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The Brook Kerith: A Syrian Story
This is a pre-1923 historical reproduction that was curated for quality. Quality assurance was conducted on each of these books in an attempt to remove books with imperfections introduced by the digitization process. Though we have made best efforts - the books may have occasional errors that do not impede the reading experience. We believe this work is culturally important and have elected to bring the book back into print as part of our continuing commitment to the preservation of printed works worldwide.
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First published January 1, 1916
About the author
George Moore
569 books91 followersGeorge Augustus Moore was an Irish novelist, short-story writer, poet, art critic, memoirist and dramatist. Moore came from a Roman Catholic landed family who lived at Moore Hall in Carra, County Mayo. He originally wanted to be a painter, and studied art in Paris during the 1870s. There, he befriended many of the leading French artists and writers of the day.
As a naturalistic writer, he was amongst the first English-language authors to absorb the lessons of the French realists, and was particularly influenced by the works of Émile Zola. His writings influenced James Joyce, according to the literary critic and biographer Richard Ellmann, and, although Moore's work is sometimes seen as outside the mainstream of both Irish and British literature, he is as often regarded as the first great modern Irish novelist.
As a naturalistic writer, he was amongst the first English-language authors to absorb the lessons of the French realists, and was particularly influenced by the works of Émile Zola. His writings influenced James Joyce, according to the literary critic and biographer Richard Ellmann, and, although Moore's work is sometimes seen as outside the mainstream of both Irish and British literature, he is as often regarded as the first great modern Irish novelist.
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February 22, 2020
A visionary exploration and persistently lucid account, this book is a splitting apart of Christianity, indeed of any religious faith that relies on mysticism and ritual. It is a mysterious, and strangely moving, book, with high-flowing, now old-fashioned, prose, and a fluid style. I’ve had it for years, and have only read it now because it was put into my hands during one if those conversations that lead from one thing to another. Mention was made of the Biblical account of The Transfiguration, in which Elijah featured, and from there we got to Kerith, which was where Elijah was told to go and sit and be fed by ravens (a daunting prospect!). I decided to skim-read “The Brook Kerith”; it was a ‘now or never’ moment.
I hadn’t been aware that the Brook Kerith lies below the cliffs of the Essenes, a deeply religious sect, who were at the time in schism because certain of them would not marry and bear children to ensure their continuity. They provide an important context in this imaginative novel about Jesus’ life, firstly as seen from the point of view of Joseph of Arimithea, and then focusing on Jesus himself.
Joseph comes across as a rather unfortunate man, despite his wealthy background. He’s the person who gives up his tomb for Jesus after he is crucified. He is entranced by Jesus and by some of the disciples; even one he does not take to, Philip, can offer such attractive propositions as this:
“For can it be denied that some men love God in the hope God may do something for them, while others love God lest he may punish them. But methinks that such love as that is more fear than love; and then there are others that can love God – well, just because it seems to them that God is by them, just as I’m by you at the present moment. Jesus is such an one.”
Much of the section on Joseph’s early relationship with Jesus centres on Joseph’s duty to continue his father’s business, and his wealth being tied in with the legalities, or the welfare, of others; could he be the rich young man of the Bible parable, who goes away heavy-hearted because he cannot separate himself from his possessions? This question is addressed in down-to-earth terms in the difficulties the disciples had in ‘laying down their nets’ – something that always bothered me as a young child! Here’s Simon Peter, reporting what his wife thinks about it all:
“Now who would be the better for the loss of my nets? Answer me that . . . as I was saying just now, she wakes me up with a loud question in my ear: now, Simon Peter, answer me, art thou going into Syria to bid the blind to see, the lame to walk, and the palsied to shake no more, or art thou going to thy trade? for in this house there be four little children, myself, their mother, and thy mother-in-law. I say nothing against the journey if it bring thee good money, or if it bring the Kingdom, but if it bring naught but miracles there’ll be little enough in the house to eat by the time ye come back. And, says she, the feeding of his children is a nobler work for a married man (she speaks like that sometimes) than bidding those to see who would belike be better without their eyes than with them.”
Peter concludes that “there’s right on her side, that’s what makes it so hard to answer her.” (I want to put an exclamation mark there!).
Like Peter, Joseph is acutely alert to Jesus, his presence and the feelings he awakens in him, and in his case must constantly set this against the love and the duty he feels for his father. He is referred to later in the book as the young man to whom Jesus says, “You must hate your father and your mother. Jesus has an encounter with angry Samaritans who hate him, but can speak only love:
“Let them go, for they are in the hands of God, like ourselves, and he bade them all goodnight, and there seemed to Joseph to be a great sadness in Jesus’ voice, as if he felt that in this world there was little else but leave-taking.”
As for Joseph, “His brain was whirling, and he could only repeat: he has come, he has come!”
