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 3
(b) From the ideal gas law, we can write
PV
n=
.
RT
Then, if we measure P̄ and T̄ rather than the ground-truth values, we can write the forward error as:

P̄ V PV V P̄ P
− = −
RT̄ RT R T̄ T

9781482251944_SM_Cover.indd 9 28/09/15 12:38 pm

 4
V P + δP P
= for |δP | ≤ εP , |δT | ≤ εT
−
R T + δT T
V (P + δP )T − P (T + δT )
=
R T (T + δT )
V P T + δP T − P T − δ T P
=
RT T + δT

δP T − P δT
=n
P (T + δT )

Hence, the relative forward error can be bounded as follows:

δP T − P δT T ε P + P εT
≤
P (T + δT ) P (T − εT )

(c) In this case,

PV (100 Pa)(0.5 m3 )
n= = = 0.0201 mol
RT (8.31 J · mol−1 · K−1 )(300 K)

With the given measurement bounds, the largest possible value is

(101 Pa)(0.5 m3 )
= 0.0203 mol = n + 0.000234 mol = n + 1.17%.
(8.31 J · mol−1 · K−1 )(299.5 K)
The smallest possible value is

(99 Pa)(0.5 m3 )
= 0.0198 mol = n − 0.000234 mol = n − 1.17%.
(8.31 J · mol−1 · K−1 )(300.5 K)

Hence, the absolute error is bounded by 0.0198 mol and the relative error is bounded by 1.17%.
(d) At the range indicated by the problem, it is relatively well-conditioned. When the scale of εT is commen-
surate with that of T , the problem becomes ill-conditioned.
2.3. We can understand the relative error as the fraction
∆y|/|y| x∆y
|
κrel = = ,
|∆x|/|x| y∆x

where y + ∆y = f (x + ∆x) and y = f (x). By Taylor’s theorem, f (x + ∆x) = y + f (x)∆x + O(∆x2 ). Hence,
∆y = f (x)∆x + O(∆x2 ), so for small ∆x,

x · f (x)∆x xf (x)
κrel ≈ = .
f (x) · ∆x f (x)

The absolute condition number of this problem is:

∆y
≈ |f (x)| .
∆x

The function f (x) = ln x has a large relative condition number near x = 1, since κrel = 1/ln x, which blows up
near x = 1. Contrastingly, the function f(x) = x has relative condition number 1 for all x.
2.4. Since minima are roots of f , we can use the conditioning for root-finding, but with an extra derivative:
(a) |xest − x∗ |
(b) |f (xest ) − f (x∗ )| ≈ δx|f (x∗ )|

9781482251944_SM_Cover.indd 10 28/09/15 12:38 pm

 (c) 1/|f (x∗ )|

2.5. (a) The range is (−∞, 0] since limt→0 log t = −∞ and log 1 = 0.
(b) If the xk is very negative, then exk is exponentially close to zero. This near-zero value may not be repre-
sentable, and regardless a single slightly larger value will dominate the sum.

9781482251944_SM_Cover.indd 10 28/09/15 12:38 pm

 5
(c) We simplify directly:

χ(x1 , . . . , xn ) = ln e xk by definition
k

= ln exk −a+a
k

= ln ea exk −a
k

= ln ea + ln exk −a
k

= a + ln exk −a
k

Suppose we take a = mink xk . Then, rather than adding together tiny values we have moved the scale to
be around e0 = 1. (Other heuristics for choosing a are possible)
2.6. There are rendering artifacts because the two surfaces overlap and hence have the same depth values; rounding
during depth computation can make one surface appear on top of the other. Possible resolutions include
slightly offsetting one surface, adding a tie-breaking rule when depths are within some tolerance of each other,
or merging the geometry before rendering to avoid overlap altogether.
2.7. (a) Recall that floating point arithmetic changes spacing as the order of magnitude of the value changes. Thus,
it makes sense to have multiplicative error that is relative to the scale of x and y.
(b) (adapted from course notes by D. Bindel, Cornell CS) The recurrence for the ground-truth sum is simply
sk = sk−1 + xk yk . Error terms for the addition and multiplication steps show
ŝk = (ŝk−1 + xk yk (1 + ε×k ))(1 + εk+).
Subtracting the two shows:

ŝk − sk = [(ŝk−1 + xk yk (1 + ε×k ))(1 + εk+ )] − [sk−1 + xk yk ] by the recurrences above

= [ŝk−1 + ε+k ŝk−1 + xk yk (1 + εk×) + xk yk ε+k (1 + εk×)] − [sk−1 + xk yk ]

= [ŝk−1 − sk−1 ] + εk+ ŝk−1 + xk yk (ε× + + ×
k + ε k + ε k εk )
+ + × + + ×
= [ŝk−1 − sk−1 ](1 + εk ) + εk sk−1 + xk yk (εk + εk + εk εk )
= [ŝk−1 − sk−1 ](1 + ε+ + × + ×
k ) + εk sk + xk yk (εk + εk εk ) since sk = sk−1 + xk yk
= [ŝk−1 − sk−1 ](1 + ε+ + × + ×
k ) + ε k s k + xk y k ε k + x k y k ε k ε k

We can expand this inductively:

ŝ0 − s0 = 0
ŝ1 − s1 = [ŝ0 − s0 ](1 + ε1+ ) + ε+ × + ×
1 x1 y 1 + x1 y1 ε1 + x1 y 1 ε 1 ε 1
= x1 y1 (ε+ × + ×
1 + ε1 ) + x 1 y 1 ε 1 ε 1
ŝ2 − s2 = [ŝ1 − s1 ](1 + ε2+ ) + ε+ × + ×
2 (x1 y1 + x2 y2 ) + x2 y2 ε 2 + x2 y 2 ε 2 ε 2
= [x1 y1 (ε+ × + × + + × + ×
1 + ε1 ) + x1 y1 ε 1 ε 1 ](1 + ε2 ) + ε 2 (x1 y1 + x2 y2 ) + x2 y2 ε 2 + x2 y 2 ε 2 ε 2

= x1 y1 (ε+ × + + × + + + × + × + ×
1 + ε1 + ε1 ε2 + ε1 ε2 + ε 2 ) + x2 y2 (ε 2 + ε 2 ) + [x1 y1 ε 1 ε 1 + x2 y 2 ε 2 ε 2 ] + O(ε max)
3

Applying induction, this recurrence shows

k k

ŝk − sk = xi yi εi× + ε+
j
2
+ O(kεmax)
i=1 j=i

9781482251944_SM_Cover.indd 11 28/09/15 12:38 pm

 =⇒ en ≤ nεmax |xk ||yk | + O(nε2max
), as desired.
k

9781482251944_SM_Cover.indd 11 28/09/15 12:38 pm

 6

2.8. For convenience, define d ≡ x− y. We’ll start by simplifying the numerator of relative error and then substitute:

(1 + εx )x − (1 + εy )y = (x − y) + (εx x − εy y)
= d + εx d + (εx − εy )y
=⇒ (1 + ε− )((1 + εx )x − (1 + εy )y) = (1 + ε− )(d + εx d + (εx − εy )y)
= (1 + ε− )d + εx (1 + ε− )d + (1 + ε− )(εx − εy )y
(1 + ε− )((1 + εx )x − (1 + εy )y) − (x − y)
=⇒ E =
x− y
ε− d + εx (1 + ε− )d + (1 + ε− )(εx − εy )y
=
d
y
=
ε− + εx (1 + ε− ) + (1 + ε− )(εx − εy )
d
This can be unbounded as d → 0.

