follows that in human actions, whether good
or bad, the cooperation of God is implicit. So you see, your
intimation that my blood is tainted because of my ancestry
evidences your complete lack of understanding of our religion.”
Behind them, inside, the servants
extinguished the lanterns.
“And what about a man’s will ?”
Doras smiled. “God allows spontaneity. It
pleased Him that there should be a mixture; that’s why He added the
will of fate to human will.”
“As a sort of balance between virtue and
baseness, no doubt.”
“Exactly.” Doras regained his composure. “For
one who is not a Jew, you are indeed quite perceptive.”
Deucalion ignored the implicit arrogance of
the statement. “Perceptive enough to know that there are serious
political problems within the Sanhedrin, and that is why you sent
me that cryptic note.” He also knew all too well that the
Israelites went out of their way to avoid all contact with a
heathen, lest they be defiled. This evening was indeed
extraordinary.
Doras turned from his perusal of the city and
faced Deucalion. “Political problems, as you put it, are, for those
who subscribe to the Pharisaic tradition, not political at all. The
Pharisees in the Sanhedrin are not a ‘political party’ as you
Romans think of such. Their aim, that of insuring strict adherence
to the law, arises from religious, not political motivation.”
Deucalion let his host continue, as if his
revelations about Jewish government were new to him.
“As a group, the Pharisees are comparatively
indifferent to politics. However, there are others within the
Sanhedrin who do not share our sentiments. Consequently, the
Council is divided.”
“In what manner?”
“The Pharisees, scribes, and other elders who
support me agree with the idea of divine providence.”
“Ah, the idea that we Romans occupy Judea
only because it is the will of your God.”
“That’s only a small part of it.”
“Go on.”
“Rome’s power over us is a chastisement of God that must be submitted to willingly.
Thus, so long as we are not prevented from the observance of the
law, the harshness of your occupation must also be borne willingly .”
“Why is that?”
“Because it is the will of God.”
“That seems rather fatalistic.”
“I suppose to the Roman way of thinking, it
is. But we Jews know that one day the Messiah will come and set us
free. You see, Deucalion, we believe that there is nothing that
cannot be accomplished by faith.”
“Yet you crucified the one man in your whole
history who claimed to be that Messiah.”
“The Nazarene was a blasphemer,” replied
Doras angrily. “Nothing more—nothing less. However, his death has
produced some unexpected fruit.” He grew suddenly pensive.
“You said there were two groups?”
“A few Pharisees and most of the Sadducees,
among them Annas and Caiaphas, believe that Israel must acknowledge
no other king than God alone and the ruler of the house of David,
whom God has anointed. For them, your supremacy is both
presumptuous and illegal. Therefore, the issue for them is not
whether obedience and payment of tribute to Rome is a duty, but
rather whether or not it is legal.”
“How does all of this relate to your problem
with the High Priest?”
Before Doras could answer him, the most
beautiful woman Deucalion had ever seen interrupted them.
Because only a solitary lantern lighted the
veranda, the immediate brightness of the flame mellowed into a soft
glow just beyond Deucalion’s depth of vision. It gave the illusion
that at the point of blending the light had no real ending and the
darkness no real beginning. The raven-haired woman stepped into
that dull glow as if she were stepping out of eternity and into
time.
“Why have you disturbed us?” Doras asked in a
gruff voice.
“I thought the two of you might be thirsty,
so I brought a flagon of dandelion wine,” the woman replied.
“Put the wine on the table and leave us. And
do not
or bad, the cooperation of God is implicit. So you see, your
intimation that my blood is tainted because of my ancestry
evidences your complete lack of understanding of our religion.”
Behind them, inside, the servants
extinguished the lanterns.
“And what about a man’s will ?”
Doras smiled. “God allows spontaneity. It
pleased Him that there should be a mixture; that’s why He added the
will of fate to human will.”
“As a sort of balance between virtue and
baseness, no doubt.”
“Exactly.” Doras regained his composure. “For
one who is not a Jew, you are indeed quite perceptive.”
Deucalion ignored the implicit arrogance of
the statement. “Perceptive enough to know that there are serious
political problems within the Sanhedrin, and that is why you sent
me that cryptic note.” He also knew all too well that the
Israelites went out of their way to avoid all contact with a
heathen, lest they be defiled. This evening was indeed
extraordinary.
Doras turned from his perusal of the city and
faced Deucalion. “Political problems, as you put it, are, for those
who subscribe to the Pharisaic tradition, not political at all. The
Pharisees in the Sanhedrin are not a ‘political party’ as you
Romans think of such. Their aim, that of insuring strict adherence
to the law, arises from religious, not political motivation.”
Deucalion let his host continue, as if his
revelations about Jewish government were new to him.
“As a group, the Pharisees are comparatively
indifferent to politics. However, there are others within the
Sanhedrin who do not share our sentiments. Consequently, the
Council is divided.”
“In what manner?”
“The Pharisees, scribes, and other elders who
support me agree with the idea of divine providence.”
“Ah, the idea that we Romans occupy Judea
only because it is the will of your God.”
“That’s only a small part of it.”
“Go on.”
“Rome’s power over us is a chastisement of God that must be submitted to willingly.
Thus, so long as we are not prevented from the observance of the
law, the harshness of your occupation must also be borne willingly .”
“Why is that?”
“Because it is the will of God.”
“That seems rather fatalistic.”
“I suppose to the Roman way of thinking, it
is. But we Jews know that one day the Messiah will come and set us
free. You see, Deucalion, we believe that there is nothing that
cannot be accomplished by faith.”
“Yet you crucified the one man in your whole
history who claimed to be that Messiah.”
“The Nazarene was a blasphemer,” replied
Doras angrily. “Nothing more—nothing less. However, his death has
produced some unexpected fruit.” He grew suddenly pensive.
“You said there were two groups?”
“A few Pharisees and most of the Sadducees,
among them Annas and Caiaphas, believe that Israel must acknowledge
no other king than God alone and the ruler of the house of David,
whom God has anointed. For them, your supremacy is both
presumptuous and illegal. Therefore, the issue for them is not
whether obedience and payment of tribute to Rome is a duty, but
rather whether or not it is legal.”
“How does all of this relate to your problem
with the High Priest?”
Before Doras could answer him, the most
beautiful woman Deucalion had ever seen interrupted them.
Because only a solitary lantern lighted the
veranda, the immediate brightness of the flame mellowed into a soft
glow just beyond Deucalion’s depth of vision. It gave the illusion
that at the point of blending the light had no real ending and the
darkness no real beginning. The raven-haired woman stepped into
that dull glow as if she were stepping out of eternity and into
time.
“Why have you disturbed us?” Doras asked in a
gruff voice.
“I thought the two of you might be thirsty,
so I brought a flagon of dandelion wine,” the woman replied.
“Put the wine on the table and leave us. And
do not
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