The religion of my
fellow-countrymen is a fiery furnace, Jerusalem a den of warring
thieves. The rulers of earth are weary and turn a deaf ear on their
peoples. The time is ripe for revolt. Sick of the accursed luxury and
debauchery, fearful of the threatening barbarians from Asia and the
boreal regions, who are hemming the civilized world, waiting like
vultures for the first sign of weakness to destroy everything, the
slaves in revolt--all these impending terrors assure me that the end of
the old order is at hand. But what will become of the new if there is no
central belief to steady the ensanguined hands of furious mobs? For
years I have bethought me of a drama, a gigantic world-drama which shall
embody all the myths of mankind, all the noblest thoughts of the
philosophers. I shall take the Buddha myth, surely the supreme myth, and
transpose its characters to Jerusalem. A humble Jew shall be _my_
Buddha. He shall be my revenge on our conquerors; for my people have
been trampled upon by the insolent Romans, and who knows--a Jewish God,
a crucified God, may be worshipped in the stead of Jupiter and his vile
pantheon of gods and goddesses! _One_ God, the son of Jahveh who comes
upon earth to save mankind, is crucified and killed, is resurrected and
like Elijah is caught up to heaven in a fiery chariot.
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