2.9. (a) Implicitly differentiating the relationship 0 = f (x(ε)) + εp(x(ε)) with respect to ε shows

d
0= [f (x(ε)) + εp(x(ε))]
dε
= f (x(ε))x (ε) + p(x(ε)) + εp (x(ε))x (ε) by the chain rule.

Substituting ε = 0 and using x∗ = x(0) shows

p(x∗ )
0 = f (x∗ )x (0) + p(x∗ ) =⇒ x (0) = − .
f (x∗ )

(b) We differentiate
d
f (x) = (x − 1) · (x − 2) · · · · · (x − 20)
dx
= (x − 2) · · · · · (x − 20) + (x − 1) · (x − 3) · · · · · (x − 20)
+ · · · + (x − 1) · · · · · (x − 19) by the product rule

Substituting x = j shows

f (j) = (j − 1) · (j − 2) · · · · · (j − (j − 1)) · (j − (j + 1)) · · · · · (j − 20)

For p(x) = x19 , from the previous part we have

j 19 j
x (j) = − =− .
(j − 1) · (j − 2) · · · · · (j − (j − 1)) · (j − (j + 1)) · · · · · (j − 20) j−k
k=j

(c) x (1) ≈ 8.2 × 10−18 and x (20) ≈ −4.3 × 107 ; hence, the root x∗ = 1 is far more stable.
2.10. (a) The alternative formula can be obtained by scaling the numerator and denominator of the quadratic
equation:
√ √ √
−b ± b2 − 4ac −b ± b2 − 4ac −b ∓ b2 − 4ac
= · √

2a 2a −b ∓ b2 − 4ac

b2 − (b2 − 4ac)
= √
−2ab ∓ 2a b2 − 4ac
4ac
= √
−2ab ∓ 2a b2 − 4ac
−2c
=

9781482251944_SM_Cover.indd 12 28/09/15 12:38 pm

 √
b ± b2 − 4ac

9781482251944_SM_Cover.indd 12 28/09/15 12:38 pm

 7
(b) When b ≤ 0, take
√
−b + b2 − 4ac c
x1 = , x2 = ,
2a ax1
and otherwise take
√
−b − b2 − 4ac , x2 = c .
x2 = ax2
2a

This way, there never can be cancellation because we always move b farther from the origin in the numer-
ator.
2.11. The bounds are worked out below:

[x] + [y] = [x + y, x + y]
[x] − [y] = [x − y, x − y]
value sign(x) sign(x) sign(y) sign(y)
xy, xy + + + +
xy, xy + + − +

yx, yx + + − −
[xy, xy] − + + +
[x] × [y] =
min(xy, yx), max(xy, xy) − + − +
xy, x − + − −

xy, xy − − + +
[xy, xy] − − − +
xy, xy − − − −
1 1
[x] ÷ [y] = [x] × ,
y y
[x]1/2 = [x1/2 , x1/2 ]

In finite-precision arithmetic, always round down the lower bounds and round up the upper bounds.
2.12. (a) Perturbing any of three collinear points slightly makes them not collinear. Furthermore, points may appear
collinear if you zoom out far enough but appear less so as you zoom in.

ε
q
ε

p
ε
ε

(b)

9781482251944_SM_Cover.indd 13 28/09/15 12:38 pm

 8

ε
φq
ε

pφ
ε

(c)
(d) Obvious from drawings above; ε-collinear points form the intersection of four half-planes, two of which
come from the ε-clockwise condition and two of which come from the ε-counterclockwise condition.
(e) No. See §3.1 of [55] for an example.
3.1. No; LU may not be possible for matrices requiring pivoting.
3.2. The steps of Gaussian elimination are below:

2 4 2 1 2 1 1/2 0
∼ , with elimina tion matrix
3 5 4 3 5 4 0 1

1 2 1 1 0
∼ , with elimination matrix
0 1 −1 3 −1

1 0 3 1 −2
∼ , with elimination matrix
0 1 −1 0 1

So, x = 3 and y = −1.

From the steps above, we know
1 2
U= ,
0 1
and

−1 −1
1/2 0 1 0 2 0 1 0 2 0
L= = = .
0 1 3 −1 0 1 3 −1 3 −1

3.3. Computed using Gaussian elimination:

1 0 0 1 2 7

L= 3 1 0 U= 0 −1 −22
6 11 1 0 0 204

3.4. Where it states “optionally insert pivoting code here,” find row r with largest value in column p; then swap
row r and row p of both A and φb.
3.5. No. Full pivoting can be preferable numerically but technically does not make a difference. The only way partial
pivoting would fail is if there is an all-zero column, which would indicate that A is not invertible.
3.6. Write A = A1 + A2 i, φb = φb1 + φb2 i, and φx = φx1 + φx2 i. Then, Aφx = φb =⇒ (A1 + A2 i)(φx1 + φx2 i) = φb1 + φb2 i =⇒
(A1 φx1 − A2 φx2 ) + (A2 φx1 + A1 φx2 )i = φb1 + φb2 i. So, we can solve the block system
A2
A1 −A2 A1 φx1

9781482251944_SM_Cover.indd 14 28/09/15 12:38 pm

 φx2

φb1 = .
φ
b
2

3.7. Carrying out Gaussian elimination is the same as pre-multiplying by the inverse of the leftmost n × n block.
Hence, the output is A−1 (A|In ×n ) = (A−1 A|A−1 ) = (I n×n |A−1 ).

9781482251944_SM_Cover.indd 14 28/09/15 12:38 pm

Other documents randomly have
different content
purely Judaic document—not yet interpolated by the seventh section. Yet
further, we have (8) the factors accruing to the religious epithet “Chrēstos”4
(= good, gracious), which specially attached to the underworld Gods of the
Samothracian mysteries; also to Hermes, Osiris, and Isis; and (9 and 10) the
Christist cult-movements connected with the non-Jesuine Pastor of Hermas
and the sect of the Eleesaites.5 And this is not an exhaustive list.

