We may say, then, that Thomas was a doubter, but we must not mistake the nature of his doubt. So we may say that he was a pessimist. But to say that he was a doubter or a pessimist is not to explain altogether his conduct or to do justice to his character.
1. It is manifestly unfair to find the proof of his pessimism in the words, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.” Is there any evidence that the other disciples were a particle more hopeful? Nay, as regards the matter of this saying, was Jesus Himself more hopeful? Jesus had told His friends before this that He would have to die when He went up to Jerusalem. Thomas takes no more gloomy a view of the situation than his Master had taken. Indeed, he simply accepts Christ's own prediction, and bases his proposal upon it. And he was right in his anticipation. It is true Jesus did not die immediately He went up to Judæa on this errand of mercy. There was another brief respite. But Jerusalem meant death sooner or later, and it was not long before the net was drawn round the Victim, and His own forecast verified. Jesus did die in Jerusalem only two or three months after Thomas had spoken of the coming event. We may even say that his words showed his faith and insight. Thomas had now accepted what Peter had previously rejected. The notion that Jesus should suffer and die had been repudiated by the leading Apostle with indignation; it was accepted by his humbler companion with settled resignation.
There is another side to Thomas's utterance, which gives it an entirely different character. Instead of taking it as a confession of despondency we may treat it as a note of heroism. It is a bugle call to his shrinking comrades. They are terror-stricken at their Master's determination, frozen into silence by fear. Thomas breaks the cowardly silence. There is no denying it: Jerusalem spells death. But Jesus will face this fate that awaits Him there. Then He must not go alone. His little remnant of followers, the few faithful disciples still left when so many have forsaken Him and fled, must not desert Him in this desperate extremity. To follow Him still would seem to involve sharing His fate. Be it so, thinks Thomas. Is He to die? Then let us die with Him. Christ's courage is infectious, and Thomas is the first to catch the infection. From him it spreads through all the circle of disciples. Braced by this one man's example, they too follow Jesus, making straight for the centre of peril, for the goal of doom. That is heroic. For the moment, at least, Thomas is a hero, and his heroism passes into the whole band. Under his inspiring influence, they all feel ready to leap into the jaws of death.
You will have heard the story which Napier relates of a young officer riding down into his first battle, with pale face and trembling hand, when a companion, looking at him, said, “Why, man, you're pale; you're afraid!” “I know I am,” he quietly rejoined; “and if you were half as much afraid as I am you would run away.” That was courage, the higher courage; the flesh failing for fear, every nerve trembling, loosened, unstrung, but the soul resolved and calm, ordering the body to its duty. And that was the spirit of Thomas: he can at least die with Christ.
Shall Jesus bear the Cross alone
And all the world go free?
No; there's a Cross for every one
And there's a Cross for me.
That is the meaning of Thomas's speech, and the very fact that he thinks that the peril and the cross should be avoided invests with a sublimer glory his sacrifice of self in facing them. Few more heroic sayings have ever been recorded in history than this: “Let us also go, that we may die with him!”1 [Note: W. J. Dawson, The Church of To-Morrow, 98.]
In every earnest life there are weary flats to tread, with the heavens out of sight-no sun, no moon, and not a tint of light upon the path below; when the only guidance is the faith of brighter hours, and the secret Hand we are too numb and dark to feel. But to the meek and faithful it is not always so. Now and then something touches the dull dream of sense and custom, and the desolation vanishes away: the spirit leaves its witness with us: the divine realities come up from the past and straightway enter the present: the ear into which we poured our prayer is not deaf; the infinite eye to which we turned is not blind, but looks in with answering mercy on us.2 [Note: James Martineau.]
2. Now this heroism sprang out of love to Christ. If Thomas was a doubter or despondent, he conquered his doubts and his despondency because he never lost his love. Who can miss the deep love that breathes in the words which have been quoted? Thomas was a thorough disciple: for he not only trusted the saving power of Jesus, but loved Jesus Himself. Separation from home and kindred this loyal soul could bear, but not separation from Jesus. What caused him anxiety was nothing relating to his own prospects, but only the Master's safety. He is knit to Jesus with so pure a love that he will incur the risk of death rather than suffer Him to take the journey to Judæa alone. It was probably the discernment of this affection in Thomas's heart that led John to give him such a prominent place in the later pages of his Gospel.
