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 Contents
Dramatis Personae
Principio
Capitulum I – In Judaea
Capitulum II – Captivitas
Interludum I
Capitulum III – Nasi
Interludum II
Capitulum IV – Interrogatio
Interludum III
Capitulum V – Fabius Maximus
Capitulum VI – Tragoedia
Interludum IV
Capitulum VII – Tiberius Drax
Capitulum VIII – Primus Sanguis
Capitulum IX – Sappho
Capitulum X – Malleus Dei
Capitulum XI – Ignis et Fumus
Capitulum XII – Minor Victoria
Interludum V
Capitulum XIII – Scorpiones
Capitulum XIV – Duplex Periculum
Capitulum XV – Conventu
Capitulum XVI – Pompa
Interludum VI
Glossary
Acknowledgements
The Bar Kokhba Revolt Novels
 DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Anaitis. The girlfriend of Marcus Apollinaris and
friend of Miriam bat Yaholem. Half Egyptian, half Gallic,
she works in the Minerva Taberna in Caesarea.
Atelius. A freed gladiator of some renown. He taught
Lucius Petronius sword skills as a boy. He later followed
him into the legions.
Aurelius Crispus. A well-respected senior centurion
of IV Cohort of Legion X Fretensis.
Cassius Finatus. An experienced legionary in Legio
X Fretensis. Anaitis saved his life and through her became
a friend of Marcus Apollinaris.
Centricus Manlius. A cavalry decurion.
Claudius Paulus. The signifer for the first century of
IV Cohort of Legio X Fretensis.
Cornelianus. A centurion who was based in
Uxelodunum in Britannia. He accompanied Sextus
Severus to Judaea with his unit of auxiliaries, the Cohors
Hispanorum.
Elijah Ben Hamodi. An enthusiastic member of Bar
Kokhba’s inner circle, determined to make a name for
himself.
Gaius Carantius Verecundus. The head of the
Frumentarii, Hadrianus’ secret service in Caesarea.
Gaius Civilis. The legate of Legio X Fretensis.
Hadrianus. Caesar Traianus Hadrianus Augustus, his
original name (until 117 CE) Publius Aelius Hadrianus.
‘Princeps’ and Imperator of the Roman Imperium.
Ishmael bat Yahalom. Navigator on the libernium
Concordia. Son of Jacob & Rebecca bat Yaholem. He is
also Miriam bat Yaholem’s cousin.
 Jacob bat Yahalom. A carpenter in the Jewish
Quarter of Caesarea who is Miriam bat Yahalom’s uncle.
Julius Petronius. Uncle of Lucius Petronius and
senior centurion of the sixth cohort of the X Legion
Fretensis.
Lucius Decimus Petronius. Disinherited by his
father and greatly influenced by his uncle, a centurion in
the Legio X Fretensis, Lucius Petronius joined the same
legion and rose to the rank of Optio.
Marcus Apollinaris. Captain of the urban cohort of
Caesarea. He served alongside Lucius Petronius and
became a close friend.
Tutilius. Marcus Tutilius is a general of the Roman
army who was sent to put down the rebellion in its early
days.
Mettelius. Centurion and Commander of Lod
garrison of Auxiliaries.
Miriam bat Yaholem. A Jewish girl rescued from
Bar Kokhba’s rebels by a small scouting group under the
command of Lucius Petronius. She has grown very close
to Petronius.

Mordecai ben Zakkai. A mercurial Jew with a murky

background who has become another friend of Lucius
Petronius. Connected to a group of conservative rabbis.

Octavia Trianus. Wife of Sistus and the real

manager of the Minerva taberna.
Palkha Tyareh. A commander of a vexillation of the
Sagittarii Damascenorum, Syrian Archers.
Quintus Vorenus. Primus Pilus (First Spear) or the
senior centurion in Legio X Fretensis. A man not to be
messed with!
Rabbi Akiva ben Joseph. One of the great Jewish
sages, sometimes referred to as the shield bearer for
Shimeon bar Kokhba. He had a great influence on the
revolt.
Rabbi Simeon bar Yohai. A leading Rabbi in Galilee
who is against the rebellion in the region.
Rebecca bat Yahalom. A woodcarver and Jacob bat
Yahalom’s ‘wife’.
Sextus Julius Severus. A successful and
experienced general who was governor of Britannia
before being sent to quell the rebellion.
Shimeon bar Kokhba. Also known as Shimeon ben
Koseba, he was the charismatic leader of the well-
planned revolt against Rome. Declared a ‘King Messiah’
by Rabbi Akiva.
Sistus Trianus . An ex-legionary and landlord of the
Minerva taberna.
Tiberius Drax. The centurion in charge of recruit
training for Legio X Fretensis. He had an altercation with
Lucius Petronius after Petronius’ arrival in Caesarea.
Tineus Rufus. The Governor of Provincia Judaea.
 Principio
For most of his life, Jeremiah resided in a small hamlet. He was of
indeterminate age with leathery, sun-scorched skin and grey hair,
short and carried no fat on his body, and he could be described as
desiccated. Jeremiah was a small-holding farmer who had worked
his land ever since childhood. This day, he was hoeing a small crop,
accompanied by his faithful donkey, Micah, who pulled a two-
wheeled cart loaded with implements and baskets.
It was nearing Jeremiah’s lunch break. The older he became, the
longer were the lunch breaks and the more he looked forward to
them. He placed his hoe against the cart and stretched; his back
was not what it was, that was for sure.
“Time for some bread and cheese for me, Micah, and a bucket of
water for you. I’ll—” Out of the corner of his eye, something caught
his attention. Turning about, he spotted a troop of mounted men
nearby, close enough to see them clearly but not hear them. “Well,
Micah, it appears to be some of Bar Kokhba’s riders who’re
dangerously close to Lod, now the occupiers are back there.” Micah
acknowledged the information with a snort and a headshake. “Must
be about fifty of ‘em. Rarely see his lads mounted.”
The farmer watched for a while as the riders came to a stand. He
wasn’t sure why they stood until to their front he saw an arm point,
causing Jeremiah to seek what the rider was indicating.
“Trouble, Micah,” he said to his companion. “Them looks like
Roman auxiliaries. I know those bastards; they used to accompany
the tax collectors. Looks like a good number of ‘em, too!” As he
watched, the auxiliaries formed into two lines. “We’re going to have
a fight on our hands, mark my words.” As the auxiliaries came closer,
Jeremiah could make out their large shields painted with green
motifs. He watched as their spears lowered and heard a distant
trumpet’s sound.
The Jewish soldiers jumped from their horses and formed a body,
the animals disappearing to the rear. “Fuck me, Micah, what’s going
on?” The soldiers waved their arms, some jumping up and down
and, incredulously, dropping their shields. Then, almost as quickly,
they formed back into a block, the surging auxiliaries getting ever
closer. A small cloud of arrows left the block towards the
approaching cavalry. “If that’s the best they can do, Micah, then they
are in real trouble,” Jeremiah said to the unconcerned donkey as the
arrows fell many feet short of the advancing horses. By this time,
events riveted Jeremiah. A second, more accurate volley, was
released.
The auxiliaries smashed into the block of Jews, that surprisingly
held firm, which was all he could determine of the melee as cavalry
swirled around the foot soldiers. He could now hear shouts and cries
from the desperate fight beyond the field of crops. The farmer
waited to see the outcome when, to his surprise, the fighting
stopped, and the warring parties stood facing each other. In a short
time, the auxiliaries dismounted, and both parties seemed concerned
with their wounded and fallen.
“The Lord knows what is happening, Micah, but he ain’t telling
me; that’s for sure!” The fight over, Jeremiah took a skin of water
and a bucket from the cart, then half-filled the vessel for Micah to
drink. The donkey enthusiastically lapped up the contents. Jeremiah
pulled a half loaf of bread and some cheese out of a cloth bag; he
would save the pomegranate for later. He broke bread and cut
cheese using the cart as his dining table. The concoction was
halfway to his mouth when he froze. To the right, from where the
fight had taken place, a small track ran up a gentle slope and over
the ridge beyond; the original Jewish riders had come that way.
Across that ridge and streaming down the path came a much larger
band of Jewish cavalry, heading directly for the previous antagonists.
“Good Lord, Micah, this is getting confusing, but it looks like we
have another fight coming up.” The donkey raised its head from the
bucket, looked around, and returned to the water. The original Jews
fell back into a block formation while the auxiliaries leapt into their
saddles. As Jeremiah watched, a small group of auxiliaries rode past
the Jewish foot soldiers and straight towards the fast-approaching
mounted Jews. Again, fixated, he saw the advancing line tremble as
the small force of auxiliaries drove into it. The centre of the line
paused, but the wing facing Jeremiah rode on, colliding with the foot
soldier’s block. Again, the fight dissolved into a swirling mass of men
and horses. Small lumps appeared on the ground around the edge
of the battle, and Jeremiah knew these to be fallen bodies.
The remainder of the auxiliaries’ location was unclear to Jeremiah
until the mass shuddered, and he spotted many green shields in the
fight. He now knew where they were. The noise was clearly audible
as Roman tried to kill Jew, or as Jeremiah understood it to be, Jew
was also trying to kill Jew. As he watched, Jeremiah remembered
that several young men in his small settlement had gone to fight for
Bar Kokhba and wondered if they were in the murderous vortex
before him. Still, from what he could see, it looked like the newly
arrived Jewish force was having its own way. It must end soon.
“In Moses’ name, I don’t believe it! Micah, will you look at this?”
The donkey raised its head, bearing a disinterested expression. From
the direction of the previous auxiliary’s appearance, another large
body of auxiliaries was fast approaching, blowing its trumpets
continuously as they lowered their spears and came to the gallop.
The fighting mass changed from a tight struggle to a loose
conglomeration as many Jewish horses attempted to peel off from
the fight. Very soon, small gaggles of horsemen were riding back up
the slope for the ridge.
The new group’s centre battled the remaining Jewish horsemen
while their wings chased the fleeing riders. After a brief fight,
Jeremiah watched riders dismount to join their exhausted comrades.
The riders in pursuit came back, leaving a hillside decorated with
small lumps. Several came in leading captured horses.
“Never in my days did I expect to see anything like this, Micah,”
Jeremiah said. “The Romans have the day, but who were the original
Jews? I tell you, old friend, there is something not right about them,
of that, I’m sure.” It surprised him to see his bread and cheese still
in his hand. “Never mind, time for lunch.”
 Capitulum I – In Judaea
It was a warm day. The walls of the Urban Cohort barracks deprived
those within its courtyard of any cooling breeze. Tesserarius Marcus
Apollinaris sat at a table, rubbing beeswax into the sword belt before
him, his cleaning cloth moving meticulously over the leather. Lucius
Decimus Petronius, an optio from the Fourth Cohort of Legio X
Fretensis, was seated opposite him. The preceding months, the two
men had grown into good friends with many shared experiences.
“Sounds like you’re getting frustrated, chief,” said Marcus. He
pointed towards a small wooden box at one end of the table. “Pass
us a clean rag.” Lucius did as asked.
“Marcus, in April, the Judaean rebels kicked us out of Judaea, and
here we are at the end of July, still stuck here in Caesarea. Waiting
for what?”
“To be fair, they’ve been enlisting replacements for the dead and
injured. That takes time, like,” said Marcus, “and the gossip’s of a
plan involving the Fretensis, the sixth Ferrata and the twenty-second
Deiotariana from Egypt. That’ll take some organising.” Marcus’ eyes
never left his belt as he spoke, his rag continuing to turn across the
leather. Lucius’ gaze likewise was fixed upon the rag.
“Maybe it’s the change from frenetic activity to sitting doing
nothing.” Marcus nodded, his gaze lingering on his belt.
“We was a little busy, chief,” he said, “one minute we was off
spying for the governor - and rescuing young ladies – then next
storming Judaean villages, whilst most of our patrols were getting
wiped out. Then abandoning Aelia Capitolina and the stupid buggers
make me an officer of the column guard. Put me on a horse!”
Marcus laughed to himself, “You know, I got to like that animal, sore
arse or not.”
“You were broken-hearted to hand her back?” asked Lucius.
Marcus glanced up.
“Hand her back? Trotter? No, chief,” Marcus said, “she’s property
of the Urban Cohort these days. I’ve got ‘er stabled around the
corner from the cohort’s barracks.” He reverted to his polishing.
“Then, ‘aving left Aelia, the wagon column gets ambushed big time.
If it hadn’t been for your cohort showing up when you did, we
would’ve been in deep cac. Finally, we makes it back to Caesarea.
No sooner than we gets here, we are off down the coast to capture
Rabbi Akiva.” He glanced up again. “I think I’d call that a little busy,
wouldn’t you, chief?”
“We were certainly busy, no doubt,” said Lucius, “sadly, running
from our enemy much of the time.”
“We all felt that at the time, even Tribune Sallus said it, like, but
we had to protect the citizens of Aelia.” A smile spread across
Marcus’ face. “And when they did attack, it may have been close, but
we kicked their arses and killed a lot of ‘em. Don’t forget Akiva,
though. We really caught them on the hop.” He paused for a second.
“Even though we lost Sextus that day.” The loss had hit Marcus hard;
they were close. For a time, neither man spoke. Sextus Postumus
was the second soldier assigned to Lucius upon arriving at Caesarea.
He fought alongside the two men currently sitting at the table,
perishing on the mission to seize Rabbi Akiva, the shield-bearer for
the rebel commander Shimeon bar Kokhba.
“We did, Marcus, and you earned your promotion to tesserarius.”
Lucius looked at his friend, who was a legionary not so long ago. He
had the reputation of being a fixer, a wheeler and a dealer. It was
the reason the Prefect had attached him to Lucius upon arrival in
Caesarea to organise the arrival of the new Fourth Cohort from
Italia. He may be a tesserarius, but he was still the same soldier:
short, dark and wiry, with a distinct Roman nose. He was still
irrepressibly optimistic, too. Marcus turned to Lucius, wearing what
the Optio recognised as his ‘serious’ face.
“My view, Lucius,” he said, “is you’re missing the thrill of the
fight.”
“I’m what?”
“Look, chief. All that’s ‘appened; you’ve been in the thick of it.” He
paused a brief time for his words to register. “You’re gettin’ to like it.”
“I hope you’re wrong, Marcus,” said Lucius. “Look, the Fretensis
has had its nose rubbed in the dirt. We are now ready to go back
and deal with the bastards; but instead, we sit here doing nothing.”
 Marcus laughed.
“Apart from the occasional route march, life’s good. Look, chief,
I’m the one they tried to assassinate, so I’m glad no one’s chucking
slingshot at us or attacking us in dark alleyways. I revel in it while I
can ‘cause we’ll go back, be assured. You should never hurry to war.”
“Apologies, Marcus,” Lucius replied. “I’d forgotten your injury.”
“Yeah, well, it’s fixed itself now.”
“Apologies again, Marcus,” Lucius said.
“And what about Miriam?” Marcus asked, “You’ve got time to be
with her. She’d be worried sick if you were fighting again.” Miriam
bat Yahalom was a Judaean girl Lucius and his unit had rescued
after the rebels had murdered her family. To the rebels, she was a
heretic, a member of the Telmedei Jeshua, a Jewish Christian sect.
She and Lucius were from vastly disparate worlds, but she had
captured his heart. “Anaitis and me are making the very best of it,
chief, I can tell you!”
“Never one to miss an opportunity, Marcus,” chuckled Lucius.
Then he grew serious again, “But I don’t understand why we’re not
moving south to sort these cunni out. The greater the delay, the
more ready they’ll be to resist. It makes little sense!”
“Look, chief, the Fourth got away lightly, but the attack on the
column hit some of the cohorts quite ‘ard. Look at your uncle’s
cohort, the Sixth; they lost nearly an ‘undred men dead or wounded.
It’s taking time to train recruits up and improve morale, too. We’ve
got to be proper ready afore we move. Anyway, gossip says they’re
waiting for some general or other to show up.” Marcus rolled up his
belt and threw the polishing cloths back into the wooden box.
“I’ve heard nothing,” said Lucius. “Do you know any more?”
“Like I said, it’s only gossip. When they want us to know, they’ll
tell us. So, until then, we should make the best of our time, and we
—.” Marcus looked over Lucius’ shoulder. “Look out, chief!”
The two men jumped up and snapped to attention as Centurion
Aurelius Crispus approached. He was a well-seasoned soldier and
senior centurion of the Fourth Cohort. He had a formidable
reputation, but he watched after his men and earned their respect.
 “Stand easy, lads,” he said. He looked Marcus up and down.
“Apollinaris, isn’t it, late of the Fifth and now an officer in the Urban
Cohort?”
“It is, sir.”
“Thought I recognised you. Lucius here has spoken well of you.”
“Gratitude, sir. I does what I can.”
Crispus, holding the unofficial badge of the centurion, a gnarled
vine cane, used it to tap Marcus lightly on the arm.
“May you continue to do so, Apollinaris. But right now, I require
you to take a stroll as I wish to speak in confidence with Optio
Petronius.” Marcus snapped back to attention, saluted, collected his
polishing box and left the centurion and the optio to their business.
“Curious one, that. Evidently, the recommendation for his promotion
astounded the Primus Pilus, but the Tribune insisted that it was well
deserved.”
“It surprised me too,” said Lucius, “but I’ve worked with him, and
for all his simple-lad-from-Antioch act, he is a first-rate soldier and
one I trust.”
“That’s good to learn, as he may have his work cut out soon.
When we go south, I suspect all but the Urban Cohort will leave
Caesarea behind them.”
“When we go south,” said Lucius with a sneer, “Will that be any
time in the next year?”
“We are very much ready, Lucius, and you’re not the only one
who’s asking when we’ll move south. Of course, this is extremely
confidential, but we’re awaiting General Marcus Tutilius to take
command of the overall campaign.”
Lucius laughed as Crispus looked on bemused.
“Apologies, Aurelius,” Lucius said, controlling his mirth. “General
Tutilius is a badly kept secret. Apollinaris has already revealed the
fact to me, and if he’s aware, half the camp knows.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much, Lucius, as everyone will know
shortly. He will be arriving in a few days. I expect some speeches
before the legions, and we’ll be ready for the off. Tutilius has sailed
up from Egypt, so I imagine the XXII Deiotariana are primed and
ready to move.”
 “So, it’ll be a three-pronged attack on Aelia Capitolina? The
Fretensis from Caesarea and the VI Ferrata from Tel Shalem strike
south, whilst the Deiotariana from Egypt moves up northwards. It is
time we settled this. We’re sick of training.”
The centurion’s face beamed, and he took a deep breath to
speak.
“The harder—”
“You train, the luckier you get!” Lucius completed the centurion’s
favourite adage. The two chuckled. “Yes, you’re right, Aurelius, but
there comes a point where you cannot get much better, and the
Fourth are practically there.”
“Perhaps you are correct, Lucius. Still, let’s give ’em one more
session before it becomes real. We’re here to spill rebel blood, not
ours!”
The day was young, and the air retained a coolness, making a
parade more tolerable. But, like a juvenile, Lucius was always
overawed to see an entire legion drawn up in formation. To be part
of it sent a shiver along his spine. He was an officer in the greatest
army the world had known, the army that had built an Imperium.
Names ran through his head: Scipio Africanus, Julius Caesar,
Germanicus, Pompey, Lucullus, and others, ending with Trajan. All
great commanders of the Roman military. Today would see the
inauguration of another campaign to add to the laurels of the mighty
legions, but the commander who stood before him was yet to rank
amongst the great; General Marcus Tutilius.
He stood on the podium built for the occasion, standing ten feet
above the legion drawn up before him. It surprised Lucius to see he
was a tall, lean man, not the stocky fighter he expected. His attire
was immaculate, topped off with a long, flowing white cresta that
fluttered in the slight breeze.
A legion of five thousand four hundred men drawn up on parade
covers a large area. To save the general the indignity of shouting,
centurions relayed his words, ensuring the distant troops received
the commander’s messages and appeals.
 He spoke of Aelia Capitolina, the colony named after the
Imperator, Publius Aelius Hadrianus. Its loss to the rebels had
dishonoured the legion. Once recovered and honour restored, the
military would proceed to destroy the rebel towns and villages.
Lucius felt uncomfortable at the slighting of the legion’s honour
but recognised that the general was correct. The Tenth Fretensis had
dropped their guard it was said, to the point where some soldiers
might have been involved with the rebels. Now was the opportunity
to set the record straight. He realised this was the general’s aim, to
invigorate the soldiers, to motivate them to fight hard. Lucius
expected he would have done the same in the general’s boots. The
address closed with a summary of the strategy, converging on Aelia
Capitolina and then spreading out to take back towns and villages,
which they all realised was code for erasing such places, evoking
Crispus’ words. They were coming to spill blood.
Once the general had left the podium, Tribune Laticlavius Gaius
Civilis mounted and reiterated the general’s words. He then had the
Legionary eagle brought to the podium, where he held it high.
“This eagle before you represents every one of us, from legate to
legionary. But, soldiers, it has been tarnished, and it is our task to
restore its bright lustre. We shall accomplish that.” He bore the eagle
high. “Roma Victrix!” You did not have to hear his words to identify
the cry; the whole legion bellowed his words back to him.
“Roma Victrix! Roma Victrix! Roma Victrix!” A pause. “Fretensis,
Fretensis, Fretensis!” Lucius was close enough to observe Civilis
glance at the general, who betrayed a wry smile. That was well
done, thought Lucius.
Sometime later, Lucius was in the barracks amongst legionaries of
the Fourth, chatting as they cleared away their armour after the
ceremony. He was accompanied by Felix Calvus, the cohort’s signifer.
Once they had ensured all was in order, Calvus took Lucius to one
side.
“Lucius, I was speaking to legionary Atelius last night. I know you
know him well, so I thought I should speak to you.”
“No trouble, I hope, Felix?”
 “No, no trouble. As a freed gladiator of some renown, he has won
the admiration of many of the men. They’ve seen him in action, as
you know. I’ve urged him to keep his opinions to himself.”
“In Jupiter’s name, Felix. Get on with it!”
“Well, he considers we may be making a big mistake. He believes
our fighting tactics are all wrong – we are not set up for this nature
of mountain warfare.”
“Has he been talking to the men about this?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Good. Atelius is too smart to do that. He taught me much of
what I know about handling weapons back in Rome. I know him
well, and he is no fool. He spoke of it to me a while back. As I recall,
we are the dung beetle, and the Judaeans are the ants. And we’ve
all seen how ants can overwhelm a dung beetle.”
“That’s it,” Felix said. “The trouble is, he may be onto something.”
“Felix, this time, we have three legions, and we are prepared.
Previously, we were lax, and they blindsided us. We are ready and
prepared. We’ll have Aelia Capitolina back in no time. Watch, you’ll
see.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Lucius. Atelius will realise that the Judaean
Hills are not the Flavian amphitheatre.”
“Correct. Come on, Felix. Let’s check the lad’s equipment is up for
what’s coming. If your chinstrap breaks in the middle of a scrap,
you’re up to the eyes in cac!”