(11) That there was a general Jewish ferment of Messianism on foot in the
first century is part of the case of the biographical school. That there
actually arose in the first and second centuries various Jewish “Christs” is
also a historical datum. But the biographical school are not wont in this
connection to avow the inference that alone can properly be drawn from the
phrase of Suetonius as to a movement of Jewish revolt at Rome occurring in
the reign of Claudius impulsore Chresto, “(one) Chrestus instigating.”6 This
is not an allusion to the Greek epithet Chrēstos before referred to: it is
either a specification of an individual otherwise unknown or the reduction
to vague historic status of the source of a general ferment of Jewish
insurrection in Rome, founding on the expectation of the Christos, the
Messiah. In the reign of Claudius, such a movement could not have been
made by “Christians” on any view of the history. As the words were
pronounced alike they were interchangeably written, Chrestos (preserved in
the French chrétien) being used even among the Fathers. Giving to the
phrase of Suetonius the only plausible import we can assign to it, we get the
datum that among the Jews outside Palestine there was a generalized
movement of quasi-revolutionary Christism which cannot well have been
without its special literature.

(12) In this connection may be noted the appearance of a quasi-impersonal

Messianism and Christism on the border-land of Jewish and early Christian
literature. Of this, a main source is the Book of Enoch, of which the
Messianic sections are now by general consent assigned to the first and
second centuries B.C. There the Messiah is called the Just or Righteous
One;7 the Chosen One;8 Son of Man;9 the Anointed;10 and once “Son of the
Woman.”11 Here already we have the imagined Divine One more or less
concretely represented. He is premundane, and so supernatural, yet not
equal with God, being simply God’s deputy.12 When then we find in the so-
called Odes of Solomon, recently recovered from an Ethiopic version, a
Messianic psalmody in which, apparently in the first Christian century, “the
name of the gospel is not found, nor the name of Jesus;” and “not a single
saying of Jesus is directly quoted,”13 it is critically inadmissible to
pronounce the Odes Christian, especially when a number are admitted to
have no Christian characteristics.14 When, too, the writer admittedly
appears to be speaking ex ore Christi, a new doubt is cast on all logia so-
called. Such literature, whether or not it be pronounced Gnostic, points to
the Gnostic Christism in which the personal Jesus disappears15 in a series
of abstract speculations that exclude all semblance of human personality.
All the evidence points for its origination to abstract or general conceptions,
not to any actual life or teaching. It spins its doctrinal web from within.

(13) And it is not merely on the Jewish side that we have evidence of
elements in the early Jesuist movement which derive from sources alien to
the gospel record. M. Loisy16 admits that the hymn of the Naassenes, given
by Hippolytus,17 in which Jesus appeals to the Father to let him descend to
earth and reveal the mysteries to men, “has an extraordinary resemblance to
the dialogue between the God Ea and his son Marduk in certain Babylonian
incantations.”18 He disposes of the problem by claiming that before it can
weigh with us “it must be proved that the hymn of the Ophites is anterior to
all connection of their sect with Christianity.” The implication is that
Gnostic syncretism could add Babylonian traits to the Jewish Jesus. But
when we find signal marks of a Babylonian connection for the name Jesus
in the Apocalypse we cannot thus discount, without further evidence, the
Babylonian connection set up by the Naassene hymn. Nor can the defenders
of a record which they themselves admit to contain a mass of unhistorical
matter claim to have a ground upon which they can dismiss as a copyist’s
blunder the formula in which in an old magic papyrus Jesus, as Healer, is
adjured as “The God of the Hebrews.”19 The very gospel records present
the name of Jesus as one of magical power in places where he has not
appeared. A strict criticism is bound to admit that the whole question of the
pre-Christian vogue of the name Jesus presents an unsolved problem.
There are further two quasi-historical Jesuses, one (14) given in the Old
Testament, the other (15) in the Talmud, concerning which we can neither
affirm nor deny that they were connected with a Jesuine movement before
the Christian era. One is the Jesus of Zechariah (iii, 1–8 ; vi, 11–15 ); the
other is the Jesus Ben Pandira, otherwise Jesus Ben Satda or Stada, of the
Talmud. The former, Jesus the High Priest, plays a quasi-Messianic part,
being described as “The Branch” and doubly crowned as priest and king.
The word for “branch” in Zechariah is tsemach, but this was by the pre-
Christian Jews identified with the netzer of Isaiah xi, 1 ; which for some
the early Jesuists would seem to have constituted the explanation of Jesus’
cognomen of “Nazarite” or “Nazaræan.”20 The historic significance of the
allusions in Zechariah appears to have been wholly lost; and that very
circumstance suggests some pre-Christian connection between the name
Jesus and a Messianic movement, which the Jewish teachers would be
disposed to let slip from history, and the Christists who might know of it
would not wish to recall. But the matter remains an enigma.

Equally unsolved, thus far, is the problem of the Talmudic Jesus.

Ostensibly, there are two; and yet both seem to have been connected, in the
Jewish mind, with the Jesus of the gospels. One, Jesus son of Pandira, is
recorded to have been stoned to death and then hanged on a tree, for
blasphemy or other religious crime, on the eve of a Passover in the reign of
Alexander Jannæus (B.C. 106–79).21 But in the Babylonian Gemara he is
identified with a Jesus Ben Sotada or Stada or Sadta or Sidta, who by one
rather doubtful clue is put in the period of Rabbi Akiba in the second
century C.E. He too is said to have been stoned and hanged on the eve of a
Passover, but at Lydda, whereas Ben Pandira is said to have been executed
at Jerusalem. Some scholars take the unlikely view that two different
Jesuses were thus stoned and hanged on the eve of a Passover: others infer
one, whose date has been confused.22 As Ben Pandira entered into the
Jewish anti-Christian tradition, and is posited by the Jew of Celsus in the
second century, the presumption is in favour of his date. His mother is in
one place named Mariam Magdala = “Mary the nurse” or “hair-dresser”—a
quasi-mythical detail. But even supposing him to have been a real
personage, whose name may have been connected with a Messianic
movement (he is said to have had five disciples), it is impossible to say
what share his name may have had in the Jesuine tradition. Our only
practicable clues, then, are those of the sects and movements enumerated.

