Philip Pullman: The Good Man Jesus and the Scoundrel Christ

Jesus said nothing.

Pilate knocked him down, and said, ‘You hear all these charges they lay against you? You think we’re going to put up with this kind of thing? You think we’re stupid, to allow agitators to go around causing trouble and urging the people to riot, or worse? We’re responsible for keeping the peace here, if you hadn’t noticed. And I will not put up with political disturbance from any direction. I’ll stamp that out at once, make no mistake. Well? What have you got to say, King Jesus?’

Again Jesus said nothing, so Pilate told the guards to beat him. By this time they could hear the shouts of the crowd outside, and both the priests and the Romans feared a riot.

‘What are they shouting about?’ demanded Pilate. ‘Do they want this man released?’

Now there was a custom that at the time of Passover, one prisoner of the people’s choice would be given his freedom; and some of the priests, in order to agitate the crowd and make sure Jesus didn’t escape with his life, had gone among the people urging them to plead for the life of Barabbas.

One of Pilate’s officers said, ‘Not this man, sir. They want you to free Barabbas.’

‘That murderer? Why?’

‘He is popular, sir. You would please them greatly by letting him go.’

Pilate went out on to his balcony and spoke to the crowd.

‘You want Barabbas?’ he said.

They all cried, ‘Yes! Barabbas!’

‘Very well, he can go free. Now clear the courtyard. Go about your business.

He came back into the room, and said, ‘That means there’s a spare cross. You hear that, Jesus?’

‘Sir,’ said Caiaphas, ‘if it would be possible to consider, for example, a sentence of exile-’

‘Take him away and crucify him,’ said Pilate. ‘Put a sign on the cross saying who he claims to be – the king of the Jews. That’ll teach you people to think about rebellion and rioting.’

‘Sir, could the sign read “He says he is king of the Jews?” Just in case, you know-’

‘I’ve said what I’ve said. Don’t push your luck, Caiaphas.’

‘No, of course not, sir. Thank you, sir.’

‘Take him away then. Flog him first, and then nail him up.’

Christ, among the crowd, had wanted to shout ‘No!’ when Pilate asked if they wanted Barabbas freed, but he hadn’t dared; and he felt his failure to do so like yet another blow at his heart. There was not much time now. He searched up and down among the people, looking for the angel, but saw him nowhere, and finally, on seeing a stir by the gates of the governor’s mansion, followed the crowd to see the Roman guards take Jesus to the place of execution.

He didn’t see any of the disciples among the crowd, but there were some women there whom he recognised. One of them was the wife of Zebedee, the mother of James and John, another was the woman from Magdala, of whom Jesus was particularly fond, and the third, to his great surprise, was his own mother. He hung back; he wanted nothing less, at that moment, than for her to see him. He watched from a little way off as they went with the crowd through the city to the place called Golgotha, where criminals were usually crucified.

Two men were already hanging on crosses there, having been convicted of theft. The Roman soldiers knew their business; it was not long before Jesus was hanging in place beside them. Christ remained with the crowd until it began to thin, which it did before very long: once the victim was nailed to the cross there was not much to see until the soldiers broke his legs to hasten his death, which might not happen for many hours.

The disciples had vanished altogether. Christ went in search of the man who was his informant, in order to find out what they intended to do next, but he found that the man had left the house where he was staying, and the host had no idea where he had gone. Of course, there was no sign of the angel, the stranger, and Christ couldn’t ask after him, because he still had no name to call him by.

From time to time, and always reluctantly, he went back to the place of execution, but found no change there. The three women were sitting close by the crosses. Christ took great care not to be seen by any of them.

Late in the afternoon, word got around that the Roman soldiers had decided to hasten the deaths of the three men. Christ hurried to the scene, sick and fearful, to find the crowd so thick he couldn’t see what was happening, but he heard the blows as the last man’s legs were smashed, and the satisfied sigh of the crowd, and a high gasping cry from the victim. Some women began to wail. Christ walked away very carefully, as lightly as he could, trying to make no impression on the earth.

One of the members of the Sanhedrin was a man from the town of Arimathea, whose name was Joseph. Despite his membership of the council, he was not one of those who’d condemned Jesus; on the contrary, he admired him and was greatly interested in what he’d had to say about the coming Kingdom. Knowing that the Passover was imminent, he went to Pilate and asked for the body.

‘Why? What’s the hurry?’

‘We would like to bury Jesus decently before the sabbath, sir. It’s our custom.’

‘I’m surprised you bother. The man was nothing but a rabble-rouser. I hope you’ve all learned a lesson. Take him, if you want him.’

Joseph and a colleague from the Sanhedrin called Nicodemus, another sympathiser, took the body down from the cross with some help from the grieving women. They had it carried to a garden nearby, where Joseph had had a tomb made for himself. The tomb was formed like a cave, and the entrance was closed by a stone that rolled in a groove. Joseph and the others wrapped the body of Jesus in a linen cloth, with spices to keep it from corruption, and closed the tomb in time for the sabbath.

There was still no sign of the disciples.

Christ spent the next day alone in the room he had rented, alternately praying and weeping and trying to write down what had happened, or as much of it as he knew. He was afraid of more things than he could count. He didn’t feel like eating or drinking, and he couldn’t sleep. The money Caiaphas had given him troubled him more and more, until he thought he would go mad from shame, so he paid the landlord what he owed and gave the rest to the first beggar he saw in the street. Still he felt no better.

When evening fell he went to the garden where Joseph had laid Jesus in the tomb, and sat near the grave among the shadows. Presently he became aware that the stranger was sitting next to him.

‘I have been busy elsewhere,’ said the stranger.

‘Yes,’ said Christ bitterly, ‘going to and fro in the earth, and walking up and down in it.’

‘I know this is hard for you. But I am not Satan. The first part of our work is nearly accomplished.’

‘And where was the ram caught in the thicket? You let me believe that something would happen to prevent the worst. And nothing happened, and the worst came.’

‘You let yourself believe it, and your belief let the great oblation run its course. Thanks to what you did, all kinds of good will come.’

‘So he will rise from the dead?’

‘Undoubtedly.’

‘When?’

‘Always.’

Christ shook his head in irritated bewilderment.

‘Always?’ he said. ‘What does that mean?’

‘It means that the miracle will never be forgotten, its goodness will never be exhausted, its truth will last from generation to generation.’

‘Ah, truth again. Would that be the truth that is different from history?’

‘The truth that irradiates history, in your own beautiful phrase. The truth that waters history as a gardener waters his plants. The truth that lights history as a lantern banishes the shadows.’