For devotion and heroic love I know of no one to excel Thomas. “As the Lord liveth,” said Elisha in answer to Elijah's appeal to him to leave him, “as the Lord liveth, and as thy soul liveth, I will not leave thee.” “Intreat me not to leave thee,” said Ruth, the Moabitess, to Naomi her mother-in-law; “whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.” Those are moving and pathetic instances of loyalty, but they are not more moving and pathetic than the loyalty with which Thomas was ready to dare anything for his Master. “Let us also go,” said this man of the devoted heart, “that we may die with him.” And this, as it is Thomas's chief characteristic, is also his crowning glory. Of Thomas it might be said, as of that woman who was much forgiven, that “he loved much.” He loved Christ with all the fervour and passion of his deep and sorrowful heart.1 [Note: J. D. Jones, The Glorious Company of the Apostles, 180.]
3. But is this moral heroism compatible with the signs of doubt which are seen in Thomas? We think it is. Thomas was a man who desired certitude. His love led him to recognize the greatness of the issues which the life and words of Christ put before him, and he was restless under vagueness or uncertainty. Too many people view all things through a mental haze. They cannot tell what they see and what they do not see. It would be impossible for them to make a clear confession of faith, for they do not know what they believe, although they honestly think they believe all that it is right and proper to believe. Such faith is nearly worthless. At all events it is blind. But worse than this, there are people who are content with mere phrases that convey no meaning whatever to their minds. It is enough for them that the words sound pious, or are familiar from religious association, or come with the sanction of venerated authority. Thomas would never sink down to the mental indolence of such torpid minds. He would welcome Dr. Johnson's famous advice to clear our minds of cant. Even if the words we hear are quite sincere and full of meaning, such as the words of Christ, if we cannot see the drift of them and yet settle down in lazy satisfaction, we degrade them to the level of the unreal, and our use of them is no better than what Dr. Johnson so justly stigmatized. There is a sickly state of mind which disgusts all healthy natures. To Thomas this would be an abomination. He may not be able to see far; but what he does see, he must see clearly.
“I will not believe,” he said; for he had been at the crucifixion, and witnessed all that went on there. He saw the Saviour raised upon the tree. He saw the nails driven home, and the spear thrust in. He saw it all, and felt it all. And he saw the Lord bleed and die. The whole picture fastened itself upon his mind; it was a constant impression which he carried about with him, and at which he shuddered every moment. And it is from this vivid impression that he speaks. He reads off the whole outline of it from his mind, feature after feature-the nails, the spear, the hands, the side: all the evidence of death. And until this impression be removed by another impression, nothing will make the man believe.
Thus Thomas was just what some of our triflers would like to be thought-a sober, truthful man who insists on facing the facts he sees before he goes a step farther. Such a man is slow to move: no passing enthusiasm can stir him, only the gravest sense of duty. And faith is none the worse for counting the cost before it gives itself to Christ. When Wellington saw a man turn pale as he marched up to a battery, he said, “That is a brave man. He knows his danger, and faces it notwithstanding.”
Those Christians are blessed who need to leave their simple views of childhood's faith no more than the field-lark does her nest-rising right over it to look at God's morning sun, and His wide, beautiful world, singing a clear, happy song, and then sinking straight down again to their heart's home. But those are not less blessed who, like the dove, lose their ark for a while, and return to it, having found no rest for the sole of their foot save there. They have a deeper experience within, and carry a higher and wider message to the world. The olive leaf in the mouth, plucked from the passing flood, is more than the song at coming daylight. It is as Paul's “Thanks be to God who giveth us the victory,” compared with the children's “Hosannah.”1 [Note: John Ker, Thoughts for Heart and Life, 24.]