The author is merciful to Joseph and removes the choice (and the guilt) from him; his father becomes ill, and approaches death. During his father’s illness Joseph reconciles himself to the loss of Jesus, but, after the death of his father, expresses his fervour (and guilt?), when he places himself at risk by offering his own tomb to the crucified Jesus.
So far so good, although scattered through the novel are instances of human interaction that speak of the author’s broader perspective on human emotions and spiritual need. I particularly liked what I might call the ‘reduction’ of Christian doctrine into human terms. Again, it is a woman, Joseph’s old servant Esora, who questions the doctrine of Christ’s sacrifice for all:
“One thing puzzles me, she answered, for I cannot think what could have put it into his head that he was sent into the world to suffer for others. For are we not all suffering for others?”
I enjoyed this section of the book where Esora features but skipped quickly over the following, lengthy, section that called to mind the religious symbolism of Christ as a good shepherd. I felt that the style was becoming artificial, almost as if the author was entering into some sort of transfiguration beside the Brook of Kerith. Not so. I can’t say too much about the final section, but in comes Paul of Tarsus, with his own transfiguration, or, as it is portrayed, transformation, of the life of Christ.
This book offended many when it was written. Listen to Paul’s declaration:
“A teacher Jesus was, and a great teacher, but far more important was the fact that God had raised him from the dead, thereby placing him among the prophets and near to God himself. So I have always taught that if Jesus were not raised from the dead our teaching is vain.”
Paul’s listener wonders “if he would be able to make plain to Paul that miracles bring no real knowledge of God to man, and that our conscience is the source of our knowledge of God and that perhaps a providence flouishes beyond the world.”
Privately this man (the voice of the author?) has asked himself:
“but shall we gather the universal into an image and call it God?- for by doing this do we not drift back to the starting-point of all our misery? We again become the dupes of illusion and desire; God and his heaven are our old enemies in disguise. He who yields himself to God goes forth to persuade others to love God, and very soon his love of God impels him to violent words and cruel deeds. It cannot be else, for God is but desire, and whosoever yields to desire falls into sin. To be without sin we must be without God. (He) stood before the door of the cenoby, startled at the thoughts that had been put into his mind, asking himself if any man had dared to ask himself if God were not indeed the last uncleanliness of the mind.”
A powerful novel.
I hadn’t been aware that the Brook Kerith lies below the cliffs of the Essenes, a deeply religious sect, who were at the time in schism because certain of them would not marry and bear children to ensure their continuity. They provide an important context in this imaginative novel about Jesus’ life, firstly as seen from the point of view of Joseph of Arimithea, and then focusing on Jesus himself.
Joseph comes across as a rather unfortunate man, despite his wealthy background. He’s the person who gives up his tomb for Jesus after he is crucified. He is entranced by Jesus and by some of the disciples; even one he does not take to, Philip, can offer such attractive propositions as this:
“For can it be denied that some men love God in the hope God may do something for them, while others love God lest he may punish them. But methinks that such love as that is more fear than love; and then there are others that can love God – well, just because it seems to them that God is by them, just as I’m by you at the present moment. Jesus is such an one.”
Much of the section on Joseph’s early relationship with Jesus centres on Joseph’s duty to continue his father’s business, and his wealth being tied in with the legalities, or the welfare, of others; could he be the rich young man of the Bible parable, who goes away heavy-hearted because he cannot separate himself from his possessions? This question is addressed in down-to-earth terms in the difficulties the disciples had in ‘laying down their nets’ – something that always bothered me as a young child! Here’s Simon Peter, reporting what his wife thinks about it all:
“Now who would be the better for the loss of my nets? Answer me that . . . as I was saying just now, she wakes me up with a loud question in my ear: now, Simon Peter, answer me, art thou going into Syria to bid the blind to see, the lame to walk, and the palsied to shake no more, or art thou going to thy trade? for in this house there be four little children, myself, their mother, and thy mother-in-law. I say nothing against the journey if it bring thee good money, or if it bring the Kingdom, but if it bring naught but miracles there’ll be little enough in the house to eat by the time ye come back. And, says she, the feeding of his children is a nobler work for a married man (she speaks like that sometimes) than bidding those to see who would belike be better without their eyes than with them.”
Peter concludes that “there’s right on her side, that’s what makes it so hard to answer her.” (I want to put an exclamation mark there!).
Like Peter, Joseph is acutely alert to Jesus, his presence and the feelings he awakens in him, and in his case must constantly set this against the love and the duty he feels for his father. He is referred to later in the book as the young man to whom Jesus says, “You must hate your father and your mother. Jesus has an encounter with angry Samaritans who hate him, but can speak only love:
“Let them go, for they are in the hands of God, like ourselves, and he bade them all goodnight, and there seemed to Joseph to be a great sadness in Jesus’ voice, as if he felt that in this world there was little else but leave-taking.”