The following day found the cohort drawn up for the morning
parade. There was a distinct ‘buzz’ amongst the men preparing for
the campaign. The previous evening saw them partake in a make-
and-mend session, ensuring kit was up to scratch. Confidence was in
the air. Senior Centurion Crispus stood waiting with his Signifer in
front of the century. His soldiers relaxed until a group of officers
appeared. The leading officer wore a large white cresta on his
helmet; General Marcus Tutilius approached, accompanied by the
Tribune Laticlavius, junior tribunes and the cohort’s Pilus Primus,
Quintus Vorenus, escorted him.
 “Atten….tion!” Crispus’ voice thundered, and the cohort snapped
to attention. Lucius’ position at the rear of his century limited his
view, but he watched as Crispus’ cresta merged with those of the
general’s entourage. Crispus accompanied the group as it walked
around the cohort. Then, before rejoining the officers, the Pilus
strode into the group to address a kit infraction. There would
undoubtedly be extra latrine duty for one unfortunate soldier! Some
minutes afterwards, the general stood before the cohort again.
“Officers and soldiers of the Fourth Cohort, I am told you have
served Rome and the Imperator well. We have met our expectations
in raising an Italic cohort. Truly, from the landing of your first officer
to your timely arrival to aid the column from Aelia, I believe you
have reaped nothing but laurels. I am informed that one cohort
owes its survival to your timely actions. You have the Imperator’s
and my personal thanks.”
Lucius’ heart swelled; he was not mentioned by name, but all
would know to whom the general had referred. Crispus’ voice
boomed again.
“First century will remain. Centurions, lead off your men!” The
First remained at attention whilst their comrades marched off for the
barracks. In no time, the century stood alone. “Optio Petronius, to
the front!” boomed Crispus. Lucius took a second to realise the
command was meant for him. Then, shouldering his hasti, he left his
position and marched forward. Standing to attention, he stood
before the officer group.
“Stand at ease, Optio.” It was the general who had spoken. “On
your arrival at Aelia, I believe you were smart enough to detect all
was not well?”
“It began on my passage down from Caesarea, sir. A fresh eye
can occasionally see what others miss, sir,” Lucius responded,
“Nothing more.”
“Optio Petronius has been a valuable addition to the legion,
general”, added Gaius Civilis, the Tribune Laticlavius. “I have built up
more than a passing acquaintance with him, and he has the makings
of a fine officer.”
 “Good to hear, Gaius,” said the general. He turned back to Lucius.
“Your uncle is a prominent centurion, I’m told, so he had better look
to his laurels. An ambitious nephew may bring competition, don’t
you think?”
“I am here because of my uncle, sir.”
“So, I understand. Gaius, here, has filled me in on the
background.” The general glanced around at his accompanying
officers. “These officers have given me their view of the approaching
campaign, Optio. Given your previous insights, what are your
views?”
Lucius thought quickly. Why did Atelius’ words keep popping back
into his mind? But, of course, the question was only polite, so it was
better to stay safe.
“We are prepared this time, sir. It is not an easy territory to fight.
It may be hard at times, but we shall deal with the rebels.”
“Hard at times?” inquired the general. This was not what Lucius
had expected.
“ Well, sir, we are fighting in the hills – their hills – and they can be
elusive too, hence my reference to ‘hard fighting,’ sir.”
“Hard fighting is what we do, Optio.” The general turned to
Crispus. “Centurion, apart from any legionary with specific duties, I
think we should give the cohort a night of relaxation; no general
duties.”
“Gratitude, sir,” Crispus said. “That’ll be appreciated.”
The general and his officers headed back to the camp with little
more said. Crispus and Lucius watched them go.
“Fuck me, Lucius. We are his blue-eyed boys today,” Crispus said.
“If it gets us a night without duty, I’m not complaining,” Lucius
said.
“We’d best get back and make an announcement. There’ll be
some cheerful legionaries today!”

There is no doubt the cohort enjoyed its evening free of duties.

But, to Lucius’ surprise, it was not a night of extreme revelry.
Perhaps the men were thinking of the coming campaign. When
fighting with the evacuation column from Aelia, the Fourth’s losses
were light; they had yet to experience a tough fight. The soldiers
were aware that some would die in the coming weeks. They were a
new unit and not hardened like veterans. Lucius said as much to
Felix Calvus, the signifer.
“I take your point, Lucius,” he said, “but the Fretensis has done
little serious fighting for years. Chasing bandits and brigands is
vastly different to what we faced back down at the junction.” Rebels
had ambushed the Aelian column at a road junction in the Judaean
Hills. “So, I reckon all our lads are a little hesitant, even though we
didn’t suffer anywhere near the casualties as them. And their ranks
are stuffed with recruits – all except the seventh and eighth cohorts.
They arrived too late for the fight!”
Lucius considered his comrade’s words.
“You’re saying the Fretensis isn’t battle-hardened?”
“I am. I’d suggest we, the fourth, are as good as any.”
“What makes you say that, Felix?” Lucius asked.
“Well, leaving out the two late arrivals, they all got shagged in the
fight. We didn’t. In fact, we saved the day. So we have the good
morale and a bloody fine centurion.” Felix was cocky in his approach,
and then a realisation hit him. “Your uncle is a fine centurion too; I
didn’t mean to— “
“Relax, Felix, I know what you mean.” The Signifer visibly relaxed.
“Your point is well made; I hadn’t considered it that way.”
The two were about to part when centurion Aurelius Crispus,
commander of the fourth cohort, joined them. They both came to
attention.
“Relax, I’ve news,” he said, “though I’m not sure if it is good
news or bad news.” Lucius and Calvus exchanged glances. “We have
postponed our departure.”
“Venus’ pussy, what is it now?” Calvus said.
“They have instructed General Tutilius to await several vexillations
of auxiliaries from Antioch, which General Marcellus has generously
loaned us,” Crispus said. “Some are to join the sixth at Tel Shalem.
Others are headed here.”
 “In terms of time, what are we talking about?” Lucius asked. The
centurion shrugged.
“Hard to say exactly, but about another two weeks before
anything happens.” Crispus’ news was not well received. “You’re
both officers in the army of Rome. You should know by now what it’s
like, days of doing nothing followed by wild activity.”

