Philip Pullman: The Good Man Jesus and the Scoundrel Christ

When he had recovered he went to meet the angel at the house of Caiaphas, but he could not stop trembling.

When Christ arrived he found the angel waiting in the courtyard, and the two of them were shown into the high priest’s presence at once. They found him rising from prayer. He had dismissed all his advisers, saying that he needed to ponder their words; but he greeted the angel as if he were a valued counsellor.

‘This is the man,’ said the angel, indicating Christ.

‘It is very good of you to come. May I offer you some refreshment?’ said Caiaphas.

But Christ and the angel refused.

‘Better so, perhaps,’ said Caiaphas. ‘This is an unhappy business. I do not want to know your name. Your friend will have told you what we require. The guards who will arrest Jesus have been drafted in from elsewhere, and don’t know what he looks like, so we need someone who can point him out. You are willing to do this?’

‘Yes,’ said Christ. ‘But why have you had to draft in extra guards?’

‘There is considerable disagreement – I am being very frank – not only in our council, but among the people in general, and the guards are not immune to this. Those who have seen and heard Jesus are excited, volatile, unstable; some love him and some deplore him. I have to send a squad I can rely on not to argue among themselves. This is a very delicate situation.’

‘Have you yourself seen and heard him?’ said Christ.

‘Unfortunately I haven’t had the opportunity. Naturally, I’ve heard full reports of his words and deeds. If times were easier I would greatly enjoy meeting him and discussing matters of common interest. But I have to maintain a very difficult balance. My overriding concern is to keep the body of the faithful together. There are factions that would like to split away entirely and join with the Zealots; there are others that would like nothing better than for me to rally all the Jews in open defiance of the Romans; there are others that urge me to maintain good relations with the governor, on the grounds that our greatest duty is to preserve the peace and the lives of our people. I have to satisfy as many of these demands as I can, while not alienating those who have to be disappointed, and above all, as I say, keeping some kind of unity. It’s hard to get the balance right. But the Lord has placed this burden on my shoulders, and I must bear it as best I can.’

‘What will the Romans do to Jesus?’

‘I… ’ Caiaphas spread his hands wide. ‘They will do what they will do. It wouldn’t be long before they picked him up themselves in any case. And that’s another of our problems; if the religious authorities don’t take steps to deal with this man, it will seem as if we’re supporting him, and that will put all the Jews in danger. I must look after my people. The governor, alas, is a brutal man. If I could save this man Jesus, if I could perform a miracle and transport him in a moment to Babylon or to Athens, I would do it at once. But we are constrained by circumstances. There is nothing else I can do.’

Christ bowed his head. He could see that Caiaphas was a good and honest man, and that his position was impossible.

The high priest turned away and picked up a little bag of money.

‘Now you must let me pay you for your trouble,’ he said.

And Christ remembered that his purse had been stolen, and that he owed money for the rent of his room. At the same time, he felt ashamed to take this money from Caiaphas. He knew that the angel saw he was hesitating, and he turned to explain.

‘My purse was-’

But the angel held up a hand in understanding. ‘No need to explain,’ he said. ‘Take the money. It’s offered in perfect honesty.’

So Christ took it, and felt sick again.

Caiaphas said goodbye to the two of them, and summoned the captain of the guard.

Now all that evening Jesus had been sitting with his disciples and talking with them, but at midnight he said, ‘I’m going out. Peter, James, John, come with me; the rest of you can stay and sleep.’

They left the others and walked towards the nearest gate in the city wall.

Peter said, ‘Master, be careful tonight. There’s a rumour that they’re reinforcing the temple guards. And the governor’s looking for an excuse to crack down – everyone’s talking about it.’

‘Why would they do that?’

‘Things like this,’ said John, pointing to the mud-daubed words KING JESUS on the nearest wall.

‘Did you write that there?’ said Jesus.

‘Of course not.’

‘Well, it doesn’t concern you, then. Ignore it.’

John knew that it concerned them all, but he said nothing. He stayed to brush the words off and then hurried after the others.

Jesus went across the valley to a garden on the slopes of the Mount of Olives.

‘Wait here,’ he said. ‘Keep watch. Let me know if anyone comes.’

They sat down under an olive tree and wrapped their cloaks around them, because the night was cold. Jesus went apart a little way and knelt down.

‘You’re not listening,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve been speaking to you all my life and all I’ve heard back is silence. Where are you? Are you out there among the stars? Is that it? Busy making another world, perhaps, because you’re sick of this one? You’ve gone away, haven’t you, you’ve abandoned us.

‘You’re making a liar out of me, you realise that. I don’t want to tell lies. I try to tell the truth. But I tell them you’re a loving father watching over them all, and you’re not; you’re blind as well as deaf, as far as I can tell. You can’t see, or you just don’t want to look? Which is it?

‘No answer. Not interested.

‘If you were listening, you’d know what I meant by truth. I’m not one of these logic-choppers, these fastidious philosophers, with their scented Greek rubbish about a pure world of spiritual forms where everything is perfect, and which is the only place where the real truth is, unlike this filthy material world which is corrupt and gross and full of untruth and imperfection… Have you heard them? Stupid question. You’re not interested in slander either.

‘And slander’s what it is; you made this world, and it’s lovely, every inch of it. When I think of the things I’ve loved I find myself choking with happiness, or maybe sorrow, I don’t know; and every one of them has been something in this world that you made. If anyone can smell frying fish on an evening by the lake, or feel a cool breeze on a hot day, or see a little animal trying to run around and tumbling over and getting up again, or kiss a pair of soft and willing lips, if anyone can feel those things and still maintain they’re nothing but crude imperfect copies of something much better in another world, they are slandering you, Lord, as surely as words mean anything at all. But then they don’t think words do mean anything; they’re just tokens to play sophisticated games with. Truth is this, and truth is that, and what is truth anyway, and on and on they go, these bloodless phantoms.

‘The psalm says, “The fool has said in his heart, There is no God.” Well, I understand that fool. You treated him as you’re treating me, didn’t you? If that makes me a fool, I’m one with all the fools you made. I love that fool, even if you don’t. The poor sod whispered to you night after night, and heard nothing in response. Even Job, for all the trouble he had, got an answer from you. But the fool and I might as well be talking into an empty pot, except that even an empty pot makes a sound like the wind, if you hold it over your ear. That’s an answer of sorts.

‘Is that what you’re saying to me? That when I hear the wind, I hear your voice? When I look at the stars I see your writing, or in the bark of a tree, or the ripples on the sand at the edge of the water? Lovely things, yes, all of them, no doubt about that, but why did you make them so hard to read? Who can translate them for us? You conceal yourself in enigmas and riddles. Can I believe that the Lord God would behave like one of those philosophers and say things in order to baffle and confuse? No, I can’t believe it. Why do you treat your people like this? The God who made water to be clear and sweet and fresh wouldn’t fill it with mud before giving it to his children to drink. So, what’s the answer? These things are full of your words, and we just have to persevere till we can read them? Or they’re blank and meaningless? Which is it?