It soon becomes clear from a survey of these sects and movements (1) that a
cult of a non-divine Jesus, represented by the Hebraic Ebionites, subsisted
for a time alongside of one which, also among Jews, made Jesus a
supernatural being. Only on the basis of an original rite can such
divergences be explained. The Ebionites come before us, in the account of
Epiphanius, as using a form of the Gospel of Matthew which lacked the
first two chapters (an addition of the second or third century), denying the
divinity of Jesus, and rejecting the apostleship of Paul.23 It is implied that
they accepted the story of the Last Supper and the Crucifixion. Here then
were Jewish believers in a Hero-Jesus, the Servant of God (as in the
Teaching), not a Son of God in any supernatural sense. Ebionism had
rigidly restricted the cult to a subordinate form.

On the other hand, we have in the Nazarean sect or fraternity a movement

which added both directly and indirectly to the Jesuist evolution. In the so-
called Primitive Gospel, as expiscated by the school of B. Weiss from the
synoptics, there is no mention of Nazareth, and neither the epithet
“Nazarene” nor “Nazarite” for Jesus. All three names are wholly absent
from the Epistles, as from the Apocalypse: Jesus never has a cognomen
after we pass the Acts. The inference is irresistible that first the epithet
“Nazarean,” and later the story about Nazareth, were additions to a primary
cult in which Jesus had no birth-location, any more than he had human
parents.

I have suggested24 that the term may have come in from the Hebrew
“Netzer” = “the branch,” which would have a Messianic meaning for Jews.
Professor Smith, who makes a searching study of Hebrew word-elements,
has developed a highly important thesis to the effect that the word
Nazaraios, “Nazarean,” which gives the residual name for the Jesuist sect in
the Acts and the predominant name for Jesus in the gospels (apart from
Mark, which gives Nazarenos),25 is not only pre-Christian but old Semitic;
that the fundamental meaning of the name (Nosri) is “guard” or “watcher”
(= Saviour?), and that the appellation is thus cognate with “Jesus,” which
signifies Saviour.26 On the negative side, as against the conventional
derivations from Nazareth, the case is very strong. More than fifty years
ago, the freethinker Owen Meredith insisted on the lack of evidence that a
Galilean village named Nazareth existed before the Christian era. To-day;
professional scholarship has acquiesced, to such an extent that Dr.
Cheyne27 and Wellhausen have agreed in deriving the name from the
regional name Gennesareth, thus making Nazareth = Galilee; while
Professor Burkitt, finding “the ordinary view of Nazareth wholly unproved
and unsatisfactory,” offers “a desperate conjecture” to the effect that “the
city of Joseph and Mary, the πατρίς of Jesus, was Chorazin.”28 In the face
of this general surrender, we are doubly entitled to deny that either the
appellation for Jesus or the sect-name had anything to do with the place-
name Nazareth.29

That there was a Jewish sect of “Nazaræans” before the Christian era,
Professor Smith has clearly shown, may be taken as put beyond doubt by
the testimony of Epiphanius, which he exhaustively analyzes.30 Primitively
orthodox, like the Samaritans, and recognizing ostensibly no Bible
personages later than Joshua, they appear to have merged in some way with
the “Christians,” who adopted their name, perhaps turning “Nazaræan” into
“Nazorean.” My original theory was that the “Nazaræans” were just the
“Nazarites” of the Old Testament—men “separated” and “under a vow”;31
and that the two movements somehow coalesced, the place-name
“Nazareth” being finally adopted to conceal the facts. But Professor Smith
is convinced, from the evidence of Epiphanius, that between “Nazarites”
and “Nazaræans” there was no connection;32 and for this there is the strong
support of the fact that the Jews cursed the Jesuist “Nazoræans” while
apparently continuing to recognize the Nazirs or Nazarites. That Professor
Smith’s derivation of the name may be the correct one, I am well prepared
to believe.

But it is difficult to connect such a derivation of an important section of the

early Jesuist movement with the thesis that Jesuism at its historic outset was
essentially a monotheistic crusade. On this side we seem to face an old sect
for whom, as for the adherents of the early sacrament, Jesus was a
secondary or subordinate divine personage. Standing at an early Hebraic
standpoint, the Nazaræans would have no part in the monotheistic
universalism of the later prophets. The early Hebrews had believed in a
Hebrew God, recognizing that other peoples also had theirs. How or when
had the Nazaræans transcended that standpoint?

In the absence of any elucidation, the very ably argued thesis of Professor
Smith as to the name “Nazaræan” seems broadly out of keeping with the
thesis that a monotheistic fervour was a main and primary element in the
development of the Christian cult; and that Jesus was conceived by his
Jewish devotees in general as “the One God.” This would have meant the
simple dethroning of Yahweh, a kind of procedure seen only in such myths
as that of Zeus and Saturn, where one racial cult superseded another. But
the main form of Christianity was always Yahwistic, even when Paul in the
Acts is made to proclaim to the Athenians an “unknown God”—an idea
really derived from Athens. Only for a few, and these non-Jews, can “the
Jesus” originally have been the One God; unless in so far as the use of the
name “the Lord” may for some unlettered Jews have identified Jesus with
Yahweh, who was so styled. The Ebionites denied his divinity all along.
The later Nazareans were Messianists who did not any more than the Jews
seem to conceive that the Messiah was Yahweh.

The whole doctrine of “the Son” was in conflict with any purely
monotheistic idea. Nowhere in the synoptics or the Epistles is the Christ
doctrine so stated as really to serve monotheism: the “I and the Father are
one” of the fourth gospel is late; and the opening verses of that gospel show
tampering, telling of a vacillation as to whether the Logos was God or “with
God”—or rather “next to God,” in the strict meaning of πρὸς. Here we have
a reflex of Alexandrian philosophy,33 not the evangel of the popular cult.
Formally monotheistic the cult always was, even when it had become
actually Trinitarian; and all along, doubtless, the particularist monotheism
of the Jews was at work against all other God-names in particular and
polytheism in general; but that cannot well have been the moving force in a
cult which was professedly beginning by establishing an ostensibly new
deity, and was ere long to make a trinity.
So far as anything can be clearly gathered from the scattered polemic in the
Talmud against “the Minim,” the standing title for Jewish heretics,
including Christians as such,34 they at least appear not as maintaining the
oneness of God but rather as affirming a second Deity,35 and this as early as
the beginning of the second century. That the Jewish Rabbis took this view
of their doctrine is explained in terms of the actual theology of the Epistle
to the Hebrews. If there was any new doctrine of monotheism bound up
with Jesuism, it must have been outside of the Jewish sphere, where the
unity of God was the very ground on which Jesuism was resisted. As such,
the Jewish Christians did not even repudiate the Jewish law, being expressly
aspersed by the Rabbis as secret traitors who professed to be Jews but held
alien heresies.36