Ten days later, as the sun waned, Lucius approached the home
and workshop of Jacob bat Yahalom. The rapid passing of the days
had surprised him. He had not expected the farewells to come so
soon. As he walked, he observed that those he passed had a spring
in their feet. In recent weeks it had seemed that the soldiery was
going through the motions, training for some distant fight. But now,
the fight was almost upon them, which was something most
legionaries relished. None had been comfortable abandoning Aelia
Capitolina in the face of the Judaean rebels. Now it was time to
restore both honour and pride.
Even the civilian populace had perked up, pleased that they
would finally regain their town. The legionary base for the tenth
Legion was Aelia Capitolina. Whilst a cohort or two was regularly
stationed in Caesarea, conducting building and maintenance tasks,
the entire legion’s recent presence was sometimes overbearing. Add
to this a sizeable number of refugees from Aelia Capitolina, and the
tensions between the civilian population and the incomers often
showed. Now, to the populace’s relief, many soldiers would be
leaving the colony and heading south. They hoped matters would
return to normal, especially when Aelia was retaken. Then refugees
could return to what may be left of their homes.
With the campaign fast approaching, one of Lucius’ duties was
ensuring the soldiers had made a will. Their affairs needed to be put
into good order, no matter how simple. The coming campaign was
bound to take the lives of some of those in his century. He organised
scribes to aid those who could not write. Funeral funds had to be
accounted for and fully paid. In addition to these tasks, there were
other administrative challenges that a century going to war had
placed upon him.
The legion’s departure was imminent, and he was determined to
see Miriam, He now approached her uncle’s home. He was a
carpenter, his wife, Rebecca, a woodcarver. An unconventional pair,
neither holding with religion. For much of the time while in the
workshop, Rebecca dressed as a man, making her job more
manageable. Thankfully, they accepted their niece was developing a
relationship with the Roman officer.
Lucius entered the workshop and going through the motions,
politely enquired regarding their current projects. After a brief
conversation, Rebecca interjected.
“You have done your duty, Optio,” she said with a smile, “Go
through to the house; you’ll find Miriam inside. Breathing an internal
sigh of relief, Lucius did as instructed, calling Miriam’s name. She
appeared from the rear of the building.
“Lucius, it is good to see you.” She closed the door behind Lucius.
Then, rushing to him, she enclosed him in a hug, something she
could never do in public. She released him and walked towards a
table. “Let us sit. I have heard news that legion march tomorrow.”
Lucius took a seat. He marvelled at how she had mastered Greek in
the few months since they rescued her from rebels.
“There are few secrets in Caesarea,” he replied. “There will be a
religious rite at the ninth hour tomorrow, the augers taken, and the
legion moves south.” Miriam sat opposite him, reached out and took
his hands in hers.
“So, there will be a big battle and revolt crushed?”
“A soldier can never say what will happen with certainty.”
Apprehension crossed the girl’s face.
“Lucius, you must know you mean everything. I will pray to
Jeshua for safety.” It then struck Lucius that she looked tired.
“I suspect many will pray to their gods in the next few days,” he
said, “and I hope Jeshua will hear you. But meum mel, you look
tired. Has the Medical Optio been driving you too hard?”
Miriam was a healer. She earned renown amongst the soldiers the
day she saved a legionary’s infected limb from amputation. The
Medical Optio struggled to cope with the high casualty rates at the
time and soldiers pressured him to second Miriam to the team as a
helper. A woman was a rare sight amongst the patients, creating the
narrative of ‘the healer woman. She worked with his team daily.
“No, not that,” she said. “I still help poorly people at Minerva in
the mornings. At noon, I am at hospital.” She paused for a few
seconds before continuing. “Today, a young soldier with bad wound
in his side. Medics often tried to make well, but the wound would
not heal. He took my hand and would not let go, calling me mother
and talking about brothers and sisters. He say, ’I love you, mother’,
and he was dead.”
“That must have been hard. Well, at least he is no longer
suffering,” said Lucius, “and you were there to comfort him, Miriam.”
“I was at aid post during battle,” Miriam said, “and I saw many
die. This time different.” Lucius could see her eyes glistening.
“Lucius, he remind me of you. But I would not be there.” The tears
began to fall. “You would be far away.”
“It would be terrible, I understand. But, Miriam,” he continued, “I
am in one of the best-trained cohorts the Fretensis has. So I will
return; that is a promise.”
The girl lifted the hem of her shawl and wiped her eyes.
“Anaitis is so lucky. Marcus is Urban Cohort. They do not go to
war.” Miriam’s close friend, Anaitis, was the sole survivor of a
massacre in a local taverna when rebels stormed the vicus at Aelia
Capitolina prior to its evacuation. She was rescued by Marcus
Apollinaris, now a legionary officer in the Urban Cohort to whom she
had become attached. Lucius’ face developed a wry smile.
“A few days ago, that very man told me I should make the best of
quiet times when they arise.” He squeezed Miriam’s hands. “The best
of quiet times, Miriam, is you. That is why I will get through this
fight and return.”
“Lucius Decimus Petronius, you have made me a promise to do
that.”
“I have, my love, and I will keep that promise. The messenger
service will continue between the army and Caesarea. So, I can
write to you, sending the letters to Marcus at the Urban Cohort’s
barracks. He can give them to Anaitis at the Minerva, and she can
pass them on.” Miriam’s expression had brightened, but then her
face tensed. She stared at the table. “Miriam, is that a problem for
you?”
She continued to stare at the table for seconds before looking up.
“Lucius, I – I –,” there was a pause before she blurted, “I do not
read, no one ever teach me.” She looked down again. “I am so
sorry,” Lucius processed what he heard and knew his reply needed
tact and empathy.
“Well, we’ll have Marcus read them to you,” he said with
attempted cheerfulness. “I must not be too amorous!” But then his
tone changed. “It means nothing to me, meum mel, but if you’d like
to learn, we’ll arrange it once I return.”
“When I was young, my mother was…. she died…. my aunt, my
uncle were simple farmers…. I feel….”
“Miriam, that’s all past,” said Lucius, “what is important is what
you want in the future. That’s what matters.”
Miriam composed herself.
“Lucius, you will teach me?” In response, Lucius laughed.
“Me? A teacher?” he said, “I would make a poor teacher, I’m sure.
But, Miriam, we’ll find someone to teach you as soon as I return.”
“Thank you, Lucius,” she said. “I look forward to that.”
The next hour passed in no time. Lucius knew he should return to
the barracks where the final preparation for departure would be
taking place. They both understood the inevitability of separation,
but its arrival had finally come. They stood by the door, reluctant to
open it, and embraced one last time.
“Lucius, remember promise. You will come back.”
“It will take more than Bar Kokhba to stop me,” said Lucius, “and
once this war is over, you and I shall be together.” They exchanged
lengthy kisses before Lucius stood back. “I really must go, my love. I
shall be back before you know it.” Then, opening the door, he
walked into the workshop. Jacob and Rebecca turned as he entered.
“So, my friend, I hear Caesarea will have fewer soldiers
tomorrow?” Jacob said.
“Yes, Jacob, you are well informed. We finally move south.”
 “Well then,” the carpenter said, “good luck and may your gods be
with you. And I never thought I would hear myself saying that to a
Roman!” Jacob held his hand out to Lucius, who shook it.
“Thank you, Jacob,” Lucius said. He turned to Rebecca. “You must
think me simple, but please, look after Miriam.”
“Of course I will, Lucius,” she said. “I already think of her as the
daughter I never had.” At which she moved to Lucius and kissed him
on the cheek. “Take care of yourself, Optio.”
As Lucius walked back towards the barracks, he pondered the
forthcoming campaign. He was confident that the Fourth Cohort was
ready; they had trained hard. During the fight at the Junction, they
saved the Sixth Cohort from extinction, which boosted the Fourth’s
morale. It may appear odd to anyone other than an experienced
soldier, but he was looking forward to getting to grips with the
enemy. It was true he wanted a victory for Rome, and a cessation of
hostilities meant he could put his relationship with Miriam on a
better footing. Yes, he had his motivations.
For all the excitement around the coming campaign, a gnawing
doubt remained at the back of his mind. The Judaean rebels had
given the Fretensis a tough time, causing high casualties. It was a
simple question that troubled Lucius. What have we changed to
ensure it does not happen again? Yet, when he allowed himself to
dwell upon the question, he was not sure he could find an answer to
it.
The evening was hot, and as he entered the barracks, Lucius
spotted a cluster of soldiers sitting outside their rooms enjoying a
cooling breeze. The majority were preparing their kit for the march
south to liberate Aelia Capitolina. Amongst them sat Atelius, focusing
on honing an edge on his sword. As they worked, the soldiers talked
amongst themselves. Standing in the shadows, Lucius listened for a
short while. He heard the grumbles of soldiers over the ages. If not
women, it was over food or the quality of their equipment and, of
course, the daily wage of the legionary. Unseen, Lucius was about to
move on when a soldier spoke up.
 “Well, at least when this is over, we’ll have given the cunni a
fucking good kicking!”
“They’re fools,” said another voice. “They don’t know a good
thing when they see it. They should’ve stuck with Rome.”
He heard a laugh which he recognised as Atelius’, who asked,
“Just what, exactly, is Rome?” The group fell silent for a moment
before one of them asked,
“What do you mean, brother?”
“I’ve seen Rome and all that it is,” said Atelius, “I lived -”
“Com’on, brother,” the curious soldier responded, “you was just a
gladiator.”
“Just a gladiator,” Atelius said, “just a gladiator? Brothers,
gratitude for accepting me as a legionary. Tradition is that men like
me shouldn’t be in the legion - or even a citizen. I asked my
question because Rome can be many things to many men.” Atelius
stopped speaking, and his fellow soldiers thought he had said his
piece. He laid his sword at his feet, sat upright and continued. “I
have spoken little about myself.” His eyes fell upon Lucius standing
in the shadow as he said this. “As a young boy living in Antipyrgos, a
small coastal town in Cyrenaica, I fell in with a group of bandits.
They believed they fought for liberty from Rome; maybe, maybe not.
Either way, they did well out of it, and for a while, they ran the local
auxiliaries ragged - I admit it was enjoyable. Our leader, who
thought he was a Hannibal, had his dream shattered when
vexillations from Aegyptus arrived and the insurgency was crushed.
They crucified the survivors, but my age saved me from that
awful fate. As a tall and muscular lad, they sold me to a local
Lanista, who trained me to be a gladiator. I remember him often
saying that there are only two types of gladiators: the skilled
gladiator and the dead gladiator. My owner prepared me well, and I
adapted to the role. Fortunately, along the African coast, prize
money was poor, which meant few fights to the death – the returns
were not grand enough to justify it. I practised incessantly. When my
brothers took their rest for drink and women, I trained. Eventually, I
developed a reputation such that few would bet against me; it was
sufficient to see me sold up market to a ludus in Rome.
 In Rome, brothers, life became a serious matter; it was kill or be
killed. I thank the gods they’d given me the sense to train and train
hard. As a result, I built my reputation and won great amounts of
prize money. It was only then I saw the real Rome. My master used
to hire me out to women of high standing. They thought it an
incredible thrill to be fucked by a body that had recently killed a
man. Their husbands usually knew what was happening, but why
should they care? They had their high-class courtesans, who were
nothing more than posh whores.
There’s one instance I will never forget. They placed a hood over
my head so I couldn’t recall where I’d been taken. When they
removed my hood, I was looking at the most respected women in
Rome. Some compared her to Cornelia, the Mother of the Gracchi.
What a body she had; I’m sure she outshone Venus. Well, let me tell
you, brothers, in no time, she was on her knees gobbling my cock
and tickling my balls as fine as any Avantine whore. There’s not a
trick in the book she didn’t have - she even taught me a thing or
two! I came away with a purse full of cash, not for the services
offered, mind, but to buy my silence. So, brothers, please do not ask
me to have respect for our senators and the noble families of Rome.”
Saying so, he shook his head. He continued. “I was lucky; they
awarded me the rubus and gave me my citizenship. It was rare for a
freed slave to be granted citizenship, but I had friends in high places
by then. Having saved all I earned, I was well off. I invested wisely
and became accepted into Roman society, receiving invitations to the
villas of rich and powerful people, to what they’d call parties. They
were orgies. But, again, I was there for a purpose — my mentula!
You’ll laugh at me, brothers, but I grew tired of it. I joined up with
the lanista of my old ludus, and together, we opened a new ludus in
Capua. At least I then had a sword in my hand, training gladiators
and doing what I’m good at doing.
Believe it or not, brothers, I missed the risk and the action. So,
here I am in the army of Rome. I suspect I’ll meet more action soon.
But let me tell you, brothers, I’ll not be doing this for Rome. When
we fight, I’ll do it for you, my brothers, and me, and I might even
enjoy it.”
 The group fell silent. They had never experienced Atelius speak
for so long. Atelius glanced across to where Lucius stood. The young
officer nodded, realising that he was not the only exile from Roman
society.
After sunrise the next day, Lucius joined Crispus. The centurion
tasked Lucius with preparing the first century for the imminent
march south. As the cohort’s senior centurion, Crispus will be
involved with his other centurions, ensuring the cohort’s readiness
for the coming campaign.
“You might want to tell the tesserarius to check that their skins
contain only water. It’ll be a hot march,” he said. “Woe betides any
man caught with wine in his canteen! We muster on the drill field at
the tenth hour.” With that said, he was away.
Lucius joined the men of his cohort, finding them busy making
ready. Many furcas, the cruciform poll upon which they hung their
accoutrements, were propped up along the walls. Most were almost
fully assembled, with a cloak bag and bed roll attached. Others were
further advanced, and from them hung saucepans, small cooking
pots, a water skin and net bags containing provisions. Several
soldiers were putting personal possessions into leather satchels,
which would also be hung from the furca. Between the furcas, the
soldier’s shields, enveloped in protective leather coverings, leant
against the wall. Each legionary heading south would shortly carry
the whole assembly over his shoulder. As Lucius watched the soldiers
busying themselves, Tesserarius Claudius Paulus joined him and
stood watching the men.
“So, at last, we are off to kill the bastards,” he said to Lucius,
“About time too.”
“Yes, and I think the lads are as ready as they’re ever going to
be,” Lucius said. “The cohort will muster at the ninth hour, so we
have plenty of time.”
“Have you heard the plan for the march?”
“My understanding is we go as far as Beth Ther today,” Lucius
said. “I believe day two will see us at Lod and the first action of the
campaign.”
 “Beth Ther? Isn’t that the road station?”
“It is. The messenger service change horses there. It has a
spring, so we can access fresh water.”
“Yes, I recall the place now,” said Paulus. “As a legion, we ought
to take Lod without too much effort.”
“From there, we drive on Aelia,” Lucius said, “and if all is going
well, we should approach the place at the same time as the Ferrata
and the Deiotariana, which hopefully will give our friend Bar Kokhba
a nasty surprise.”

Sometime later, Lucius, accompanied by Paulus and the century’s

Signifer, Felix Calvus, left the barracks to make their way towards the
drill field. As they did so, officers and soldiers came from many
parts, heading towards the assembly area. As the drill field drew
near, the roadways became lined with citizens of Caesarea. Most of
these folk were girlfriends, ’wives’, friends and relations of Tenth
Legion’s soldiers.
“Well, it’s good to get a send-off,” said Felix. “I wonder if that
little Venus I ploughed the other night is here?”
“You wish, Felix,” Paulus said, “she’ll have been through a few
customers since you, brother. You’re long forgotten!”
“Thanks, brother,” Felix retorted playfully, punching Paulus in the
arm, “At least I got her into the sack for a good ploughing. She
would’ve slammed the door in your ugly face! If I was a—.”
“Hang on,” said Lucius, “do you see that cresta?” He pointed to a
group of people standing where the road opened onto the drill field.
In the middle of the group, there was a distinctive black-and-white
cresta mounted upon an immaculate helmet. His two companions
confirmed what Lucius had spotted. “You go on, and I’ll join you on
the field. I think that’s my good friend Marcus Apollinaris from the
Urban Cohort. I won’t be long,” saying this, he headed towards the
cluster of watchers.
Dressed in full military attire, people separated to give him a
pathway as he approached the group. Unfortunately, Marcus was not
a tall man, and Lucius was upon him before he was spotted.
 “Lucius, we were thinking we’d missed you, brother.” As Marcus
mentioned, ‘we’, Lucius saw Anaitis and Miriam accompanying him.
It had been a while since Miriam had seen Lucius in his full military
attire. She stepped back and looked him up and down. “He looks
quite the soldier, don’t he?” said Marcus. Anaitis threw her arms
around Lucius.
“Gods be with you, Lucius,” she said. A lifetime of Jewish culture
overcame Miriam’s wish to hug Lucius publicly. Instead, she took his
hands in hers and squeezed them.
“Remember your promise, Lucius. I will ask Jeshua to protect
you.” Lucius, too, had to overcome his masculine impulses.
“I make a point of keeping promises, Miriam,” he said, “and I pray
we will be back soon.”
“Well then,” said Marcus, “all I’ll say is makes sure you comes
back with your shield, Lucius, and not upon it!” He laughed as he
held out his hand. Lucius shook it. “You better be goin’, brother.
They’re forming up over there. Crispus ain’t going to like it if you’re
late.”
“Gratitude for coming,” Lucius said. He reached out and took
Miriam by the shoulders, clasping her. “I will be back.” She placed
her hands on his chest and looked up into his face.
“Please,” was all she said. Lucius released her and turned towards
the Fourth Cohort, which was falling into ranks and files.

Lucius stood at the rear of the century. To his front, the soldiers
were in full marching order, their loaded furcas resting across their
shoulders. They wore helmets for the legionary parade, which would
soon hang from their belts as they marched.
The legion, flanked by units of auxiliaries, faced a raised dais
upon which the senior officers, including Tribune Civilis and the
governor, were standing. Three priests who stood behind a table
accompanied them, ready to function as augers. Lucius knew they
would be presented with a chicken that they would slaughter and
then remove its liver for inspection. If the organ is healthy and
carries no blemishes, they will announce that the gods look
favourably upon the forthcoming venture. Inwardly, Lucius smiled,
thinking the augers would be positive, whatever the liver’s condition.
The thoughts passed through his mind just as the cornu sounded,
and the entire legion stood to attention. A flapping bird was passed
to the chief priest, and in no time, he wielded a knife, and the bird
flapped no more. Afterwards, the three augers gathered to study
what was on the table. A few seconds later, they stepped back, and
their leader raised his arms high.
“The augers are good!” he announced. “The gods smile upon our
campaign.” An approving cheer thundered across the drill field as the
soldiers released the tension established while awaiting the result.
Finally, the chief priest came forward to offer a prayer.
“Father Mars, I beseech you on this day to protect us humble
mortals from the threat of our enemies, that we soon will meet in
battle. We pray for your wisdom, your guidance, and your favour on
the day of battle. We pray for you to make us swift, steadfast, and
strong. We pray you make us brave, zealous, and deadly. The rebels
we shall slay in this campaign shall be our sacrifice to you.”
Lucius was sure that many of those listening would instead be
praying to Mithras, the chosen god of most Roman legionaries.
Then, with the ceremony complete, the legion, cohort by cohort,
preceded by units of cavalry began its march south. It was followed
by the auxiliary units, eating the legions dust.

When the legion arrived, they entirely overwhelmed the facilities

of small road station at Beth Ther. The place stood upon ground too
hard to erect a formal marching camp, so once the tents had been
erected, a high concentration of guards was placed around the site,
with frequent cavalry patrols in the neighbourhood. For a while, the
camp became a hive of activity. Soldiers cooked their evening meals.
Before long, just a few remained sitting by the dying fires while the
others slept.
The town of Lod was the subject of campfire conversations, for
the next day would see the Fretensis drive the rebels from the place.
There was confidence in capturing the town quickly; the Judaean
rebels had yet to face an organised, attacking legion. It was not long
before the campfires burned down, and all, bar those on the first
watch and the roving cavalry patrols, were rolled up in their
blankets. The night was uneventful.
A few hours after sunrise, a casual observer would not have
known the soldiers had ever visited Beth Ther; apart from the poorly
filled in latrine trenches, their accompanying odour and the deads
firepits. The legion was on its southward march to Lod.
“Lod keeps featuring in my life!” Lucius had joined Aurelius
Crispus at the head of the Fourth Cohort. “It’s where we sent the
mutilated prisoner after the fight near Serifin when we seized Rabbi
Akiva.”
“I wonder if he will be there to receive us,” Crispus responded.
“The assumption was, he’d go back and notify his rebel friends
that we’d just slaughtered the Parthian mercenaries,” said Lucius,
“and so, with a bit of luck, we struck the fear of Hades in their
hearts. So now we’re coming for them, too.”
“I realise you were not happy with centurion Martinus killing the
prisoners,” said Crispus, “but you can understand the impact on
rebel morale. You said it yourself, ‘we are coming for them, too’.”
“The proof of it will be what we find when we reach Lod,” said
Lucius, “depending on whether we face stiff resistance, or they
simply collapse.”
“Well, we’ll have to wait and see,” said Crispus. “If they collapse,
we should be in the town by tonight. But, on the other hand, if the
bastards put up a half-decent resistance, we may not be in until
tomorrow. But whatever happens, there’ll be only one outcome. So,
we’ll soon be in Lod.”
“By the gods, I hope you’re right, Aurelius,” Lucius replied. “We’ve
had several months of cac, and we need something to go well for
the Legion.”
“On that, Lucius, we can firmly agree.”

