repulsive than my philosophy had led me to believe. I could imagine submitting to it, but it held no charms. I have an alternative. It has brought me from Alexandria to Joppa, and thence to the mount of the crucifixion near Jerusalem, and on to an empty sepulcher. That truth none can take from me. Slowly the thought returned to me that none of this has befallen me without purpose, and that I am still helping in my own way to bear witness to something which the world has never before seen.

His kingdom remains on earth since his resurrection. In my comfortless solitude in the darkness of this haunted city I felt as if that kingdom were somewhere quite close to me—as if it were no further off than a touch, a step, an inward trembling. I was seized by an indescribable temptation to call aloud upon Jesus of Nazareth, the son of God; but shut out as I was I dared not invoke his mighty name.

Nevertheless I seemed to have attained to some inner clarity, and my new perception so much surprised me that I sat up in bed. Had his disciples not rejected me, but received me into their circle, instructed me, and tried in every way to convince me of his miracles and his resurrection, I should certainly have felt doubts; I should have tried to entrap them by my questioning, and lead them on to contradict themselves. But their surly opposition only stiffened my faith in the reality of the kingdom and the resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth, so that I no longer doubt these most incredible of truths. The disciples have experienced too much at once to be able to digest it all. In comparison with them I have received only a tiny fragment; yet what I have had I believe in. My life and philosophy have so ripened me that I can accept a new yardstick. Man as the universal measure no longer satisfies me, and no yoke of Jewish law and custom binds me to the past.

At that moment the oil in my lamp gave out, the flame flared up, turned blue and died, and there was a smell of burning. But I felt no fear of the dark or of loneliness, as sometimes happens when a lamp is suddenly extinguished. There was darkness outside me, but on closing my eyes I knew that light prevailed within; and this was something I had never known before. It was as if I had had another, inner pair of eyes. These eyes beheld a clear light, while those behind my eyelids saw only darkness. I remembered the gardener I had met, and his words soughed through my thoughts: “I know my own and my own know me.”

Humble and trembling I said aloud, still with my eyes closed, “I dare not say that I know you, but with all my heart I desire to know you and wish that you might know me, and not turn me away.”

When I had said this a stillness entered into me, and with it the simple knowledge that all is happening to me as it must happen, and that I can gain nothing without patience. I must be content to submit and to wait. Time stood still; the whole circle of the world stopped too, and waited.

I was roused from this rapture by a hand on my shoulder. I started and opened my eyes. I was still sitting on the edge of my bed, and it was my Syrian landlord who had entered the room with a lighted lamp in his hand, and was now touching my shoulder.

Setting down the lamp beside him he squatted before me on the floor, shook his head in concern, caught at his beard, felt his earrings and said, “What ails you? Are you ill? Why do you mutter to yourself in the dark? It’s a bad sign. I fear that your Jewish guests have bewitched you, so that you’re no longer yourself.”

These anxious words of his restored me to reality and to the room in which I sat. But I didn’t resent his coming. On the contrary I laughed, patted his head and answered, “No, I’m not ill, but in better health than ever before; for now at last I see that a simple life is better than a muddled one. I’m no longer beset by uneasy thoughts, and my Jewish guests left me to my own peace and will have nothing more to do with me. Have no fear on my account, for I am healed of my diseases.”

Karanthes was reassured by my manifest joy, but complained, “The smaller Jew reviled my doorway, and they left behind them such disturbance that the children cry in their sleep, and when I try to sleep myself I feel as if I were lying in the rain. So I come to see how you are, and have brought another lamp so that you need not feel distressed by the darkness.”

I assured him that I was not afraid of the dark, and said, “I have a feeling that I shall never be afraid of it again, and that even in solitude I shall never be quite alone. The world is a captious, wayward place, and I shall no longer try to understand it with my reason. In the hour of my deepest dejection, when I was as dead as that oil-less lamp, joy burst into flower: I feel jubilant beyond measure, and I’d like to pull your beard to give you that same gladness.”

Karanthes suggested, “Build yourself a house, plant trees, take a wife and beget children, and your joy will be complete. Only then will you know that you’re alive.”

“All in good time,” I answered. “I believe the time has not yet come for me to do as you propose.”

I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by talking any more about Jesus of Nazareth. I told him that I was very hungry, for while I’d been writing I’d had no appetite. This gave him more pleasure than anything I could have said; we went downstairs while his family slept, and having brought out bread, olives and salad we ate together, and drank wine enough to make Karanthes giggle.