I have said that “the Jesus” can have been “the one God” only for non-Jews.
Conceivably he may have been so for some Samaritans. There is reason to
believe that in the age of the Herods only a minority of the Samaritan
people held by Judaism;37 and there is Christian testimony that in the
second century a multitude of them worshipped as the One God Sem or
Semo, the Semitic Sun-God whose name is embodied in that of Samson.
Justin Martyr, himself a Samaritan, expressly alleges that “almost all the
Samaritans, and a few even of other nations” worship and acknowledge as
“the first God” Simon, whom he describes as a native of Gitta or Gitton,
emerging in the reign of Claudius Cæsar.38 Justin’s gross blunder in
identifying a Samaritan of the first century with the Sabine deity Semo
Sancus, whose statue he had seen in Rome,39 is proof that he could believe
in the deification of an alien as Supreme God, in his lifetime, in a nation
with ancient cults. The thing being impossible, we are left to the datum that
Sem or Semo or Sem-on = Great Sem was widely worshipped in Samaria,
as elsewhere in the near East.40

Returning to the subject of “the magician Simon” in his Dialogue with

Trypho,41 Justin there repeats that the Samaritans call him “God above all
power, and authority, and might.” Remembering that the Jewish Shema,
“the Name,” is the ordinary appellative for Yahweh, we note possibilities of
syncretism as to which we can only speculate. The fact that the Jews
actually called their God in general by a word meaning “Name” and also
equating with the commonest Semitic name for the Sun-God, while in their
sacred books they professedly transmuted the sacred name (altering the
consonants) to Adonai = Lord (“plural of majesty”), the name of the Syrian
God Adonis, is a circumstance that has never been much considered by
hierologists. It suggests that the Samaritan Sem also may have been
“known” by other names; and the certain fact of the special commemoration
of Joshua among the Samaritan Judaists gives another ground for
speculation. The words of Jesus to the Samaritan woman in the fourth
gospel, “Ye worship ye know not what,” seem to signify that from the
Alexandrian-Jewish standpoint Samaritans worshipped a name only.

What does emerge clearly is that Samaria played a considerable part in the
beginnings of Christism. In a curious passage of the fourth gospel (viii,
48 ) the Jews say to Jesus, “Say we not well that thou art a Samaritan, and
hast a daimon?”: and he answers with a denial that he has a daimon, but
makes no answer on the other charge. The fact that Matthew makes the
Founder expressly forbid his disciples to enter any city of the Samaritans,
while an interpolator of Luke42 introduces the story of the good Samaritan
to counteract the doctrine, tells that there was a sunderance between
Samaritan and Judaizing Christists just as there was between the Judaizers
and the Gentilizers in general. From Samaria, then, came part of the
impulse to the whole Gentilizing movement; and the Samaritan Justin
shows the anti-Judaic animus clearly enough.

That Samaritan Jesuism, then, may early have outgone the Pauline in
making Jesus “the One God,” in rivalry to the Jewish Yahweh, is a
recognizable possibility. But still we do not reach the conception of a
zealously monotheistic cult, relying specially on a polemic of monotheism.
Justin fights for monotheism as against paganism, but on the ordinary
Judaic-Christian basis. This is a later polemic stage. Nor does the thesis of a
new monotheism seem at all essential to the rest of Professor Smith’s
conception of the emergence of Jesuism. He agrees that it exfoliated from a
scattered cult of secret mysteries: the notion, then, that it was at the time of
its open emergence primarily a gospel of One God, and that God Jesus, is
ostensibly in excess of the first hypothesis. It is also somewhat incongruous
with the acceptance of the historic fact that it spread as a popular religion,
in a world which desired Saviour Gods.43 Saviour Gods abounded in
polytheism; the very conception is primarily polytheistic; and all we know
of the cast and calibre of the early converts in general is incompatible with
the notion of them as zealous for an abstract and philosophical conception
of deity. Whether we take the epistles to the Corinthians as genuine or as
pseudepigraphic, they are clearly addressed to a simple-minded community,
not given to monotheistic idealism, and indeed incapable of it.

In positing, further, a rapid “triumph” of Christism in virtue of its

monotheism, Professor Smith seems to me to outgo somewhat the historical
facts. There is really no evidence for any rapid triumph. Renan, after
accepting as history the pentecostal dithyramb of the Acts, came to see that
no such quasi-miraculous spread of the faith ever took place; and that the
Pauline epistles all presuppose not great churches but “little Bethels,” or
rather private conventicles, scattered through the Eastern Empire.44 He
justifiably doubted whether Paul’s converts, all told, amounted to over a
thousand persons. At a much later period, sixty years after Constantine’s
adoption of the faith, the then ancient church of Antioch, the city where first
the Jesuists “were called Christians,” numbered only about a fifth part of
the population.45 “At the end of the second century, probably not a
hundredth part even of the central provinces of the Roman Empire was
Christianized, while the outlying provinces were practically unaffected.”

Rather we seem bound to infer that Christianity made headway by

assimilating pagan ideas and usages on a basis of Judaic organization. It is
ultimately organization that conserves cults; and the vital factor in the
Christian case is the adaptation of the model set by the Jewish synagogues
and their central supervision. Of course even organization cannot avert
brute conquest; and the organized pagan cults in the towns of the Empire
went down ultimately before Christian violence as the Christian went down
before violence in Persia in the age of the Sassanides. But Christian
organization, improving upon Jewish, with no adequate rivalry on the pagan
side, developed the situation in which Constantine saw fit to imperialize the
cultus, as the one best fitted to become that of the State.
How then did the organization begin and grow? The data point insistently to
a special group in Jerusalem; and behind the myth of the gospels we have
historical and documentary ground for a hypothesis which can account for
that as for the other myth-elements.