The legion marched on through the heat of the day. It was only
at times like these that soldiers appreciated the extensive regular
training marches. The weather was trying, and they were marching
with their furca’s load over their shoulder, carrying their helmets,
shields and two javelins. Many soldiers had donned straw hats. As
senior centurion of the fourth cohort, Aurelius Crispus put his men
through more route marches than other centurions. He would march
up and down the columns of sweating legionaries. ‘You may’ve
trained for months with your gladius, but if you’re late for battle,
your brother’s shades will curse you.’
The sun had reached its zenith and began its slow fall when the
legion came to a halt. Scouts had confirmed that Lod was a short
distance away and the legion’s commander determined it was now
time to prepare for the coming fight. By cohort, the legionaries lay
their furcas down, removed the covers from their shields, donned
their helmets and made ready to fight. The battle plan was quite
simple; the legion would march up to Lod, and alternate cohorts
would march on either side of the town. Some years earlier, during a
Jewish rebellion, general Lucius Quietus had run the leaders of the
uprising to ground in Lod. After their defeat, the general destroyed
whatever walls Lod had, making it difficult to defend in the future.
So, the plan for the legion was simple. Surround the town and storm
it.

It wasn’t long before Lod appeared. Cohorts broke left and right
alternately, closing the ring around the town when the cohorts met
at the far side. With the manoeuvre completed, the Fourth was
facing the main entrance. The walls were in a parlous state, but a
fine stone archway still stood. Behind the cohort was a large, well-
established olive grove. Tantalisingly, it offered shade, just out of
reach of soldiers who had marched in the sun’s glare.
Lucius left his position at the rear of his century. He joined
Aurelius Crispus, standing looking at the town. He was talking to his
tesserarius, Claudius Paulus and his Signifer, Felix Calvus.
“Welcome, Lucius,” he said. “The training would say we storm the
gates. However, given there are few or no walls, I’ll not reprimand
you for ignoring the procedure in this instance!” Crispus roared with
laughter, clearly appreciating his joke. Lucius shook his head.
“A little too much sun, Aurelius?” he asked. Crispus was about to
respond when his body tensed.
“Look out, lads,” he said, “Here come the big knobs!” As he
spoke, a gaggle of senior officers approached. Lucius instantly
recognised tribune Civilis, primus Quintus Vorenus, and general
Marcellus. Several tribunes and a small bodyguard unit accompanied
them.
“This is where the action begins,” said Crispus.
“It’s too bloody quiet,” Calvus chipped in.
“Fair point,” said Lucius. “You’d think by now they’d be hollering
at us, calling us every name under the sun. It’s what the Jews do
very well.”
“Point taken, Lucius,” said Crispus, “but they’re cunning bastards.
They will have a surprise in store for us.”
“They may well have,” Lucius responded, but Atelius’ recent
words filled his mind. While looking at the century, he couldn’t find
Atelius’ face. The command group stood facing Lod when a tribune,
accompanied by a trumpeter, stepped forward and approached
within a spear’s throw of the gate. The trumpeter sounded off. When
he fell silent, the tribune spoke.
“Rebels of Lod, a legion of the Roman army surrounds you. There
can be no escape. Throw down your arms and your lives will be
spared. Resist, and you will die.” He paused and took a deep breath
before continuing. “I will walk to the other side of the town and
repeat my words. We will storm the town if you don’t surrender by
the time I return.”
Three figures appeared in the old gateway as the tribune set off.
They approached the officer and exchanged words before joining the
command group. Lucius noted how well dressed they were, wearing
colourful headdresses and expensively trimmed clothing. Crispus
stepped forward a few paces to hear what was being said. He gave
his comrades a synopsis of the goings on every few seconds.
“They’re town councillors - rebels have gone - happy to open the
place to us - general’s suspicious - send in a small force—cac!
Arrows, Look out!” As Crispus shouted his warning, Lucius spotted
two arrows streaking in his direction. Instinctively, the Fourth raised
their shields as one. The bodyguard rushed to place themselves
between the officers, shields presented, but too late. The tribune
who had just summoned Lod took an arrow in the thigh. A second
arrow struck one of the town councillors in the back. In a matter of
seconds it was over. A tirade from the primus pilus followed a
momentary silence.
“You Jewish bastards, you said the rebels had gone. You lied,” he
said in a parade voice that carried far. The near cohorts shivered as
men braced for the order to attack. A higher-pitched voice replied,
one that was terrified.
“No, no excellency!” the councillor shouted, glancing at the
massed troops spoiling for a fight. “I give you my word. Hundreds
went away this morning,” he said, falling to his knees. “Do not
ravage our town. We are but families and children, merchants and
traders. You are welcome here.”
The third councillor was more collected than his colleague, who
continued to writhe.
“General, tribunes, officers; what Gamaliel says is true. We are
not of the hills; we are not bandit stock. They must have left a few
behind to do what they did. It is not the deed of my people, so I ask
you to refrain from attack.” He spoke in a loud voice. Lucius was
convinced he said it for the soldier’s consumption instead of the
officer’s. A huddled conversation between the senior officers
followed, leaving the councillors to one side. Eventually, the group
broke up after nodding of heads, and the general approached the
two forlorn officials.
“Councillors,” he began, “You see the tree yonder?” He pointed to
a lonely tree standing several feet in front of the walls. The
counsellor followed his gaze and nodded. “When the tree’s shadow
touches the wall, I will order an attack.” Both Jews looked horrified.
“But….” The general paused for effect. Lucius felt he was playing to
a gallery. “….if by then, you have brought us the men who wounded
my tribune, and killed your colleague, I will call off the attack.
However, if I get a whiff of deception, I will put your town to the
sword. Mark my words.”
The response from the tall, collected councillor was not loud
enough to discern, but his posture spoke volumes—they were left
with no choice. They were soon hurrying back towards the gate as
two legionaries carried away the suffering tribune.
Crispus ordered the cohort to relax, as it would be some time
before the shadow touched the wall. Water skins appeared and the
men drank deep, talking amongst themselves. Lucius sought Atelius.
“Well, legionary,” he said, “Your prediction was nearly right!”
The ex-gladiator smiled.
“When I said they’d be gone?” Lucius nodded. “A smart trick,
wasn’t it, eh? Suppose they’d killed the general?”
“If they had, we’d be in Lod now, and with blood flowing,” Lucius
said. “But in principle, your prediction was correct; they had left.”
“Sir,” Atelius said, formal as always in company, “the Judaeans will
never give us the advantage. If they can’t beat us in an open fight,
they won’t attempt it. We underestimate them.”
“I’ll admit your argument is persuasive, but when we —.”
“They’re returning, sir.” Lucius looked to the front and could see
figures walking through the gate. He left Atelius and rejoined his
fellow officers.
“Good of you to join us, Optio,” Crispus said sarcastically, but with
a smile. He nodded towards the procession that passed through the
gateway, led by the competent councillor. “Matters seem to
progress.” Several men escorted three prisoners. Their hands tied as
well as being linked together by a rope. Growing closer, it was
apparent the prisoners had not gone down without a fight; their
faces streaked with blood and, in one case, swollen. They had not
surrendered. At the same time, a dozen auxiliaries led by a centurion
reported to the general.
“Where’ve they come from?” Calvus asked.
“Can’t say,” said Crispus as he scratched his brow, “but I have my
suspicions as to why.” He said no more.
 “Well, is the commander of the Fourth going to share his wisdom
with us?” Lucius pushed him.
“You could quickly be a legionary again, Optio!” the smiling
centurion replied. “Seriously? I suspect he’s going to hang’em up.”
“Hang them up?” Calvus asked. “Hang them up from…. Oh, I see.
The general’s going to crucify them.”
“That is what I was saying, Signifer,” Crispus said. “Hang’em up
as a warning to others who might think of shooting arrows at
Romans. He don’t know if they’ve got’em all.”
The townsmen stood back, handing the three rebels over to the
auxiliaries. One of them spat in the general’s face as he spoke to
them. The auxiliaries separated the culprit from the others, threw
him to the floor, and violently kicked him. They stood him up, and
the general pointed at the Fourth Cohort. The command group and
the auxiliaries, complete with prisoners, marched in Lucius’ direction.
It was not the Fourth they were making for but the olive grove. They
passed the legionaries and arrived in the grove’s shade.
“Fourth Cohort!” The voice of the primus was unmistakable. Every
legionary came to attention. “Face to the rear!” The body of men
turned as one while Lucius and his fellow officers marched to what
had become the front of the century, affording them a view of the
proceedings. The general spoke briefly to the auxiliary’s officer.
“Carry on, centurion.” As the centurion spoke to his men, three of
them took hold of the prisoner who had just received the kicking. He
was shaky on his feet but managed to stand. It was the only
defiance left to him.
“Bring the townsmen forward,” General Tutilius commanded, “I
wish them to witness the punishment.” The townsmen’s shuffling
gait showed their reluctance to be there, but they had no choice. “I
am a soldier,” the general said to them, “but I am fair. In battle, I will
kill my enemies. If I must kill my prisoners, I will do it quickly and
efficiently, for they are soldiers and deserve a quick death.” He
looked to see how his words were received.
“That’s not what I’ve heard,” Crispus muttered.
 “These men are not soldiers,” the general continued, “they are
assassins. They killed one of your councillors and wounded a tribune
of mine. For that, they will suffer the only punishment fit for
murderers.” He nodded to the auxiliary centurion. In an instant,
three of the auxiliaries had cut the prisoner’s clothes from his body;
he stood naked and trembling before the townspeople and the
Fourth. ‘He knows what’s coming,’ thought Lucius.
The centurion waked to the olive trees and selected one, tapping
it with his vine stick.
“This will do nicely,” he said. “Bring him over.” The auxiliaries
dragged the man backwards and then pushed him against the tree.
It was a gnarled old tree with a broad trunk and several large
branches. “Right, get on with it, boys.”
It was as though the auxiliaries were running through a well-
practised drill. Whilst two of them held the prisoners against the
trunk, two more pulled his arm out along a branch whilst a fifth
produced a heavy hammer and a long nail, which was deftly placed
over the man’s wrist before the hammer drove it home. The prisoner
had gritted his jaw; Lucius had never heard a scream from a closed
mouth before. The team moved to the prisoner’s other arm and
repeated the activity on another branch. Again, the cry.
The would-be assassin stood pinned to the tree with blood
streaming along his arms. He was bent slightly to one side, as the
two branches were not at the same height. The auxiliaries surveyed
their work, but they had more to do. Two of them raised the victim’s
foot well clear of the ground and turned it sideways whilst the nail
man dropped to his knee and drove a nail through the man’s heel.
The mouth opened, and few this side of Lod did not hear the
scream. However, the nail was not driven into the tree. Instead, they
placed his other foot under the pierced one, then drove the nail
through the heel into the tree. Again, the scream.
Lucius knew this was a particularly cruel form of crucifixion. Its
victim could not rest his body on his leg bones. Instead, to breathe,
he must constantly lift himself on his leg muscles, grinding his heels
on the nail. In time, whilst suffering excruciating pain, muscles tiring
or cramping, unable to lift himself, he would suffocate. Lucius
recalled that occasionally, the hardest heart could soften, a guard
could break the victim’s legs and bring merciful death.
As Lucius watched the crucified man, his torture of ‘lift–breathe-
sag ’was beginning.
“Next one!”
The auxiliaries holding the second prisoner dragged him forward.
As they did so, he writhed and twisted.
“No! No! No!” he bellowed as they pulled him along. The auxiliary
centurion stepped forward and delivered a hard punch to the man’s
belly, who bent forward and retched. Finally, the contents of his
stomach spewed from his mouth, covering one of his two captors in
bile. The soldier, vomit dripping from his hamata, delivered a solid
punch to the prisoner’s face, and the man collapsed. A townsman
also chose this moment to part company with his last meal. He
received a look of disdain from the general. A third auxiliary, knife in
hand, stepped forward, and the disrobing began. When completed,
the naked captive sagged between the two auxiliaries, resistance
gone, a portrait of despair. Again, the centurion examined the olive
trees and chose a suitable one for the task.
“Bring him over; this one will do,” he said callously. Lucius closed
his eyes; he had seen enough. This was was not an execution, he
thought. At least the condemned man in the arena has a chance;
this is something else entirely. He could close his eyes but could not
shut out the torturous moaning from the nail’s victim. Then, finally,
the sound stopped. He wondered if —.
“Grab the cunni!” The third victim had taken an opportunity as his
captors became engrossed in the scene before them. Lucius opened
his eyes to see the man running across the front of the Fourth. Why,
thought Lucius, had he not run into the olive grove, having the
advantage of being light and free of the accoutrements his Roman
captors wore? It could have worked for him, especially as the cavalry
were elsewhere. But he did not. Instead, he ran into centurion
Quintus Facilis of the Second Century. Facilis tripped the running
man and promptly knelt on his neck.
 “Bring him here!” called general Tutilius. Then, when Facilis pulled
the escapee to his feet, the fight deserted the man. Placing a gladius
across his throat, the officer pushed his captive towards from where
he had fled.
“Well, well, well,” Tutilius said with more than a hint of sarcasm,
“this one has spunk in him, eh? Let’s see how he handles the nails,
shall we?” The response came from a voice with which Lucius was
familiar.
“Marcus, they fired two arrows at us, if I am correct?” said Gaius
Civilis. With the governor’s absence in Caesarea, Civilis was now de
facto commander of Tenth Legion, though subordinate to Tutilius,
the army commander.
“You are indeed correct, Gaius.”
“So, two arrows and two men crucified?”
“Indeed, we have.”
“So why not just execute this one?” suggested Civilis. The general
gave the matter thought. He nodded his head, turning to centurion
Facilis. He stretched out an arm and, with his hand, made a thumbs-
up gesture. Facilis smiled, nodded in return, and then pulled his
blade across the rebel’s throat. The man gushed blood as Facilis let
him slip to the ground to die in a pool of the sticky, red substance.
“He deserved a quick death,” said Tutilius. “He had the gall to
attempt an escape, a soldier until the end.” Lucius decided he did
not much care for General Tutilius. The officer turned to the
townsmen. “The day is dying–a little like these two,” he nodded
towards the men hanging from the olive trees, “So we shall camp
outside Lod tonight. We shall need fodder and water for our horses;
you may bring them to the camp. The soldiery may well relax in the
town; see to it you are well provided for them. Please remember
what has happened here should anyone have any ideas about being
troublesome. You may return accompanied by Centurion Mettelius’
body of auxiliaries, who will become the town’s garrison, remaining
here after we leave.” The general turned to Tribune Civilis. “Gaius,
organise a camp. I’ll get my tent sent over.”
“Immediately, general,” he said. He turned to the primus, Quintus
Vorenus. “Go ahead, Quintus. I understand the engineers have
determined a suitable location. Let’s get the Fretensis moving. We’ll
talk later.”

