Interrogating Truth

Jesus, Pilate, Nietzsche and Isaac Newton's Dog

After Jesus's arrest, the Jewish leaders brought him before Pilate, the Roman governor, seeking his execution, as only the governor held the authority for such an action.

Pilate had the opportunity to ask an important question but lacked the patience to wait for the answer. "What is truth?" After saying this, he went back out to the Jews and told them, "I find no guilt in him” (John 18:38).

(This makes me ask myself, am I asking questions out of reflex or genuine curiosity?)

A blameless man endured the brutality of capital punishment, enduring excruciating suffering and humiliation as he was crucified, nailed to a cross, and left to endure the agonizing ordeal until his eventual death.

Thinking of the magnitude of this evil brings to memory two stories: Isaac Newton's dog and Friedrich Nietzsche's The Parable of the Madman. I'll start with the latter.

The Parable of the Madman

In the parable, a madman enters a marketplace, proclaiming the death of God and the consequences of that realisation on human society:

"Have you not heard of that madman who lit a lantern in the bright morning hours, ran to the marketplace, and cried incessantly: 'I am looking for God! I am looking for God!' As many of those who did not believe in God were standing around just then, he provoked much laughter. 'Has he got lost?' asked one. 'Did he lose his way like a child?' asked another. 'Or is he hiding? Is he afraid of us? Has he gone on a voyage? Or emigrated?' Thus they yelled and laughed.

The madman jumped into their midst and pierced them with his eyes. 'Whither is God?' he cried; 'I will tell you. We have killed him—you and I. All of us are his murderers. But how did we do this? How could we drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What were we doing when we unchained this earth from its sun? Whither is it moving now? Whither are we moving? Away from all suns? Are we not plunging continually? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there still any up or down? Are we not straying, as through an infinite nothing? Do we not feel the breath of empty space? Has it not become colder? Is not night continually closing in on us? Do we not need to light lanterns in the morning? Do we hear nothing as yet of the noise of the gravediggers who are burying God? Do we smell nothing as yet of the divine decomposition? Gods, too, decompose. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him.

How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it? There has never been a greater deed; and whoever is born after us—for the sake of this deed he will belong to a higher history than all history hitherto."

Isaac Newton's Dog

On one occasion when Newton delved into his studies, he left the room for a moment. His dog jumped up to follow him and inadvertently bumped into the side of the desk, knocking over the candle and setting the papers ablaze. All that seminal work was reduced in moments to a pile of ashes.

When Newton returned to his study to see what remained of his work, his heart was broken beyond repair. Rescuing what little was left of the room, he sat down and wept with his face in his hands. Gently stroking the dog, he said, "You will never, never know what you have done."

Even if it were possible for the dog to grasp that something tragic had happened, it was impossible for the creature to know the kind of tragedy, not just the degree of what had been done.

The End.