‘None of us are exempt from the predicament of the pharisee. The same danger lies in any organisation.’ Photo: Detail from ‘Christ Accused by the Pharisees’ by Duccio di Buoninsegna (1308-1311)
Saving grace: Tony D’Souza on pharisees, ancient and modern
‘The “righteous” often set themselves above other people, and whenever we mistake the form of religion for the content, we run the same risk.’
That morning was different. The people came and he started to teach as usual, but then the door flew open and the pharisees burst in with the woman.
They thrust her in front of them contemptuously so that everyone could see her. Her hair hung around her face in a tangled mess and there were red marks on her arms where their hands had gripped her. Her eyes were red with tears and she trembled with fear as she stood in front of the crowd.
The high priest stood out in front of the group of men (yes, they were all men) and said, ‘Rabbi, this woman has been caught in the very act of adultery.’ He turned around to his supporters to emphasise their sense of collective outrage. ‘Caught in the very act we say!’ Again, the pause and the glance behind. ‘We all know the Law. We have studied it since childhood. Our Law, the Law of Moses, commands us to stone this woman to death. What do you say?’
He knew (of course he knew) that they wanted to catch him out and incriminate him. If he said, ‘Let her be stoned,’ his mercy for the outcast, the leper and the sinner would be exposed as a sham. If he said, ‘Let her go,’ they would claim he was a heretic, a denier of the Mosaic Law.
He bent down and began to write with his finger on the ground.
‘Well, what do you say?’ said the high priest. He turned to his supporters and smiled. It looked like they had the upstart Galilean within their grasp.
Jesus continued to write with his finger on the ground.
‘Well, what do you have to say?’ yelled the high priest, feeling more confident by the second.
Jesus slowly straightened up and faced them.
‘Which one of you has never done anything wrong?’ He paused and looked at them directly. ‘If you want to stone this woman to death, let he who is without sin cast the first stone.’
Jesus bent down again and began to write on the ground. One by one, the crowd dispersed. Finally, Jesus was left alone with the woman standing in front of him.
He straightened up and asked her, ‘Woman, where have they all gone? Has no one condemned you?’
‘No one, sir,’ she said.
‘Then neither do I condemn you. Go on your way, and from now on do not sin again.’
This story, from the gospel of John (7:53–8:11), is about the grace of God. Forgiveness is an act of grace, and comes from God. Whatever we have done, it seems God can hardly wait to forgive us. Grace is a gift from God that we don’t deserve, nor could we ever deserve. This is why, when it comes to grace, we approach God as a beggar. For this reason, humility is the principal virtue, because without it we have no access to grace and therefore no access to any virtue at all. Often, however, our station in life, and particularly our station within a religious organisation, can blind us to this fact. This happened to the pharisees, as is clear in another parable – the one about the pharisee and the tax collector (Luke 18:10-13).
‘Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a pharisee and the other a tax collector. The pharisee stood by himself and prayed: “God, I thank you that I am not like other people – robbers, evildoers, adulterers – or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.” But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, “God, have mercy on me, a sinner”.’
The tax collector is heard by God because of his humility. He knows, when it comes to grace, that he is a beggar. The grace of God is not given to those who desire it most, but to the contrite and broken in spirit, to those who humbly request it in prayer, because ‘those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.’
That is the main problem for the pharisees, because they are learned men of the Law. They have ascended the hierarchy of religion and become deeply imbued with its teachings. They know all there is to know about the Law, so much so that they have become the arbiters of public morality. This has left them without any humility. There is no room in them for grace because they have become self-righteous. Without knowing it, they have mistaken the form of religion for the content – an inevitable consequence of their position. The self-righteous have no need of God. To ask for the grace of forgiveness, we must know we are sinful. A pharisee can never see himself in need of the grace of God because he is unable to see himself in such a lowly position.
None of us are exempt from the predicament of the pharisee. The same danger lies in any organisation. From the point of view of the individual, the group identity always transcends one’s own. Driven by a deep-seated need to belong, the pharisee finds he can transcend himself effortlessly by adopting the identity and mores of the group. This is a counterfeit transcendence, however, because it does not involve the grace of God. Adopting the mores of a group, however ancient or revered, does not make you virtuous.
In much the same way, you cannot make yourself good, or create the grace of God, by your own efforts. To attempt to do so is like jumping in the air repeatedly while flapping your arms, all the while confidently believing that you will take to the air and fly. Grace is a gift of God given freely to those who have reached the end of themselves. That is how it came to the prodigal son, and that is how it came to me. It is impossible to receive the saving Grace of God and not know you are a sinner – and that you will always be a sinner. Any good there is in me comes from God alone. Anything else is a lie.
Jesus knew the ‘Good’ of the collective mind was a sham, and he exposed it brilliantly without endangering himself. The ‘righteous’ often set themselves above other people, and whenever we mistake the form of religion for the content, we run the same risk. The rust of conformity is self-righteousness and pride, and it’s very easy to succumb to it because it creeps upon us slowly and seems so harmless. But there is no transcendence without the grace of God, sought silently in prayer. The best among us understand this, which is why Elizabeth Fry (1780-1845) wrote this:
‘I have passed through many and great dangers, many ways; I have been tried with the applause of the world, and none know how great a trial that has been… and yet I fully believe it is not nearly so dangerous as being made much of in religious society.’