Early the following day, the legion was preparing to move on from
Lod. Lucius was up and ready to march before his two comrades,
who nursed sore heads.
“A good night had by all?” Lucius quipped. “You’d better get your
backsides moving, or they’ll take the tent down around you!”
“Get us some water,” said Calvus. “I’m parched, brother.”
Lucius took pity on the two.
“I’ll be back,” he said, stepping out of the tent, nearly colliding
with Centurion Crispus, who was looking for his junior officers.
“Jupiter’s hairy arse, don’t tell me you’ve found the time to get
out of bed!”
“Yours to be commanded, Centurion,” Lucius said formally but
with a smile.
“And your fellow reprobates?”
Lucius knew the tent mates would hear the centurion and
scramble to dress.
“They’re just behind me, Aurelius. Give them a few moments.”
Lucius stood with his back to the tent’s entrance, but Crispus side-
stepped him and spoke towards the tent.
“In your own time, lads. I’m sure the general will happily wait!”
The two burst out of the tent. Technically, they had dressed in so
much as they wore tunics, but dressed as officers? “Good night, was
it, lads?”
“Lod was obliging, sir. I think they’d do anything to keep us from
sacking the town.”
The centurion smiled.
“I hope you had an enjoyable time; life’s going to get serious.”
The three junior officers were suddenly attentive. “Scouts report a
large group of rebels in the hills, camped in a valley that connects
with the road to Aelia, where we’re going today. General Tutilius
wants the Fourth and the Fifth to deal with ‘em.”
 “Ambush? Coming from a side valley?” asked Lucius. “It sounds
like the attack on the Aelia column is repeating itself.”
“Not so, Lucius,” Crispus said. “The scouts report no other activity,
just the one gang of rebels. So the general believes the Fifth can
manage the situation but wants us along as support, just in case.”
“We will go on ahead of the legion?” Felix asked.
“Precisely. We sort the bastards out, and then we’ll rejoin the
legion or catch ‘em up later,” Crispus said. “So, get kitted up and
ready to move. I’m off to brief the other centurions, and we’ll march
soon after.”
A short while later, Lucius returned to the tent with water and
bread for his needy brothers. They quickly consumed both. The
three men donned their subarmalis, the padded jackets they wore
under the Lorica Hamata chain mail, and then the Hamata itself.
Within no time, equipped with their weapons, they were ready.
Lucius took up his hastile, after which the small group moved off to
the muster point for the Fourth.
The day was warming as the two cohorts snaked along the road,
leaving the town of Lod behind them. This legionary vexillation
carried only what it needed to fight. All personal accoutrements
followed in the legion’s baggage train. A small group of mounted
scouts led the cohorts who would guide them to the enemy. The
vexillation kept up a fast pace, with the Fifth leading the way.
The sun approached its zenith when the column came to a stand.
Lucius joined Crispus at the front of the Fourth.
“Why’ve we stopped?” he asked the centurion.
“We’ll know soon enough.” He drew Lucius’ attention to a
tesserarius making his way down the side of the Fifth Cohort at
speed. He headed in their direction, sliding to a stop in front of the
two waiting officers and saluted.
“Sir, Centurion Gallianus says we are one mile from the valley,” he
began. “The scouts confirm they are still present and number close
to four hundred. Therefore, the centurion will march the Fifth
straight into the valley and confront them. He requests you follow on
at the ready, sir.”
 “Please inform Centurion Gallianus that we will do as requested,”
Crispus said. The tesserarius saluted.
“Roma Victrix!” He retraced his route, disappearing behind the
bulk of the Fifth Cohort.
“By Jupiter, he’s enthusiastic,” Crispus said.
“We’re all feeling fired up,” said Lucius. “We could be in action
soon.”
“Fair point,” Crispus replied. He turned to face the cohort behind
him, row after row of helmets interspersed regularly with the
transverse crested helmets of the other seven centurions and the
for-to-aft crests of the other officers. “Cohort,” Crispus was using his
loudest parade voice. “We’ll shortly support the Fifth in an attack
upon the Judaean rebels. We may not be required to fight, but if we
do, remember your training and listen to your officers. You’ve done
this before, and you did it well. Let’s not spoil our record.” Crispus
sensed a cheer was coming, so he raised both arms above his head.
“Let’s not warn them we are coming. Mars be with you, lads!”
As Crispus finished, the Fifth tramped forward. The centurion
gave them a little space before ordering the Fourth to follow, and
Lucius resumed his position at the rear of his Century. The distance
quickly covered, the Fifth wheeled into the small valley. As the
Fourth followed, the Fifth came to a stand.
The sound of fighting was audible.
“They’ve found the cunni!” said a legionary to Lucius’ front.
“I hope the Fifth aren’t too greedy. The least they could do is
leave us a few!” came a reply, followed by grunts of agreement.
With a cohort before them, there was little to be seen, and Lucius
found the lack of visibility frustrating. As he stood listening to the
sounds of battle, a sense of having been here before overwhelmed
him. Of course, he had not, but the waiting was like the situation
months back at the junction where they fought in a narrow valley.
Then the Fifth moved forward, and Crispus ordered the Fourth to
follow.
“They’re on the run, lads,” one of the military experts in the ranks
noted.
 “I reckon we should go back. The Fifth have this one to
themselves,” a second strategist commented.
Then the reality of the fight became real. As the Fourth
progressed, they passed several dead rebels and some wounded and
dead legionaries. Injured men gave the Fourth a wave as they
passed. Then the column stopped, and they heard fighting again.
Not long after, the column moved forward, passing more dead rebels
and some wounded Romans.
As the valley straightened out, the Fifth marched past a
distinctive geological feature. The valley side to the left seemed to
drop vertically to the road, a fall equating to the height of two men;
it became a wall running for the length of a marching cohort. Lucius
hoped the rebels were not waiting above to drop rocks onto the
unwary legionaries below. Fortunately, it did not happen, and the
Fifth passed by the wall into the open valley as the Fourth marched
into the wall’s shadow, the shade being appreciated by the soldiers.
Lucius was thinking of Atelius. He had said that the Judaeans
would not fight the Romans in a straight contest. These rebels were
doing that, which was strange. Their surprise attack on the legion’s
flank discovered, Lucius would expect them to escape as quickly as
possible, not attempt to take on the cohorts.
“Sweet Venus!” he declared.
“You alright, chief?” a soldier asked over his shoulder. Others turn
to look at him in surprise.
“I’m joining the centurion,” was all he said, pulling out of position
to move down the side of the preceding fourteen ranks. The surprise
was not a flank attack on the legion, not at all. The surprise was yet
to be delivered. “This could be a fucking trap!” he said to no one,
drawing strange looks. He increased his pace. As he closed upon
Crispus’ broad crested, he heard a ‘ding’ and a soldier staggered,
bumped into his neighbour, knocking him into the soldier in the
adjacent file. Crispus’ helmet turned in the direction of the noise.
“Rockfall! Against the side wall, shields high—now!” the centurion
bellowed. The command was unorthodox. Legionaries looked to
understand what had prompted the sudden strange order from their
centurion. They instantly understood. Beginning their journey
downward would be several large boulders. Caught on the road
beneath the wall, the soldiers realised the grim nature of their
position. There was a slight hesitation before the large body of men
flung themselves to the side, crowding up against the wall. As they
moved, they raised their shields above their heads. In an instant,
Lucius found himself, shield raised, crushed against the wall. The
men from the files in the middle of the column threw themselves
onto their backsides, facing outwards, holding the tops of their
shields over their heads while the shield bottoms rested at their feet.
It was no tidy testudo, just a protective formation against the
rockfall; it was the best they could achieve. They presented a ramp
of shields.
“Some fucking testudo this is!” some wit shouted.
The files of legionaries furthest away from the wall could see no
longer any room left to shelter. Fortunately, the slope facing the wall
was gentler, and they ran for all they were worth, struggling up it,
fleeing the imminent rock maelstrom.
“At least it’s shady with -”
Then, a shower of boulders, stones and dust arrived. It was a
mess. The rocks flew off the shelf, hitting the shields below. The
forward momentum caused many to pass on, but not before causing
damage to the men below. Shields split under the impact, knocking
their owners to the floor before the boulders sped onwards. Crushed
by a boulder’s sheer weight, bones were broken. Those closest to
the wall fared better as the enormous stones flew over them. But
what was as terrible as the rockfall was the following dust and grit.
The air in the chamber under the shields became a dense dirt cloud.
The soldiers, who dared not move their shields, had to suffer and
bear it. It filled their noses and irritated their eyes. Lucius coughed,
and he was not alone. Soldiers coughed, cursed, spat, and
complained until a loud voice bellowed.
“Stop fuckin’ wailing. You’re still alive, aren’t you?” Lucius smiled.
It was Crispus, and the voice helped restore his confidence. Then, to
everyone’s relief, the noise stopped. Cautiously, the men moved
away from the wall, recovering their shields. There were casualties,
but fortunately, relatively few. A slight breeze was helping clear the
dust, and the men stood looking around them in amazement. Then
some rushed to help their injured comrades; others dusted
themselves down. Lucius hurried to Crispus.
“I was on my way to tell you, Aurelius,” he gasped and coughed,
“Fucking stuff!” He spat a dark gob of spittle. “The trap wasn’t for
the legion; it was for us! They lured us here.” But Crispus wasn’t
listening; he was staring to the front.
“By all the gods, no!” he cried. Lucius followed Crispus’ gaze;
what he saw was chaos. The main rockfall’s destination was not
them but rather open track immediately to their front. A cloud of
dust, rocks, and shale smothered the road. Then, as the dust
cleared, he saw grey spectres staggering around, aimless and lost.
“The Fifth, Gallianus, the cohort…is gone! I don’t -.”
“Rebel cunni! Up on the ridge!” a voice cried. Crispus processed
their situation quickly; the time for grief was not now.
“Cohort, form up,” he bellowed. The legionaries shuffled into
place. “Move it, now! Move, move, move!” Crispus turned to Lucius.
“Optio, this is a big fuck up -.” A roar from beyond the dust cloud to
their front cut Crispus off. “Bollocks! They sound like they think
they’ve already won the fight. Added to which, it sounds like there
may be more of ‘em than we were led to believe!” Lucius turned to
look behind him. They looked a mess. Some had damaged shields,
but nevertheless the Fourth Cohort had formed up for the fight. “You
see, Lucius, training does work!” Crispus was smiling grimly.
The dust was clearing and a few running legionaries from the
Fifth Cohort appeared. These were the lucky ones. Further soldiers
followed them, but these were limping, nursing broken bones or
holding their heads. There were pitifully few of them, some of those
were assisted by less injured comrades. Lucius knew in his heart
that the Fifth was no more. Then the last dust blew away.
“Oh, great Jupiter!” Crispus said. The centurion and his men could
see a vast horde of Judaeans coming down the road at a full run.
The front ranks of the Fourth shouted encouragement to their
comrades seeking safety within the Fourth.
“Run like fuck, brother!”
Another random document with
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schepping der vrouw reeds bewijs was van een vooraf geschieden
val, deel II 548, en voorts nog M. Vitringa II 265. Verwant hiermede
is de leer van Kant, die van eene intelligibele daad spreekt als
oorzaak van den radicalen Hang zum Bösen en van de angeborne
Schuld, Religion ed. Rosenkranz 34. 42. 44 f., en zoo ook Schelling,
Werke I 7 S. 385. Müller, Sünde II5 99 f. Steffens, Renouvier,
Sécrétan, Dr. Edw. Beecher e. a. Maar deze beweringen missen
allen theologischen en ook allen wijsgeerigen grond. Vooreerst
sluiten zij het praeëxistente bestaan der zielen in, dat om
verschillende redenen niet aannemelijk is, deel II 565. Voorts wordt
de val, die in Gen. 3 verhaald wordt, van zijn karakter en beteekenis
beroofd; hij houdt op een val te zijn en wordt slechts de verschijning
van iets, dat reeds lang geleden heeft plaats gehad; in verband
daarmede verliest de tijdelijke, empirische vrijheid des menschen al
hare waarde; de ziel alleen is gevallen en is tot straf in het lichaam
geplaatst. Verder is deze leer ook in strijd met den organischen
samenhang van het menschelijk geslacht. Ieder mensch bepaalt zijn
eigen lot, das Wesen des Menschen ist wesentlich seine eigene
That (Schelling). Daarbij baart het verwondering, dat alle menschen
individueel, zonder eenige uitzondering, zich ten kwade bepalen, en
dat alleen de eerste mensch, ofschoon gevallen, toch nog een proef
ontving, of hij misschien nog wilde staande blijven en zijn val
herstellen. En eindelijk is het duidelijk, dat de menschheid, alzoo in
een aggregaat van individuen opgelost, noch een
gemeenschappelijk hoofd kan hebben in Adam noch ook in Christus.
Er is geen gemeenschappelijke val, er is dus ook geen
gemeenschappelijk herstel; ieder valt voor zichzelf, ieder moet
zichzelf dus ook oprichten; in weerwil van het radicale Böse besloot
Kant dan ook uit het du sollst tot het du kannst.
Wij moeten daarom bij de gegevens der Schrift, hoe weinig deze
ook zijn, blijven staan. De tijd van den val der engelen wordt in het
geheel niet vermeld. Met het oog op het ἀπ’ ἀρχης, Joh. 8:44, waren
vele theologen van oordeel, dat de engelen wel niet in het moment
hunner schepping zelve, in primo instanti, maar dan toch terstond
daarna, in secundo instanti, door hunne eerste wilsdaad òf in het
goede bevestigd òf in zonde gevallen waren, Aug. de civ. XI 13.
Thomas. S. Th. I qu. 62 art. 5. qu. 63 art. 5 en 6. Anderen namen
aan dat er een korte tijd na hun schepping verliep, en dat hun val
dan òf nog vóór de schepping van hemel en aarde in Gen. 1:1,
Episcopius, Inst. Theol. IV 3, 1; òf binnen de zes scheppingsdagen,
Coccejus op Joh. 8:44; òf met het oog op Gen. 1:31 eerst na afloop
van heel het scheppingswerk plaats had, Voetius, Disp. I 919. 920.
Turretinus, Theol. El. IX 5. M. Vitringa II 261. Even weinig valt er met
zekerheid te zeggen van den tijd van ’s menschen val. Sommigen
spreken van jaren na zijne schepping; anderen meenen, wijl Genesis
na het verhaal van de schepping terstond overgaat tot dat van den
val en ook op grond van Gen. 4:1, dat de val des menschen slechts
enkele dagen na of zelfs op denzelfden dag als zijne schepping
heeft plaats gehad, Marck, Hist. Parad. III 7. Moor, Comm. IV 166 M.
Vitringa II 261. Zöckler, Urstand des Menschen 35 f. Deze
tijdsbepalingen zijn ook van minder gewicht. Wat wel van belang is,
is dit, dat volgens de Schrift de val van de schepping zelve wezenlijk
onderscheiden is. De zonde is een verschijnsel, waarvoor de
mogelijkheid wel in de schepping van eindige, veranderlijke wezens
gegeven was, maar welks werkelijkheid alleen door den wil van het
schepsel tot aanzijn geroepen kon worden. Zij is eene macht, die
niet tot het wezen der schepping behoort, die er oorspronkelijk niet
was, die er gekomen is door ongehoorzaamheid en overtreding, die
wederrechtelijk in de schepping is binnengedrongen en die er niet
behoorde te zijn. Zij is er, en haar zijn is geen toeval; zelfs mag met
het oog op den raad Gods, die haar opnam en eene plaats aanwees,
tot op zekere hoogte en in zekeren zin gezegd, dat zij er moest
wezen. Maar zij moest er dan toch altijd wezen als iets, dat niet
behoorde te zijn en dat geen recht heeft van bestaan.

§ 37. Het wezen der zonde.