§ 2. The Silence of Josephus

When we are considering the possibilities of underlying historical elements

in the gospel story, it may be well to note on the one hand the entirely
negative aspect of the works of Josephus to that story, and on the other hand
the emergence in his writings of personages bearing the name Jesus. If the
defenders of the historicity of the gospel Jesus would really stand by
Josephus as a historian of Jewry in the first Christian century, they would
have to admit that he is the most destructive of all the witnesses against
them. It is not merely that the famous interpolated passage46 is flagrantly
spurious in every aspect—in its impossible context; its impossible language
of semi-worship; its “He was (the) Christ”; its assertion of the resurrection;
and its allusion to “ten thousand other wonderful things” of which the
historian gives no other hint—but that the flagrant interpolation brings into
deadly relief the absence of all mention of the crucified Jesus and his sect
where mention must have been made by the historian if they had existed. If,
to say nothing of “ten thousand wonderful things,” there was any movement
of a Jesus of Nazareth with twelve disciples in the period of Pilate, how
came the historian to ignore it utterly? If, to say nothing of the resurrection
story, Jesus had been crucified by Pilate, how came it that there is no hint of
such an episode in connection with Josephus’ account of the Samaritan
tumult in the next chapter? And if a belief in Jesus as a slain and returning
Messiah had been long on foot before the fall of the Temple, how comes it
that Josephus says nothing of it in connection with his full account of the
expectation of a coming Messiah at that point?
By every test of loyal historiography, we are not merely forced to reject the
spurious passage as the most obvious interpolation in all literature: we are
bound to confess that the “Silence of Josephus,” as is insisted by Professor
Smith,47 is an insurmountable negation of the gospel story. For that silence,
no tenable reason can be given, on the assumption of the general historicity
of the gospels and Acts. Josephus declares himself48 to be in his fifty-sixth
year in the thirteenth year of Domitian. Then he was born about the year 38.
By his own account,49 he began at the age of sixteen to “make trial of the
several sects that were among us”—the Pharisees, the Sadducees, and the
Essenes—and in particular he spent three years with a hermit of the desert
named Banos, who wore no clothing save what grew on trees, used none
save wild food, and bathed himself daily and nightly for purity’s sake.
Thereafter he returned to Jerusalem, and conformed to the sect of the
Pharisees. In the Antiquities,50 after describing in detail the three sects
before named, he gives an account of a fourth “sect of Jewish philosophy,”
founded by Judas the Galilean, whose adherents in general agree with the
Pharisees, but are specially devoted to liberty and declare God to be their
only ruler, facing torture and death rather than call any man lord.

A careful criticism will recognize a difficulty as to this section. In § 2, as in

the Life, “three sects” are specified; and the concluding section has the air
of a late addition. Seeing, however, that the sect of Judas is stated to have
begun to give trouble in the procuratorship of Gessius Florus, when
Josephus was in his twenties, it is quite intelligible that he should say
nothing of it when naming the sects who existed in his boyhood, and that he
should treat it in a subsidiary way in his fuller account of them in the
Antiquities. It is not so clear why he should in the first section of that
chapter call Judas “a Gaulanite, of a city whose name was Gamala,” and in
the final section call him “Judas the Galilean.” There was a Gamala in
Gaulanitis and another in Galilee. But the discrepancy is soluble on the
view that the sixth section was added some time after the composition of
the book. There seems no adequate ground for counting it spurious.

On what theory, then, are we to explain the total silence of Josephus as to

the existence of the sect of Jesus of Nazareth, if there be any historical truth
in the gospel story? It is of no avail to suggest that he would ignore it by
reason of his Judaic hostility to Christism. He is hostile to the sect of Judas
the Galilean. There is nothing in all his work to suggest that he would have
omitted to name any noticeable sect with a definite and outstanding doctrine
because he disliked it. He seems much more likely, in that case, to have
described and disparaged or denounced it.

And here emerges the hypothesis that he did disparage or denounce the
Christian sect in some passage which has been deleted by Christian
copyists, perhaps in the very place now filled by the spurious paragraph,
where an account of Jesuism as a calamity to Judaism would have been
relevant in the context. This suggestion is nearly as plausible as that of
Chwolson, who would reckon the existing paragraph a description of a
Jewish calamity, is absurd. And it is the possibility of this hypothesis that
alone averts an absolute verdict of non-historicity against the gospel story in
terms of the silence of Josephus. The biographical school may take refuge,
at this point, in the claim that the Christian forger, whose passage was
clearly unknown to Origen, perhaps eliminated by his fraud a historic
testimony to the historicity of Jesus, and also an account of the sect of
Nazaræans.

But that is all that can be claimed. The fact remains that in the Life, telling
of his youthful search for a satisfactory sect, Josephus says not a word of
the existence of that of the crucified Jesus; that he nowhere breathes a word
concerning the twelve apostles, or any of them, or of Paul; and that there is
no hint in any of the Fathers of even a hostile account of Jesus by him in
any of his works, though Origen makes much of the allusion to James the
Just,51—also dismissible as an interpolation, like another to the same effect
cited by Origen, but not now extant.52 There is therefore a strong negative
presumption to be set against even the forlorn hypothesis that the passage
forged in Josephus by a Christian scribe ousted one which gave a hostile
testimony.

Over a generation ago, Mr. George Solomon of Kingston, Jamaica, noting

the general incompatibility of Josephus with the gospel story and the
unhistorical aspect of the latter, constructed an interesting theory,53 of
which I have seen no discussion, but which merits notice here. It may be
summarized thus:—

1. Banos is probably the historical original of the gospel figure of John the
Baptist.

2. Josephus names and describes two Jesuses, who are blended in the figure
of the gospel Jesus: (a) the Jesus (Wars, VI, v, 3) who predicts “woe to
Jerusalem”; is flogged till his bones show, but never utters a cry; makes no
reply when challenged; returns neither thanks for kindness nor railing for
railing; and is finally killed by a stone projectile in the siege; and (b) Jesus
the Galilean (Life, §§ 12, 27), son of Sapphias, who opposes Josephus, is
associated with Simon and John, and has a following of “sailors and poor
people,” one of whom betrays him (§ 22), whereupon he is captured by a
stratagem, his immediate followers forsaking him and flying.54 Before this
point, Josephus has taken seventy of the Galileans with him (§ 14) as
hostages, and, making them his friends and companions on his journey, sets
them “to judge causes.” This is the hint for Luke’s story of the seventy
disciples.

3. The “historical Jesus” of the siege, who is “meek” and venerated as a

prophet and martyr, being combined with the “Mosaic Jesus” of Galilee, a
disciple of Judas of Galilee, who resisted the Roman rule and helped to
precipitate the war, the memory of the “sect” of Judas the Gaulanite or
Galilean, who began the anti-Roman trouble, is also transmuted into a myth
of a sect of Jesus of Galilee, who has fishermen for disciples, is followed by
poor Galileans, is betrayed by one companion and deserted by the rest, and
is represented finally as dying under Pontius Pilate, though at that time
there had been no Jesuine movement.

4. The Christian movement, thus mythically grounded, grows up after the

fall of the Temple. Paul’s “the wrath is come upon them to the uttermost” (1
Thess. ii, 16 ) tells of the destruction of the Temple, as does Hebrews xii,
24–28 ; xiii, 12–14 .
This theory of the construction of the myth out of historical elements in
Josephus is obviously speculative in a high degree; and as the construction
fails to account for either the central rite or the central myth of the
crucifixion it must be pronounced inadequate to the data. On the other hand,
the author developes the negative case from the silence of Josephus as to
the gospel Jesus with an irresistible force; and though none of his solutions
is founded-on in the constructive theory now elaborated, it may be that
some of them are partly valid. The fact that he confuses Jesus the robber
captain who was betrayed, and whose companions deserted him, with Jesus
the “Mosaic” magistrate of Tiberias, who was followed by sailors and poor
people, and was “an innovator beyond everybody else,” does not exclude
the argument that traits of one or the other, or of the Jesus of the siege, may
have entered into the gospel mosaic.