1. De vraag naar het wezen der zonde is niet identisch met die
naar haar aanvang, want eerst bij de ontwikkeling wordt ten volle
openbaar, wat in een beginsel verscholen ligt. Maar toch is in de
eerste zonde de zonde zelve reeds werkzaam en daarin dus ook
reeds eenigermate te kennen. Over karakter en aard der eerste
zonde, waaraan engelen en menschen zich schuldig maakten, is
echter verschil. De meening, dat de zonde der engelen met wellust
begon, is reeds vroeger weerlegd, dl. II 436. Veel waarschijnlijker is
het, met het oog op den aard der verzoeking in Gen. 3:5 en Mt. 4:3,
6, 9 en de vermaning 1 Tim. 3:6, om niet opgeblazen te worden en
alzoo in eenzelfde oordeel te vallen als de duivel, dat de eerste
zonde der engelen in hoogmoed heeft bestaan; maar er is van hun
val toch te weinig geopenbaard, dan dat wij hier met volstrekte
zekerheid kunnen spreken; anderen dachten dan ook aan leugen,
Joh. 8:44, nijd, Wijsh. 2:24, of eene andere zonde, Heppe, Dogm.
der ev. ref. K. 157. Volgens de Roomschen bestond ook de eerste
zonde bij den mensch in hoogmoed, Bellarminus, de amiss. grat. et
statu pecc. III c. 4, die zich beroept op Sir. 10:13, 14, Tob. 4:13,
Rom. 5:19, August., de Gen. ad litt. XI 30. Enchir. 45. de civ. XIV 13.
Thomas, S. Th. II 2 qu. 163 enz. Krachtig zijn deze bewijzen niet;
Sirach en Tobias spreken alleen van den hoogmoed in het
algemeen, Paulus noemt de eerste zonde juist ongehoorzaamheid,
en kerkvaders en scholastici bestrijden, als ze de eerste zonde
hoogmoed noemen, vooral de opvatting, die haar in zinlijken lust laat
bestaan. De Protestanten lieten echter gewoonlijk de zonde bij Eva
reeds met den twijfel en het ongeloof aanvangen, die dan werden
gevolgd door hoogmoed en begeerlijkheid, Luther op Gen. 3.
Gerhard, Loci IX c. 2. Calv. Inst. II 1, 4. Zanchius, Op. IV 30.
Synopsis pur. theol. XIV 9 sq. Marck, Hist. Parad. III 2. M. Vitringa II
267. Terecht werd echter door Tertullianus, adv. Jud. 2 en
Augustinus, Enchir. 45, opgemerkt, dat de eerste zonde reeds
velerlei zonden in zich sloot en in beginsel eene overtreding was van
alle geboden; ze was immers ongehoorzaamheid aan God, twijfel,
ongeloof, zelfverheffing, hoogmoed, doodslag, diefstal,
begeerlijkheid enz.; en dienovereenkomstig werden er ook
verschillende gedachten, aandoeningen, lusten, bewegingen in den
mensch gewekt; verstand en wil, ziel en lichaam namen er aan deel.
Zij was eene bewuste en vrije daad, ἁμαρτια, παραβασις,
παραπτωμα, παρακοη in eigenlijken zin, Rom. 5:12v. Ofschoon
verleid, zijn de eerste menschen toch niet als onnoozele kinderen,
zonder beter te weten, ten val gebracht. Zij hebben Gods gebod met
bewustheid en vrijheid overtreden; zij wisten en wilden wat ze
deden. Verontschuldigingen komen hier niet te pas. De
omstandigheden, waaronder de eerste zonde door engelen en
menschen bedreven werd, strekken niet tot vergoelijking maar
vermeerderen de schuld. Zij werd begaan tegen Gods uitdrukkelijk
en duidelijk gebod; door een mensch die naar Gods beeld was
geschapen; in eene zaak van zeer geringe beteekenis, die schier
geen zelfverloochening vorderde; en wellicht korten tijd, nadat het
gebod ontvangen was. Ze is de bron geworden van alle
ongerechtigheden en gruwelen, van alle rampen en onheilen, van
alle krankheid en dood, die sedert in de wereld bedreven en geleden
zijn. Hinc illae lacrimae! De zonde van Adam kan geen kleinigheid
zijn; ze moet eene principieele omkeering van alle verhoudingen zijn
geweest, eene revolutie, waarbij het schepsel zich losmaakte van en
stelde tegenover God, een opstand, een val in den meest eigenlijken
zin, die voor heel de wereld beslissend was en haar leidde in eene
richting en op een weg, van God af, de goddeloosheid en het verderf
te gemoet, ineffabiliter grande peccatum, Aug. Op. imp. c. Jul. I 165.
Zoo ernstig werd in de christelijke kerk en theologie de eerste zonde
opgevat, August. de civ. XIV 11-15. XXI 12. Enchir. 26. 27. 45.
Thomas, S. Th. II 2 qu. 163 art. 3. Conc. Trid. V 1. Bellarminus. de
am. gr. et st. pecc. III c. 8-10. Scheeben, Dogm. II 594. Ned. Gel. art.
14. Heid. Cat. qu. 7. 9. Mastricht, Theol. IV 1, 15. Marck, Hist. Parad.
III 2, 10 enz.

2. De velerlei namen, welke de H. Schrift voor de zonde bezigt,

wijzen haar ontzettend karakter en hare veelzijdige ontwikkeling aan.
‎‫‏ַח ָּט את‏‬‎ heet de zonde als eene handeling, die haar doel mist en in
afdwaling van den rechten weg bestaat; ‎‫‏ָע ֶול‏‬‎ of ‎‫‏ָע ֹון‬‎‫ ‏‬duidt haar aan als
ombuiging, verdraaidheid, verkeerdheid, als afwijking van de goede
richting; ‎‫‏ֶּפ ַׁש ע‏‬‎ doet haar kennen als overtreding van de gestelde
grenzen, als verbreking van de verbondsverhouding tot God, als
afval en opstand; ‎‫‏ְׁש ָגָג ה‏‬‎ als eene verkeerde daad, die onopzettelijk,
uit vergissing is geschied; ‎‫‏ֶר ַׁש ע‏‬‎ als een goddeloos, van de wet
afwijkend, schuldig handelen en wandelen. Voorts wordt ze door
‎‫‏ָא ָׁש ם‏‬‎ geteekend als schuld, door ‎‫‏ָע ֶול‬‎‫ ‏‬als nietigheid, door ‎‫‏ָׁש ְו א‏‬‎ als
valschheid, door ‎‫‏ְנ ָב ָל ה‏‬‎als dwaasheid, door ‎‫‏ַר ע‏‬‎als een kwaad, malum,
enz. De Grieksche woorden zijn vooral ἁμαρτια, ἁμαρτημα, ἀδικια,
ἀπειθεια, ἀποστασια, παραβασις, παρακοη, παραπτωμα, ὀφειλημα,
ἀνομια, παρανομια; ze spreken voor zichzelf en beschrijven de
zonde als afwijking, onrecht, ongehoorzaamheid, overtreding, afval,
onwettelijkheid, schuld; en bovendien wordt de zondige macht in den
mensch nog door σαρξ, ψυχικος en παλαιος ἀνθρωπος en in de
wereld door κοσμος aangeduid. Het latijnsche peccatum is van
onzekere afleiding; het nederl. woord zonde, dat waarschijnlijk met
het lat. sons, d. i. nocens, samenhangt, Müller, Sünde I 114 f., is in
het christelijk spraakgebruik een door en door religieus begrip
geworden; het duidt eene overtreding aan, niet van eene
menschelijke, maar van eene Goddelijke wet; stelt den mensch in
verhouding, niet tot zijne medemenschen, tot maatschappij en staat,
maar tot God, den hemelschen Rechter; is daarom ook in vele
kringen niet geliefd en wordt dan liefst door zedelijk kwaad enz.
vervangen. Verreweg de meeste dezer namen doen de zonde
kennen als eene afwijking, overtreding van de wet. De Schrift vat de
zonde steeds op als ἀνομια, 1 Joh. 3:4; haar maatstaf is de wet
Gods. Deze wet had in verschillende tijden ook eene verschillende
gedaante. Adam verkeerde in een gansch bijzonder geval; niemand
kan na hem zondigen in de gelijkheid zijner overtreding, Rom. 5:14.
Van Adam tot Mozes was er geen positieve, door God afgekondigde
wet. De tegenwerping kan dus gemaakt worden, dat als er geen wet
is, er ook geen overtreding, zonde en dood kan zijn, Rom. 5:13,
4:15. In Rom. 5:12v. geeft Paulus daarop geen ander antwoord, dan
dat door de ééne overtreding van Adam de zonde als macht in de
wereld is ingekomen en allen beheerscht heeft en alzoo de dood tot
alle menschen is doorgegaan. De overtreding van Adam heeft allen
tot zondaren gesteld en allen den dood onderworpen. Deze invloed
van Adams overtreding sluit niet uit maar sluit in, dat alle menschen
zelf ook persoonlijk zondaren zijn. Want juist omdat door de ééne
overtreding van Adam de zonde in de menschenwereld is gaan
heerschen en allen dientengevolge ook zelf persoonlijk zondaren
waren, daarom is de dood ook tot allen doorgegaan. Meer zegt
Paulus in Rom. 5:12v. niet. Dat was daar, in dat verband, voldoende.
Maar van elders kan dit antwoord worden toegelicht en aangevuld.
Als er van Adam tot Mozes zonde en dood is geweest, Rom. 5:13,
14, dan moet er ook eene wet hebben bestaan, wel geen positieve,
die met hoorbare stem door God is afgekondigd zooals in het
paradijs en op den Sinai, maar toch wel eene wet, die ook de
menschen toen persoonlijk bond en schuldig stelde. Dat zegt Paulus
ook duidelijk in Rom. 2:12-16. De Heidenen hebben de Mozaische
wet niet, maar ze zondigen toch en gaan verloren ἀνομως, omdat zij
zichzelven eene wet zijn en hun conscientie zelve hen beschuldigt.
Er is eene openbaring Gods in de natuur beide van religieusen en
ethischen inhoud, welke genoegzaam is, om alle onschuld te
benemen, Rom. 2:18v., 1 Cor. 1:21. Terwijl God echter de Heidenen
wandelen liet op hun eigen wegen, maakte Hij aan Israel zijne
wetten en rechten op duidelijke wijze bekend. En deze wet is nu voor
Israel de maatstaf van alle zedelijk handelen. In den laatsten tijd is
dit wel bestreden, Stade, Gesch. des Volkes Israel I 1887 S. 507 f.
Clemen, Chr. Lehre v. d. Sünde I 21 f. Men meent, dat ‎‫‏חטא‏‬
oorspronkelijk slechts beteekende: in het ongelijk zijn of gesteld
worden tegenover een machtigere, Ex. 5:16, 1 Kon. 1:21, 2 Kon.
18:14; dat het daarna te kennen gaf een handelen in strijd met de
volkszede, Gen. 19:7v., 34:7, Jos. 7:15, Richt. 19:23, 20:6, 2 Sam.
13:12, 21:1-14, en dat het eerst langzamerhand eene ethische
overtreding aanduidde van de wet Gods. Door de profeten toch
kreeg Ihvh eerst een ethisch karakter; terwijl zijn toorn vroeger
dikwerf ontbrandde, zonder dat er eenige schuld was van de zijde
des menschen, 2 Sam. 16:10 en men dus zondaar worden kon,
zonder het te weten of te willen, Num. 22:34, 1 Sam. 14:43 f., kon nu
Ihvh alleen toornen over de zonde; deze bestond van nu voortaan
waarlijk in aberratio a lege divina. Deze meening wordt echter door
de feiten weersproken. Ook al zou ‎‫‏חטא‏‬‎ op de eerstgenoemde drie
plaatsen de ruimere beteekenis hebben van onrecht lijden in
juridischen zin, zonder dat er van ethische schuld sprake was, dan
zou dat nog niets bewijzen voor de stelling, dat dit het oudste en
oorspronkelijke begrip van zonde onder Israel was. Het woord
beteekent eigenlijk missen, Richt. 20:16, en kan dus naast de
ethische ook de ruimere beteekenis gehad hebben van: onrecht
lijden, in het ongelijk gesteld worden. Maar ook dat is in Ex. 5:16, 1
Kon. 1:21, 2 Kon. 18:14 nog niet het geval. In Ex. 5:16 zeggen de
Israelieten eenvoudig tot Farao: wij krijgen geen stroo en moeten
toch tichelsteenen maken, en als wij ze niet maken, worden wij toch
geslagen en krijgen wij de schuld, ‎‫ְוָח ָט את ַע ֶּמ ָך‏‬‎.‫ ‏‬In 1 Kon. 1:21 zegt
Bathseba tegen David: als gij niet beslist en Adonia koning wordt,
dan zullen wij, Bathseba en Salomo, straks de schuldigen zijn, die
door Adonia worden gedood omdat wij hem niet erkennen. En
feitelijk hebben wij toch gelijk, op grond van uw eed vs. 17. In 2 Kon.
18:14 doet Hiskia eene belijdenis van schuld, die hem in den nood
wordt afgeperst en die hij zelf later niet erkent. Voorts is het wel een
feit, dat de volkszede overal als een maatstaf van het zedelijk
handelen geldt, maar dit is volstrekt niet daarmede in strijd, dat toch
de wet Gods in laatster instantie de norma is van goed en kwaad.
Jos. 7:15 leert, hoe beide, het overtreden van het verbond en het
doen van eene dwaasheid in Israel saam kunnen vallen. De
volkszede is op zichzelve even weinig met Gods wet in strijd, als het
geweten, dat ook eene ondergeschikte, subjectieve norma is van het
zedelijk leven; altijd is zij en blijft zij, ook in de meest christelijke
maatschappij, eene norma normata; en ook in Israel is de volkszede,
b. v. van de gastvriendschap, door de wet niet vernietigd maar wel
erkend en geheiligd. Alleen, waar zij in conflict komt, moet zij voor de
wet Gods wijken. Dat nu feitelijk de volkszeden in Israel steeds met
Gods wet overeenkwamen of door haar werden gereinigd, beweert
niemand, evenmin als het geweten der Christenen naar Gods wet
reeds ten volle is geconformeerd. Vele daden der heiligen in O. en
N. T., van Noach, Abraham, Izak, Jakob, Rachel, David, Petrus enz.
zijn daarom ook beslist te veroordeelen en niet, omdat ze geloovigen
waren, met de Rabbijnen te verontschuldigen. Het wezen der zonde
wordt ten slotte niet bepaald door wat onder Israel, in de gemeente,
al of niet gebruikelijk is, maar door de wet Gods. En dit is het
standpunt, dat de H. Schrift steeds inneemt. De zonde moge groot of
klein zijn, zij is altijd slechts daarom zonde, wijl zij tegen God en
zijne wet ingaat, Gen. 13:13, 20:6, 39:9, Ex. 10:16, 32:33, 1 Sam.
7:6, 14:33, 2 Sam. 12:13, Ps. 51:6, Jes. 42:24, Jer. 14:7, 20 enz. Het
komt altijd aan op des Heeren wil en woord en wet, op zijne rechten
en inzettingen, op zijne geboden en ordinantiën; God te kennen en
te dienen is de allesomvattende roeping van Israel, en daaraan
wordt het door de profeten getoetst. En evenzoo is het in het N. T.
Jezus stelt niemand minder dan God zelven tot voorbeeld, Mt. 5:48,
en beoordeelt alles naar zijne wet, Mt. 19:17-19, Mk. 10:17-19, Luk.
18:18-20. Deze is voor Hem de inhoud van wet en profeten, en Hij
handhaaft haar ten volle, zonder er iets af te doen, Mt. 5:17-19, 23v.,
6:16v., 21:12v., 23:3, 23, 24:20 en beoordeelt juist van uit dat
standpunt de menschelijke inzettingen, Mt. 5:20v, 15:2v., Mk. 2:23v.,
7:8, 13 enz. In Mt. 7:12 stelt hij dan ook geen nieuw ethisch principe
maar geeft hij niets anders dan eene practische interpretatie van het
gebod der naastenliefde. De Mozaische wet heeft wel in Christus
haar doel en haar einde bereikt, Rom. 10:4, Gal. 3:24, en de
geloovige is vrij van haar en staat in de genade, Rom. 6:14, 7:4,
10:4, Gal. 2:19, 3:15v., 5:18, maar deze vrijheid heft de wet toch niet
op doch bevestigt haar, Rom. 3:31; haar recht wordt juist vervuld in
dengene, die wandelt naar den Geest, Rom. 8:4. Die Geest immers
vernieuwt ons en leert ons onderzoeken en kennen en doen, wat
Gods wil is, Rom. 12:2, Ef. 5:10, Phil. 1:10. Die wil is kenbaar uit het
O. Test., Rom. 13:8-10, 15:4, 1 Cor. 1:31, 10:11, 14:34, 2 Cor. 9:9,
10:17, Gal. 5:14, is in Christus openbaar, 1 Cor. 11:1, 2 Cor. 3:18,
8:9, 10:1, Phil. 2:5, 1 Thess. 1:6, 4:2, 1 Thess. 2:21, en vindt ook in
het eigen geweten weerklank, 1 Cor. 8:7, 10:25, 2 Cor. 1:12; zij
wordt geschreven in het hart der geloovigen, Hebr. 8:10, 10:9.
Overal in de Schrift is het wezen der zonde ἀνομια, 1 Joh. 3:4,
afwijking van den wil Gods, geopenbaard aan Adam of Mozes of
Christus of aan de gemeente door den H. Geest. Clemen, Die chr.
Lehre v. d. Sünde I 20-42. Schultz, Altt, Theol.4 659 f. Smend, Altt.
Religionsgesch. 106 f. 119 f. 192 f. enz.