§ 3. The Myth of the Twelve Apostles

All careful investigators have been perplexed by the manner of the

introduction of “the Twelve” in the gospels; and they would have been still
more so if they had realized the total absence of any reason in the texts for
the creation of disciples or apostles at all. Disciples to learn—what?
Apostles to teach—what? The choosing is as plainly mythical as the
function. In Mark (i, 16 ) and Matthew (iv, 18 ), Jesus calls upon the
brothers Simon and Andrew to leave their fishing and “become fishers of
men.” They come at the word; and immediately afterwards the brothers
James and John do the same. There is no pretence of previous teaching: it is
the act of the God.55 In Matthew, at the calling of the apostle Matthew (ix,
9 ), who in Mark (ii, 14 ) becomes Levi the son of Alphæus, the procedure
is the same: “Follow me.”

Then, with no connective development whatever, we proceed at one stroke

to the full number.56 Matthew actually makes the mission of the twelve the
point of choosing, saying simply (x, 1 ): “And he called unto him his
twelve disciples,” adding their names. In Mark (iii, 13 ) we have
constructive myth:—

And he goeth up into the mountain, and calleth unto him whom he himself would:
and they went unto him. And he appointed twelve, that they might be with him,
and that he might send them forth to preach, and to have authority to cast out
devils.

And the lists converge. Levi has now disappeared from Mark’s record, and
we have instead “James the son of Alphæus,” but with Matthew in also. The
lists of the first two synoptics have been harmonized. In Luke, where only
three are at first called, after a miracle (v, 1–11 ), the twelve are also
summarily chosen on a mountain; and here the list varies: Levi, who has
been separately called (v, 27 ) as in Mark, disappears here also in favour of
“James of Alphæus”; but there is no Thaddæus, and there are two Judases,
one being “of James,” which may mean either son or brother. And this
Judas remains on the list in the Acts. Candid criticism cannot affirm that we
have here the semblance of veridical biography. The calling of the twelve
has been imposed upon an earlier narrative, with an arbitrary list, which is
later varied. The calling of the fishermen, to begin with, is a symbolical act,
as is the calling of a tax-gatherer. The calling of the twelve is a more
complicated matter.

In searching for the roots of a pre-Christian Jesus-cult in Palestine, we have

noted the probability that it centred in a rite of twelve participants, with the
“Anointed One,” the representative of the God, and anciently the actual
victim, as celebrating priest. The Anointed One is “the Christ”; and the
Christ, on the hypothesis, is Jesus Son of the Father. The twelve, as in the
case of the early Jesus-cult at Ephesus, form as it were “the Church.” A
body of twelve, then, who might term themselves “Brethren of the Lord,”
may well have been one of the starting-points of Jewish Jesuism.

But the first two synoptics, clearly, started with a group of only four
disciples, to which a fifth was added; and in John (i, 35–49 ) the five are
made up at once, in a still more supernatural manner than in the synoptics,
two being taken from the following of John the Baptist. Then, still more
abruptly than in the synoptics, we have the completion (vi, 70 ):—“Did not
I choose you the twelve, and one of you is a devil?” It would be idle to say
merely that the twelve are suddenly imposed on the narrative, leaving a
biographical five: the five are just as evidently given unhistorically, for
some special reason, mythical or other.

Now, though fives and fours and threes are all quasi-sacred numbers in the
Old Testament, it is noteworthy that in one of the Talmudic allusions to
Jesus Ben-Stada he is declared to have had five disciples—Matthai, Nakai
or Neqai, Nezer or Netzer, Boni or Buni, and also Thoda, all of whom are
ostensibly though not explicitly described as having been put to death.57 As
this passage points to the Jesus who is otherwise indicated as post-
Christian, it cannot critically be taken as other than a reference to a current
Christian list of five, though it may conceivably have been a miscarrying
reference to the Jesus of the reign of Alexander Jannæus. In any case, it is
aimed at a set of five; and there is never any Talmudic mention of a twelve.
If, then, the Talmudic passage was framed by way of a stroke against the
Christians it must have been made at a time when the list of twelve had not
been imposed on the gospels. Further, it is to be noted that it provides for a
Matthew, and perhaps for a “Mark,” the name “Nakai” being put next to
Matthew’s; while in Boni and Netzer we have ostensible founders for the
Ebionites and Nazaræans. Finally, Thoda looks like the native form of
Thaddæus; though it might perhaps stand for the Theudas of Acts v, 36 .
Seeing how names are juggled with in the official list and in the MS.
variants (“Lebbæus whose surname was Thaddæus” stood in the Authorised
Version, on the strength of the Codex Bezae), it cannot be argued that the
Gemara list is not possibly an early form or basis of that in the synoptics;
though on the other hand the names Boni and Netzer suggest a mythopœic
origin for Ebionites and Nazarenes. Leaving this issue aside as part of the
unsolved problem of the Talmudic Jesus, we are again driven to note the
unhistoric apparition of the twelve.

Following the documents, we find the later traces equally unveridical.

Matthew is introduced in the Acts as being chosen to make up the number
of the twelve, on the death of Judas; but never again is such a process
mentioned; and Matthew plays no part in the further narrative. And of
course the cult was interdicted from further maintenance of the number as
soon as it was settled that the twelve were to sit on twelve thrones judging
the twelve tribes of Israel, which had apparently been done in an early
Judaic form of the Apocalypse before it was intimated in the gospels. Even
in the Epistles, however, there is no real trace of an active group of twelve.
The number is mentioned only in a passage (1 Cor. xv, 5 ) where there is
interpolation upon interpolation, for after the statement that the risen Jesus
appeared “then to the twelve” there shortly follows “then to all the
apostles,” that is, on the traditionist assumption, to the twelve again—the
exclusion of Judas not being recognized. The first-cited clause could be
interpolated in order to insert the number; the second could not have been
inserted if the other were already there.

That is the sole allusion. We find none where we might above all expect it,
in the pseudo-biographical epistle to the Galatians, though there is mention
in the opening chapter of “them which were apostles before me,” “the
apostles,” “James the brother of the Lord” (never mentioned as an apostle
in the gospels unless he be James the son of Alphæus or James the son of
Zebedee: that is, not a brother of Jesus but simply a group-brother), and
“James and Cephas and John, who were [or are] reputed to be pillars.” The
language used in verse 6 excludes the notion that the writer believed “the
apostles” to have had personal intercourse with the Founder. Thus even in a
pseudepigraphic work, composed after Paul’s time, there is no suggestion
that he had to deal with the twelve posited by the gospels and the Acts. And
all the while “apostles” without number continue to figure in the
documents. They were in fact a numerous class in the early Church. It is not
surprising that the late Professor Cheyne not only rejected the story of the
Betrayal but declared that “The ‘Twelve Apostles,’ too, are to me as
unhistorical as the seventy disciples.”58

On the other hand, we have a decisive reason for the invention of the
Twelve story in the latterly recovered Teaching of the Twelve
Apostles59 (commonly cited as the Didachê), a document long current in
the early church. Of that book, the first six chapters, forming nearly half of
the matter, are purely ethical and monotheistic, developing the old formula
of the “Two Ways” of life and death; and saying nothing of Jesus or Christ
or the Son, or of baptism or sacrament. Then comes a palpably late
interpolation, giving a formula for baptism in the name of the Father, the
Son, and the Holy Spirit. Even in the ninth section, dealing with the
Eucharist, we have only “the holy vine of David thy Servant, which thou
hast made known to us through Jesus thy Servant.”60 The tenth, which is
evidently later, and is written as a conclusion, retains that formula. After
that come warnings against false apostles and prophets; and only in the
twelfth section does the word “Christian” occur. Still later there is specified
“the Lord’s-day (κυριακὴν) of the Lord.” Then comes a prescription for the
election of bishops; and the document ends with a chapter preparing for the
expected “last days.”

Here then we have an originally Jewish document, bearing the title

Teaching of the Twelve Apostles, adopted and gradually added to by
early Jesuists who did not deify Jesus, though like the early Christians in
general they expected the speedy end of the world. Though their Jesus is not
deified, he has no cognomen. He is neither “of Nazareth,” nor “the
Nazarite;” and he is an ostensibly mythical figure, not a teacher but a rite-
founder, for his adherents. They do not belong to an organized Church; and
the baptismal section, with its Trinitarian formula, is quite certainly one of
the latest of all. The eighth, which connects quite naturally with the sixth,
and which contains the “Lord’s Prayer,” raises the question whether it
belonged to the pre-Christian document, and has been merely interpolated
with the phrase as to “the Lord ... his gospel.” There are strong reasons for
regarding the Lord’s Prayer as a pre-Christian Jewish composition,61
founded on very ancient Semitic prayers. Seeing that “the Lord” has in all
the previous sections of the treatise clearly meant “God” and not “Christ,”
the passage about the gospel is probably Jesuist; but it does not at all follow
that the Prayer is.

Mr. Cassels, in the section on the Teaching added by him in the one-
volume reprint of his great work, points62 to the fact that in the recovered
fragment of a Latin translation of an early version of “The Two Ways,”
there do not occur the passages connecting with the Sermon on the Mount
which are found in the Teaching; and as the same holds of the Two Ways
section of the Epistle of Barnabas, it may fairly be argued that it was a
Christian hand that added them here. But when we note that at the points at
which the passages in the Teaching vary from the gospel—as “Gentiles”
for “tax-gatherers,”63—the term in the former is perfectly natural for Jewish
teachers addressing Jews in Gentile countries, and that in the latter rather
strained in an exhortation to Jews in their own country, it becomes very
conceivable that this is the original, or a prior form, of the gospel passage.
The Sermon on the Mount is certainly a compilation. This then may have
been one of the sources. And it is quite conceivable that the Jewish Apostles
should teach their people not to pray “as do the hypocrites,” an expression
which Mr. Cassels takes to be directed by Jesuists against Jews in general.

Seeing that even conservative critics have admitted the probable priority of
the Teaching to Barnabas, it is no straining of the probabilities to suggest
that the Two Ways section of Barnabas is either a variant, inspired by the
Teaching, on what was clearly a very popular line of homily,64 or an
annexation of another Jewish homily of that kind. That in the Teaching is
distinctly the better piece of work, as we should expect the official manual
of the Apostles of the High Priest to be. It is inexact to say, as does Dr. M.
R. James,65 that the section “reappears” in Barnabas. There are many
differences, as well as many identities. The other is not a mere copy, but an
exercise on the same standard theme, with “light and darkness” for the
stronger “life and death.” It is a mistake to suppose that there was a definite
“original” of “The Two Ways”: it is a standing ethical theme, evidently
handled by many.66 If, then, the Teaching preceded Barnabas, it may
already have contained, in its purely Jewish form, the Lord’s Prayer, which
is so thoroughly Jewish, and items of the Sermon on the Mount, which is
certainly a Jewish compilation. And the justified critical presumption is that
it did contain them. The onus of disproof lies on the Christian side.

We now reach our solution. The original document was in any case a
manual of teaching used among the scattered Jews and proselytes of the
Dispersion by the actual and historical Twelve Apostles either of the High
Priest before or of the Patriarch after the fall of Jerusalem. The historic
existence of that body before and after the catastrophe is undisputed;67 and
the nature of its teaching functions can be confidently inferred from the
known currency of a Judaic ethical teaching in the early Christian period.
The demonstration of that is supplied by an expert of the biographical
school who considers the Teaching to have been “known to Jesus and the
Baptist.”68 Such a document cannot rationally be supposed to be a
compilation made by or for Christists using the gospels: such a compilation
would have given the gospel view of Jesus.69 The primary Teaching,
including as it probably does the Lord’s Prayer, is the earlier thing: the
gospels use it. It is in fact one of the first documents of “Christianity,” if not
the first. And its titular “twelve apostles” are Jewish and not Christian.

Given, then, such a document in the hands of the early Jesuist organization
—or one of the organizations—twelve apostles had to be provided in the
legend to take the credit for the Teaching.70 The new cult, once it was
shaped to the end of superseding the old, had to provide itself to that extent,
by myth, with the same machinery. No step in the myth-theory is better
established than this; and no non-miraculous item in the legend is more
recalcitrant than the twelve story to the assumptions of the biographical
school. The gospel list of the twelve is one of the most unmanageable things
in the record. In a narrative destitute of detail where detail is most called
for, we get a list of names, most of which count for nothing in the later
history, to give a semblance of actuality to an invented institution. We have
clearly unhistorical detail as to five, no detail whatever as to further
accessions, and then a body of twelve suddenly constituted. For some of us,
the discovery of the Teaching was a definite point of departure in the
progression toward the myth-theory; and it supplies us with the firmest
starting-point for our theoretic construction of the process by which the
organized Christian Church took shape.

§ 4. The Process of Propaganda

On the view here taken, there was at Jerusalem, at some time in the first
century, a small group of Jesuist “apostles” among whom the chief may