3. Door deze leer der Schrift werd de opvatting der zonde in de

christelijke theologie bepaald. Eenerzijds kon daarom die meening
niet aangenomen worden, welke het wezen der zonde zocht in
eenige substantie en ze daarom herleidde tot een principe van toorn
in God (Böhme), of tot eene booze macht naast God (Mani), of tot
eene of andere stof, zooals de ὑλη, de σαρξ (Plato, de Joden,
Flacius, enz.). En andererzijds was ook de theorie te verwerpen, dat
de zonde bestond in een nog-niet-zijn, dat ze behoorde tot de
noodzakelijke tegenstellingen in het leven en van nature eigen was
aan den eindigen, zichzelf ontwikkelenden, naar volmaaktheid
strevenden mensch (Spinoza, Hegel enz.), cf. boven bl. 45v.
Daartegenover hield de christelijke theologie van den beginne af
staande, dat de zonde geen substantie was. Er is hierover nooit
verschil of strijd geweest. Petavius haalt tal van kerkvaders aan, die
allen in dit opzicht hetzelfde leeren. Er was hier ook geen twijfel of
aarzeling mogelijk. Indien de zonde eene substantie ware, zou er
een wezen zijn, dat God niet tot auteur had of God zou ook haar
oorzaak zijn. De zonde moest dus opgevat en omschreven als οὐτε
ὀν οὐτε ἐν τοις ουσιν, als eene ἐλλειψις, στερησις, ἀναχωρησις του
ἀγαθου, als ἀσθενεια, ἀσυμμετρια, evenals blindheid eene berooving
is van het gezicht, Athan. c. Gent. 3 sq. Greg. Nyss., Catech. c. 5.
Dionysius, de div. nom. c. 4. Damasc., de fide orthod. II c. 30. In het
westen heeft vooral Augustinus dit privatief karakter der zonde in het
licht gesteld en tegenover de Manicheën gehandhaafd, cf. Nirschl,
Ursprung und Wesen des Bösen nach der Lehre des H. Aug.
Regensburg 1854. Alle zijn is in zichzelve goed. Omnis natura, in
quantum natura est, bona est. Het kwade kan daarom slechts zijn
aan het goede, non potest esse ullum malum nisi in aliquo bono,
quia non potest esse nisi in aliqua natura. Het is zelfs nulla natura,
maar amissio, privatio, corruptio boni, vitium, defectus naturae;
bonum minui, malum est. de civ. XI 17. 22. Enchir. 11-13 c. Jul. I c. 3.
enz. Het heeft daarom ook geen causa efficiens, maar alleen
deficiens, de civ. XII 7. 9. En evenzoo werd door de scholastici, door
de Roomsche, Luth. en Geref. godgeleerden het begrip der zonde in
metaphysischen zin tot dat der privatio herleid, cf. Lombardus, Sent.
II dist. 34 en 35 en comm. van Thomas, Bonaventura, enz., voorts
Thomas, S. Th. I qu. 48. 49. c. Gent. III 7 sq. Bonav., Brevil III 1.
Bellarminus, de amiss. gr. et stat. pecc. I c. 1. II c. 18. V c. 1.
Becanus, Theol. schol. II 1 tract. 1 cap. 5 qu. 1. Melanchton, Loc. de
peccato. Gerhard, Loc. X c. 1. Quenstedt, Theol. II p. 50. Hollaz, Ex.
theol. 501. Buddeus, Inst. theol. p. 546. Zanchius, Op. IV 6 sq.
Polanus, Synt. Theol. p. 335. Ursinus, Tract. Theol. 1584 p. 199.
Hoornbeek, Theol. practica IV c. 1. Turretinus, Theol. El. loc. IX enz.
Aan de andere zijde is het echter duidelijk, dat de zonde door het
begrip privatio niet voldoende omschreven is. Zij is toch geen bloot
gemis, niet een louter niet-zijn; maar zij is een werkzaam en
verdervend beginsel, eene ontbindende, verwoestende macht. De
Schrift spreekt van haar meestal in zeer positieven zin als
overtreding, verkeerdheid, ongehoorzaamheid, onwettelijkheid enz.,
en schrijft haar de werkzaamheid van getuigen, heerschen,
bewegen, bedenken, strijden toe enz. Verschillende theologen
hebben daarom ook de onderscheiding tusschen materia en forma in
de zonde verworpen. Zij beriepen er zich b. v. op, dat
Godsbelastering, afgoderij, haat tegen God enz. als daden zondig
waren en nooit eene goede forma konden aannemen, en zij
omschreven de zonde daarom liever als eene entitas quaedam
realis ac positiva, als een reale quid, Cajetanus bij Becanus t. a. p.
Theol. Wirceb. VII 15. Vitringa Sr., Observ. Sacr. VI c. 15. 16. M.
Vitringa, II 288-290 en voorts ook Arminius, Op. 1629 p. 730.
Limborch, Theol. Chr. V 4. 2. Strauss, Gl. II 360 f. Müller, Sünde I
396-409. Shedd, Dogm. Theol. I 371. Tot recht verstand zij hierbij
echter het volgende opgemerkt. 1o. Als de meeste christelijke
theologen de zonde als privatio opvatten, hadden zij daarmede
allereerst de bestrijding van het manicheisme op het oog. In zoover
is hunne meening ook volkomen juist en zonder voorbehoud te
aanvaarden. De zonde is geen substantie, noch geestelijke noch
stoffelijke, want dan zou zij God tot oorzaak hebben, of God zou niet
de Schepper aller dingen zijn. 2o. Ook het wezen der zonde zelve
verbiedt haar als een substantie te denken. Want zonde is geen
physisch maar een ethisch verschijnsel. Zij is een toestand en een
daad van den wil en heeft in dezen haar oorzaak; zij is niet met de
schepping gegeven maar na de schepping door ongehoorzaamheid
ontstaan. Zij kan dus geen materia zijn, welke eeuwig bestond of in
den tijd door God werd geschapen, maar heeft alleen realiteit als
deformatie van het zijnde; in zoover kan zij zelfs een οὐκ ὀν, een
nihilum heeten. 3o. Daarmede is dan geenszins bedoeld, dat de
zonde een nihil negativum is. Veeleer is de pantheistische opvatting
van de zonde als eene zuivere negatie, als een nog-niet-zijn, als een
noodzakelijk moment in de ontwikkeling van een eindig en beperkt
wezen, als een waan der gedachte, door de christelijke theologie ten
allen tijde zoo beslist mogelijk bestreden. De zonde was geen mera
negatio maar eene privatio. Het onderscheid tusschen beide bestaat
daarin, dat negatie alleen gemis (carere), privatie daarentegen
gebrek (egere) aanduidt; dat een steen niet ziet, is eene negatie, dat
een mensch niet ziet, is eene privatie, wijl het zien tot de
hoedanigheden van een mensch behoort. Zonde is eene berooving
van die zedelijke volmaaktheid, welke de mensch behoorde te
bezitten. 4o. De omschrijving der zonde als privatio sluit daarom in
het minst niet uit, dat zij ook, van andere zijde beschouwd, eene
actio is. Zij is geen οὐσια, substantia, res, maar wel in hare
berooving van het goede eene ἐνεργεια, gelijk het hinken van den
kreupele geen niet-loopen maar een verkeerd loopen is. Augustinus,
die de zonde telkens als eene privatio beschrijft, noemt ze daarom
eene transgressio legis, de cons. Ev. II c. 4, voluntas retinendi vel
consequendi quod justitia vetat, de duab. an. c. Man. I. c. 11.
Retract. I 11, een deficere, dat een tendere insluit, deficere autem
non jam nihil est sed ad nihilum tendere, c. Secund. Man. c. 11,
inclinatio ab eo quod magis est ad id, quod minus est, ib. c. 12, cf.
de lib. arb. I 16 II 19, en geeft dan van de zonde deze definitie:
peccatum est factum vel dictum vel concupitum aliquid contra
aeternam legem; lex vero aeterna est ratio divina vel voluntas Dei,
ordinem naturalem conservari jubens, perturbari vetans, c. Faust.
Man. XXII 27. Deze definitie werd later door allen overgenomen,
Lombardus, Sent. II dist. 135. Thomas, S. Theol. II 1 qu. 71 art. 6;
zonde is geen mera of pura privatio sed actus debito ordine privatus,
ib. qu. 72 art. 1 ad 2. qu. 75 art. 1 ad 1, eene privatio cum positiva
qualitute et actione, eene actuosa privatio, Zanchius, Op. IV p. 1 sq.
Polanus, Synt. Theol. VI 3. Heidegger, Corp. Theol. X 8. Bucanus,
Inst. Theol. XV 7. Synopsis pur. theol. XVI 4-9 enz.

4. Op grond der H. Schrift en in overeenstemming met de

belijdenis des christelijken geloofs kan daarom het wezen der zonde
op de volgende wijze nader worden omschreven en toegelicht. 1o.
Wijl de zonde geen physische of metaphysische maar eene ethische
tegenstelling van het goede is, heeft zij geen eigen, zelfstandig, van
het zijn der dingen onafhankelijk bestaan. Wie de zonde voor eene
substantie houdt, schijnt wel diep doordrongen van haar macht en
beteekenis, maar verzwakt ze feitelijk, brengt ze van ethisch op
physisch terrein over, en maakt den strijd tusschen goed en kwaad
tot eene worsteling tusschen licht en duisternis, geest en stof, een
goeden en een kwaden God, die nimmer eindigt en alle verlossing
van de zonde onmogelijk maakt. Daarom is het van het hoogste
belang, om de zonde altijd te beschouwen als een ethisch
verschijnsel. De straffen en gevolgen der zonde breiden zeer zeker
ook over het physisch terrein zich uit, maar de zonde zelve is en blijft
van ethischen aard. Dan kan zij ook geen eigen principe en geen
zelfstandig bestaan hebben; zij is ontstaan na en bestaat slechts
door en aan het goede. Het kwade is wel van het goede afhankelijk,
maar niet omgekeerd. Τῳ μεν γαρ ἐσθλῳ ἐγχωρει κακῳ γενεσθαι,
Plato, Protag. p. 344. Το βελτιον και το τιμιωτερον προτερον εἰναι τῃ
φυσει δοκει, Arist., Categ. c. 9. Bonum (verum) index sui et mali
(falsi). Het goede is door vrije keus de oorzaak van het kwade
geweest, en blijft er het substraat van. Gevallen engelen en
menschen zijn en blijven als schepselen goed, en bestaan van
oogenblik tot oogenblik alleen door en in en tot God. En evenals in
haar oorsprong en in haar zijn, blijft de zonde ook in haar werken en
strijden van het goede afhankelijk. Zij vermag alleen iets met en door
middel van de krachten en gaven, die door God geschonken zijn.
Satan is daarom terecht de simia Dei genoemd; als God eene kerk
sticht, bouwt hij eene kapel; tegenover een waren, wekt hij een
valschen profeet; tegenover den Christus stelt hij den antichrist.
Zelfs kan eene rooversbende alleen bestaan, als zij in eigen kring
het recht eerbiedigt. Een leugenaar tooit zich met den schijn der
waarheid. Een zondaar jaagt het kwade na sub ratione boni. Satan
verschijnt als een engel des lichts. De zonde is altijd gedoemd, om in
haar werking en verschijning haars ondanks te leenen van de deugd.
Zij ligt onder de onverbrekelijke fataliteit, om naar vernietiging van al
het goede strevende, tegelijk ook te werken aan haar eigen dood. Zij
is een parasiet van het goede. 2o. Ofschoon de zonde alzoo
krachtens haar aard streeft naar het niet-zijn, heeft zij toch over het
zijn zelf geene macht. Zij kan niet scheppen, ze kan ook niet
vernietigen. Door de zonde is daarom noch het wezen der engelen,
noch dat der menschen, noch dat der natuur veranderd. Het zijn
wezenlijk dezelfde schepselen vóór en na den val, met dezelfde
substantie, dezelfde vermogens, dezelfde krachten. Vóór en na den
val heeft de mensch ziel en lichaam, verstand en wil, aandoeningen
en hartstochten. Wat veranderd is, is niet de substantie, de materia,
maar de forma, waarin deze zich vertoont, de richting waarin zij
werkt. Met dezelfde kracht der liefde, waarmede de mensch
oorspronkelijk God liefhad, mint hij nu het schepsel. Hetzelfde
verstand, waarmede hij vroeger bedacht de dingen die boven zijn,
doet hem nu met bewonderenswaardige scherpzinnigheid en
diepzinnigheid de leugen als waarheid huldigen. Met dezelfde
vrijheid, waarmede hij eertijds God diende, dient hij nu de wereld.
Substantieel is er door de zonde niets uit den mensch weggenomen
en niets in hem ingebracht. Het is dezelfde mensch, maar nu
wandelend, niet naar God heen, maar van God af, het verderf te
gemoet. Peccatum non est essentia aliqua sed defectus et
corruptela, qua scilicet corrumpitur modus, species et ordo,
Bonaventura, Brevil. III 1. 3o. Ook het verlies van het beeld Gods en
de verbreking van het werkverbond is met deze opvatting der zonde
niet in strijd. Het beeld Gods toch, ofschoon geen donum
superadditum en den mensch van nature eigen, was geen
substantia maar een accidens; d. w. z. de mensch, gelijk hij
geschapen werd, was zoo ingericht, dat zijne natuur vanzelve,
zonder bovennatuurlijke genade, echter niet zonder Gods goede
voorzienigheid, die kennis en heiligheid en gerechtigheid meebracht
en openbaarde, welke de voornaamste inhoud van het beeld Gods
waren. Toen de mensch echter viel, heeft hij niets substantieels
verloren, geen vermogen zelfs en geen kracht, maar wijl de zonde
de forma van heel zijne natuur, van al zijne vermogens en krachten
heeft geschonden, werken deze alle nu zoo, dat ze niet meer de
kennisse Gods en de gerechtigheid maar juist het tegendeel
voortbrengen. De mensch heeft dus door den val niet maar een
onwezenlijk toevoegsel aan zijne natuur, een donum superadditum,
verloren, terwijl overigens zijne natuur intact is gebleven; hij is ook
geen duivel geworden, die voor herschepping onvatbaar nooit meer
de trekken van het beeld Gods vertoonen kan; maar terwijl hij
wezenlijk en substantieel dezelfde, d. i. mensch, gebleven is en alle
menschelijke bestanddeelen, vermogens en krachten behouden
heeft, is van die alle de forma, de natuur en aard, de gezindheid en
richting zoo veranderd, dat zij nu, in plaats van Gods wil, de wet des
vleesches volbrengen. Het beeld is veranderd in eene caricatuur. En
evenzoo is het foedus operum verbroken, in zoover door de werken
der wet geen vleesch meer gerechtvaardigd kan worden, Rom. 3:20,
Gal. 3:2, maar het is zoo weinig vernietigd en afgeschaft, dat de wet
van dat foedus operum nog ieder mensch tot volstrekte
gehoorzaamheid verplicht, dat zij in het genadeverbond door
Christus opgenomen en volkomen vervuld is, en nu voor de
geloovigen nog een regel der dankbaarheid blijft. 4o. Afgedacht van
het goede substraat, waardoor de zonde gedragen wordt en
waaraan zij zich vasthoudt, kan deze daarom nooit anders dan als
privatio boni omschreven worden. Men bedenke echter wel, dat dan
van de zonde abstractive en metaphysice gesproken wordt. En zoo
beschreven, heeft ze geen zijn, is ze geen substantie, maar een
nihil, niets positiefs maar alleen iets privatiefs; wie haar anders wilde
opvatten, zou daardoor in manicheeschen zin het kwade zelfstandig
en eeuwig maken en tegen het summum bonum een summum
malum overstellen. Het bovengenoemde bezwaar, tegen de bepaling
der zonde als privatio ingebracht, berust dan ook eigenlijk op
misverstand. Abstractive en metaphysice is de zonde eene privatio
en kan en mag ze op christelijk standpunt niet anders worden
opgevat. Maar concretive komt ze niet anders voor dan als
verkeerde forma van een bepaalden toestand of handeling en maakt
dien toestand of die handeling zelve zondig, evenals eene ziekte,
zonder eene substantie te wezen, toch het lichaam krank maakt. In
concreto is de zonde dus altijd in en aan iets, dat substantieel goed
is. Het moge moeilijk zijn, om in bepaalde gevallen van zonde
tusschen materia en forma te onderscheiden, en nog veel moeilijker,
om ze te scheiden, evenals op een gegeven oogenblik de warmte
van de kachel niet te scheiden is. Toch, evenmin als daarom de
kachel de warmte zelve is, is het zijn of de daad, waaraan de zonde
zich hecht, met de zonde te vereenzelvigen. Zelfs in de
Godslastering is de kracht, noodig om haar te uiten en de taal
waarvan zij gebruik maakt, op zichzelve goed; wat deze en wat alle
dingen verkeerd en zondig maakt, dat is de deformitas, de aberratio
a lege divina. 5o. Want maatstaf der zonde is Gods wet alleen. Wat
zonde is, wordt ter laatste instantie bepaald, niet door de kerk
(Rome) of den staat (Hobbes,) niet door de onafhankelijke zedewet
(Grotius) of het autonome ik (Kant), niet door de menschheid
(Comte) of de sociale instincten (Darwin), maar enkel en alleen door
de wet Gods. Het begrip zonde drukt dit duidelijk uit en wordt
daarom vermeden door allen, die geen hoogeren maatstaf voor het
zedelijk kwaad kennen dan een menschelijken. God is ook de
eenige, die volstrekt gezag over ons heeft en ons in de conscientie
binden en verplichten kan. Nu gaf Hij vele wetten voor de
onderscheidene schepselen, wetten voor zon en maan, hemel en
aarde, plant en dier, mensch en engel; en, wat den mensch aangaat,
wederom onderscheidene wetten voor zijn lichamelijk, geestelijk,
intellectueel, aesthetisch leven enz., eigen wetten ook voor zijn
zedelijk leven. Nader is het nu deze zedewet, welke de maatstaf
aller zonde is. Overtreding van alle andere wetten, logische,
aesthetische, sociale, politieke, kerkelijke enz., is slechts dan en in
zoover zonde, als ze direct of indirect eene overtreding van de
zedewet, van het gebod Gods insluit. Deze zedewet, die den
mensch bij zijne schepping werd ingeplant, na den val in zijne
conscientie nawerkt, door God op den Sinai werd afgekondigd en
ook voor de geloovigen regel des levens blijft, is de kenbron der
zonde, Rom. 3:20, 4:14, 5:20, 7:7. Wel is zeer zeker het christelijk
geloof noodig, om de zonde recht te leeren kennen, en wel wordt
ons in het evangelie als bij wijze van tegenstelling de aard en de
grootte der zonde openbaar, Schleiermacher, Chr. Gl. § 112 5.
Ritschl, Rechtf. u. Vers. III2 384 f. Kaftan. Wesen der chr. Relig. 250,
maar dat alles doet toch niets daarvan af, dat niet het evangelie
maar de wet de Erkenntnissgrund der zonde is. In die zedewet komt
God tot ons niet alleen als Vader met vaderlijke vermaningen en
kastijdingen, maar, gelijk de kategorische imperatief bij een ieder
getuigt, ook als Wetgever en Rechter met bevelen en straffen.
Ofschoon niet dwingend als de logische en niet onverbreekbaar als
de natuurwetten, gaat de zedewet in majesteit alle andere te boven;
zij richt zich tot den wil, ademt in de vrijheid, verlangt vervulling uit
liefde; en toch wendt zij zich tot alle menschen zonder onderscheid,
komt tot hen in alle omstandigheden, breidt zich uit over hun
woorden en daden niet alleen maar ook over hun toestand, weet van
geen toegeven en van geene vergoelijking, spreekt onverbiddelijk,
kategorisch, met souverein gezag en wreekt elke van hare
overtredingen in strenge straf. Zij is een decretum Numinis,
openbaring van Gods wil, uitdrukking van zijn wezen. 6o. Uit dit
karakter der zedewet volgt, dat de zonde alleen wonen kan in een
redelijk schepsel. De redelooze natuur kan lijden onder de gevolgen
der zonde, maar zonde valt er alleen in een wezen, met verstand en
wil begaafd. Nader bepaald, is de wil het eigenlijk subject, το
δεικτικον van de zonde. De zedewet is juist de wet voor den wil van
het schepsel; het zedelijk goede is van dien aard, dat het alleen door
den wil kan worden gerealiseerd. Wat volstrekt en beslist buiten
elken invloed van den wil omgaat, kan geen zonde zijn. In dien zin
zeide Augustinus terecht: adeo peccatum voluntarium est malum ut
nullo modo sit peccatum, si non sit voluntarium, de vera relig. 14.
Maar dit woord is voor misverstand vatbaar. En toen de Pelagianen
er gebruik van maakten ten bewijze, dat zonde nooit anders dan in
eene wilsdaad kan bestaan, gaf Augustinus er later eene zoodanige
verklaring van, dat onwetendheids-, begeerlijkheids- en erfzonde er
niet door werden uitgesloten, Retract. I 13; en elders zegt hij
uitdrukkelijk, dat de wet ook de motus concupiscentiae involuntarios
verbiedt, de spir. et lit. c. 36. de nupt. I 17. 23. c. Jul. IV c. 2. VI c. 8.
de civ. XIV 10. Daarmede in overeenstemming leerden nog vele
scholastici, dat de zonde wel in den wil haar laatste oorzaak had, en
dus in dien zin wel altijd zetelde in den wil, maar dan toch niet in
voluntate sicut in subjecto sed sicut in causa, Thomas, Sent. II dist.
24 qu. 3 art. 2 ad 2. S. Theol. II 1 qu. 74 art. 2. II 2 qu. 10 art. 2;
zonde kan daarom ook zetelen in de sensualitas, al is zij dan ook
slechts een peccatum veniale, Lombardus, Sent. II dist. 24, 8.
Thomas, S. Theol. II 1 qu. 74 art. 3. Bonaventura, Brevil. III c. 8
Sent. II dist. 24 pars. 2 art. 2 qu. 2. Maar verschillende redenen
brachten allengs wijziging in deze leer. De concupiscentia was een
onduidelijk begrip; ze kon evengoed in bonam als in malam partem
worden verstaan, wijl vele natuurlijke, vanzelf in ons opkomende
begeerten, zooals bijv. van den hongerige naar spijze, toch geen
zonde zijn; Augustinus sprak daarom van de concupiscentia somtijds
zoo, dat ze geen zonde was en niet schaden kon, indien ze maar
niet in strijd met de wet werd ingewilligd, c. Jul. VI 5. de Gen. c.
Manich. II 14 enz. Voorts ging de scholastiek allengs onderscheiden
tusschen motus primo-primi, secundo-primi en plane deliberati, d. i.
tusschen zulke gedachten en begeerten, die vóór alle toestemming
van den wil, geheel onwillekeurig in ons opstijgen en in het geheel
geen zonde zijn; zulke, waartegen de wil zich wel verzet maar
waardoor hij overmand wordt en die vergefelijke zonden zijn; en
zulke, waarin de wil bewust en ten volle toestemt en die doodzonden
zijn. En daarbij kwam dan nog, dat de erfzonde steeds zwakker
opgevat en als door den doop geheel tenietgedaan beschouwd
werd; wat er overbleef, de concupiscentia, was zelf geen zonde
maar kon alleen aanleiding tot zondigen worden. Zoo stelde Rome
dan ook vast, dat schuld en smet der erfzonde door den doop geheel
worden weggenomen, dat de concupiscentia wel blijft maar hun niet
schaadt, die haar niet inwilligen, en alleen zonde heeten kan, quia ex
peccato est et ad peccatum inclinat, Trid. V 5, en voorts Cat. Rom. II
2, 7. Becanus, Theol. schol. II 1519 p. 145-150. Sylvius, Comm. in
totam primam sec. S. Thomae, ed. 4 II p. 336 sq. Bellarminus, de
amiss. gr. et statu pecc. I 1. V 520. Daelman, Theol. II 1759 p. 174
sq. Dens, Theol. I 1828 p. 314 sq. Kleutgen, Theol. d. Vorz. II 644.
De Hervorming trad daartegen op en beweerde, dat ook onreine
gedachten en begeerten, die vóór en zonder onzen wil in ons
opstijgen, zonde zijn; zij bedoelde daarmede niet, dat alle begeeren
in psychologischen en philosophischen zin zonde was, maar wel, dat
de concupiscentia in Schriftuurlijke en theologische beteekenis, ons
schuldig maakte voor God. En hierin had ze ongetwijfeld gelijk. Want
zeker is de zonde begonnen met eene bewuste en vrije wilsdaad.
Maar die eerste zondige daad is niet spoorloos aan ons
voorbijgegaan, zij heeft heel de menschelijke natuur bedorven en
een toestand nagelaten, die in alle opzichten in strijd is met de wet
Gods. Al ontstond de zonde dus door den wil, zij bestaat nu feitelijk
wel buiten den wil en heeft haar zetel ook in alle andere vermogens
en krachten van den mensch, in ziel en lichaam, in lager en hooger
ken- en begeervermogen, Gen. 6:3, 8:21, Ex. 20:17, Ps. 19:13, 51:7,
Jer. 17:9, Mt. 5:28, Mk. 7:21, Rom. 7:7, 15-17, 8:7, Gal. 5:7 enz.
Sine voluntate non potest esse peccatum, quia sine voluntate non
potest existere ut sit; sine autem voluntate potest esse, quia sine
voluntate potest manere quod existit, Aug. bij Dorner, Augustinus
129. Luthersche en Gereformeerde theologen bestreden daarom
gewoonlijk de stelling, dat alle peccatum voluntarium was.
Daarmede bedoelden zij echter geenszins, dat er ook zonde kon
zijn, die geheel en volstrekt buiten het wilvermogen omging. Alleen
komt het er op aan, om van de natuur en werking van den wil zich
eene juiste voorstelling te vormen. De wil is n.l. volstrekt niet het
gansche begeervermogen, maar daarvan slechts eene bijzondere
kracht en werkzaamheid, cf. mijne Beginselen der Psychologie 1897
bl. 166v. De wil in dezen engeren zin gaat slechts aan de dadelijke
zonden vooraf, gelijk Jak. 1:15 daarvan spreekt, maar volstrekt niet
aan de toestands- en onwillekeurige zonden. Indien het voluntarium
in dezen zin een noodzakelijk element der zonde ware, zouden niet
alleen alle onreine gedachten en begeerten ophouden zonde te
wezen, maar zouden met de leus tout comprendre serait tout
pardonner ook schier alle dadelijke zonden te verontschuldigen zijn.
Ten einde de onschuld der concupiscentia te kunnen handhaven,
kwam Bellarminus dan ook reeds tot de verklaring: non omne quod
repugnat legi peccatum est, de motus involuntarii zijn wel in strijd
met de wet maar toch geen zonden, de amiss. gr. et st. pecc. V 10.
Maar al is het, dat het voluntarium in dezen engen zin niet steeds het
begrip der zonde mede constitueert, toch gaan daarom de
toestands- en de onwillekeurige zonden niet geheel buiten den wil
om; er is niet alleen eene voluntas antecedens, maar ook eene
voluntas concomitans, consequens, approbans; de wil keurt later in
sterker of zwakker graad de zondigheid van onze natuur, van onze
gedachten goed en schept er behagen in. En ook wanneer later de
wil, door de rede voorgelicht, zich daartegen verzet, of de
wedergeborene met Paulus getuigen kan, dat hij het kwade, dat hij
doet, niet wil, dan wordt daardoor zeker de graad der zonde
verminderd, maar niet de natuur der zonde bepaald. Want deze
heeft haar maatstaf alleen in Gods wet; Paulus noemt hetgeen hij
niet wil maar toch feitelijk doet, wel terdege zonde en stemt de wet
toe, dat zij goed is. Ook dan echter gaat zelfs de zonde, die
bedreven wordt zonder gewild te zijn, niet geheel buiten den wil om.
Want zeer zeker kan Paulus zeggen: ik doe hetzelve niet meer maar
de zonde die in mij woont, en alzoo eene tegenstelling maken
tusschen zijn herboren ik en zijn onherboren vleesch, maar terecht
heeft Augustinus deze woorden reeds aldus verklaard: etsi
concupiscentiae non consentio, etsi post concupiscentias meas non
eo, tamen adhuc concupisco et utique etiam in ipsa parte ego sum.
Non enim ego alius in mente et alius in carne. Sed quid igitur ipse
ego? Quia ego in mente, ego in carne. Non enim duae naturae
contrariae sed ex utroque unus homo, quia unus deus a quo factus
est homo, de verbis apost. serm. 5. Het is toch niet een ander
wezen, dat in het vleesch de zonde doet, en een ander, dat ze toch
niet wil. Maar het is beide malen dezelfde mensch, die eenerzijds in
de concupiscentia op onreine wijze naar het verbodene jaagt en toch
andererzijds in het diepst van zijn wil er zich van afwendt en er tegen
strijdt. En daarom, wijl de mensch, ook de wedergeborene zoolang
hij in het vleesch is, altijd in zwakker of sterker mate nog het
verbodene begeert, al is het, dat hij met zijn wil in enger zin
daartegen ingaat, daarom kan gezegd worden, dat alle zonde toch in
den diepsten grond vrijwillig is. Er is niemand of niets, dat den
zondaar dwingt om de zonde te dienen. De zonde zetelt niet buiten
hem maar in hem en heeft zijn denken en begeeren in haar richting
geleid. Zij is zijne zonde, inzoover hij ze, door middel van zijne
verschillende vermogens en krachten tot de zijne gemaakt heeft. Cf.
Melanchton, Apol. Conf. art. 2. Loci C. de peccato. Form. Conc. II 1.
Gerhard, Loc. X c. 6 en 11. Quenstedt, Theol. II 60. 92. 139. Hollaz
p. 501. 525. Calvijn, Iust. II 1. III 3. IV 15, 10. 11. Zanchius, Op. IV 56
sq. Beza, Tract. II 345. Polanus, Synt. p. 336, Martyr, L. C. 70.
Turretinus, Theol. El. IX qu. 2. XI qu. 21. Mastricht IV 2, 22.
Burmannus, Synopsis II 7, 9. C. Vitringa, Observ. Sacr. I 563. M.
Vitringa II 293. Moor III 132. Vele Comm. op Ex. 20:17, Rom. 7:7,
Gal. 5:16, Heid. Cat, Vr. 113 enz. Shedd, Dogm. Theol. II 131. 202.
Müller, Sünde I5 251 f. Mijne Beginselen der Psychol. 145-148. Zoo
blijkt dan eindelijk 7o de zonde een onbegrijpelijk raadsel te zijn. Wij
weten niet vanwaar ze is, noch wat zij is. Zij is er en heeft geen recht
van bestaan. Zij bestaat en niemand verklaart haar oorsprong. Zij is
zelve zonder motief in de wereld gekomen en is toch het motief voor
alle denken en handelen der menschen geworden. Zij is abstract
beschouwd, niets dan eene privatie en is toch in concreto eene
macht, die allen en alles beheerscht. Zij heeft geen eigen,
zelfstandig principe en is toch een beginsel, dat heel de schepping
verwoest. Zij leeft van het goede en bestrijdt het tot vernietiging toe.
Zij is niets en heeft niets en kan niets zonder de wezens en
krachten, welke God heeft geschapen, en organiseert deze toch alle
tot den opstand tegen Hem. Zij bestrijdt met wat Godes is alwat
Godes is. Zij is de wil van het zwakke, eindige schepsel in verzet
tegen den Schepper; de afhankelijkheid, in vijandschap tegen den
Onafhankelijke en zelve naar onafhankelijkheid jagend; het
bestandlooze worden in worsteling met den eeuwiglijk Zijnde; de
grootste tegenspraak, door God in zijne schepping geduld en door
Hem in den weg van recht en gerechtigheid tot een instrument voor
zijne glorie gebruikt. Cf. Voorts over het wezen der zonde: Tholuck,
Die Lehre v. d. Sünde u. vom Versöhner8 1862. Müller, Sünde5 1867.
Weiszäcker, Zu der Lehre v. Wesen der Sünde, Jahrb. f. d. Theol.
1856 S. 131-195. Krabbe, Die Lehre v. d. Sünde u. v. Tode 1836.
Vilmar, Theol. Moral I 143 f. Philippi, Kirchl. Gl. III. Thomasius,
Christi Person und Werk I3 181 f. Dorner, Gl. II 4 f. Frank, Syst. d.
chr. Wahrheit I2 417 f. Nitzsch, Ev. Dogm. 287 f. Clemen, Die chr.
Lehre v. d. Sünde I Die biblische Lehre 1897. Walther, Das Wesen
der Sünde, Neue Kirchl. Zeits. April 1898 S. 284-325 enz.

5. Ofschoon de zonde altijd één is in beginsel en wezen en

steeds in ἀνομια bestaat, zijn er in hare openbaringen en werkingen
zeer verschillende graden. Allereerst is er een groot onderscheid
tusschen de duivelsche en de menschelijke zonde. In het Oude Test.
vinden wij nog geen ontwikkelde daemonologie. Dat er in Gen. 3
eene booze, geestelijke macht optreedt, weten wij eerst uit het N. T.;
de ‎‫‏ְׂש ִע יִר ם‏‬‎, Lev. 17:7, 2 Chron. 11:15, Jes. 13:21, 34:14, ‎‫‏ֵׁש ִד ים‏‬‎, Deut.
32:17, Ps. 106:27, ‎‫‏ִל יִל ית‏‬‎, Jes. 34:14, en ‎‫‏ֲעלּוָק ה‏‬‎. Spr. 30:15 zijn zeker
niet als elementen der openbaring te beschouwen; en dat er bij
‎‫‏ֲעָזאֵז ל‏‬‎, Lev. 16, aan een boozen geest moet worden gedacht, is
onbewijsbaar. Van booze geesten is er alleen sprake 1 Sam. 16:14-
23 en 1 Kon. 22:19v., en van Satan in Job 1, 1 Chr. 21:1, Zach. 3.
De scheiding tusschen goede en kwade engelen is nog niet
voltrokken; de booze geest gaat nog van God uit, Satan bevindt zich
nog onder de zonen Gods; eerst langzamerhand wordt de
tegenstelling scherper. Het woord satan beteekent wederpartijder en
kan op zichzelf een goeden zin hebben; het komt voor van
menschelijke tegenstanders, 1 Sam. 29:4, 1 Kon. 5:4, 11:14, 23:25,
van hindernissen op den weg, 2 Sam. 19:23, van een menschelijk
aanklager, Ps. 109:6, 20, 29, zelfs van den Malak Ihvh, die Bileam in
den weg treedt, Num. 22:22, 32. Maar toch wordt Satan in het O. T.
al gedacht als een wezen, dat vijandig tegen God en zijn volk