As for Joseph, “His brain was whirling, and he could only repeat: he has come, he has come!”
The author is merciful to Joseph and removes the choice (and the guilt) from him; his father becomes ill, and approaches death. During his father’s illness Joseph reconciles himself to the loss of Jesus, but, after the death of his father, expresses his fervour (and guilt?), when he places himself at risk by offering his own tomb to the crucified Jesus.
So far so good, although scattered through the novel are instances of human interaction that speak of the author’s broader perspective on human emotions and spiritual need. I particularly liked what I might call the ‘reduction’ of Christian doctrine into human terms. Again, it is a woman, Joseph’s old servant Esora, who questions the doctrine of Christ’s sacrifice for all:
“One thing puzzles me, she answered, for I cannot think what could have put it into his head that he was sent into the world to suffer for others. For are we not all suffering for others?”
I enjoyed this section of the book where Esora features but skipped quickly over the following, lengthy, section that called to mind the religious symbolism of Christ as a good shepherd. I felt that the style was becoming artificial, almost as if the author was entering into some sort of transfiguration beside the Brook of Kerith. Not so. I can’t say too much about the final section, but in comes Paul of Tarsus, with his own transfiguration, or, as it is portrayed, transformation, of the life of Christ.
This book offended many when it was written. Listen to Paul’s declaration:
“A teacher Jesus was, and a great teacher, but far more important was the fact that God had raised him from the dead, thereby placing him among the prophets and near to God himself. So I have always taught that if Jesus were not raised from the dead our teaching is vain.”
Paul’s listener wonders “if he would be able to make plain to Paul that miracles bring no real knowledge of God to man, and that our conscience is the source of our knowledge of God and that perhaps a providence flouishes beyond the world.”
Privately this man (the voice of the author?) has asked himself:
“but shall we gather the universal into an image and call it God?- for by doing this do we not drift back to the starting-point of all our misery? We again become the dupes of illusion and desire; God and his heaven are our old enemies in disguise. He who yields himself to God goes forth to persuade others to love God, and very soon his love of God impels him to violent words and cruel deeds. It cannot be else, for God is but desire, and whosoever yields to desire falls into sin. To be without sin we must be without God. (He) stood before the door of the cenoby, startled at the thoughts that had been put into his mind, asking himself if any man had dared to ask himself if God were not indeed the last uncleanliness of the mind.”
A powerful novel.
April 16, 2012
This is a late novel written by George Moore in 1916. I very much appreciated one of his better known earlier works ‘Ester Waters’ because of its associations with the naturalist style of Emile Zola and decided to read another by the same author. Well the basics of this story are that Jesus doesn’t die on the cross but is indeed saved by Joseph of Arimathea – this idea might upset some I gather as, for example in this Penguin version of 1952 I read, the prelude explains that the novel is ‘in no sense a perverse piece of religious controversy’ (I gather the author was religious himself).
The story starts with the young Joseph (the son of Dan a wealthy trader of fish from areas including Galilee and close to the Roman leader Pilate) as he tries to find his way in life and an education. He meets various Masters e.g. Mathias teaching Greek and so on, and later the Essenes – a passive religious sect from amongst others including the Pharisees and Sadducees. At about page 100 of 400 Joseph hears of a wandering preacher called Jesus and despite hearing of Jesus apparent lack of learning and worldliness wants to find out more. Joseph just misses meeting Jesus in Egypt and Judea. We learn about Jesus, his healing powers and his fisher friends for about 50 pages or so. It is thus about half way through the main thrust of the story starts (having covered aspects of rivalry and Jesus demands for loyalty and not picking a ‘wealth’ disciple who would prefer to care for his dying father than follow him i.e. Joseph) that ultimately leads to Jesus being set up and Pilate persuaded to crucify him. Jesus is abandoned on the cross and Joseph arrives (having earlier obtained a crypt and Pilate’s permission to take down the dead body after only a few hours – even though usually it takes days to die, it happens that the centurion lied about spearing him) to discover him alive. Looked after in secret Jesus ultimately recovers to become a reclusive shepherd amongst the Essenes at the (real) Brook of the title – now here’s the interest 30 years on (and a period in which people have rationalised the vacant crypt as a resurrection etc) what happens when Paul of Tarsus (having had only a vision of Jesus/God) meets his religious ‘maker’? And what does Jesus think of his own youthful behaviour and philosophy now?
This is a most interesting story idea and not being familiar with the gospel stories (please forgive me if I’ve written anything out of turn) can imagine the idea is a reasonable and plausible explanation of the religious tale. I think the inter-rivalry between sects, the occupation, the locations and background are detailed but wonder if they are very realistic overall. In many respects Jesus doesn’t come across as a particularly nice bloke ultimately regretting that he could ever have imagined himself the messiah in his youth.
Some quotes “I have no imagination of how he came by the belief that he was sent in to the world to suffer for others. For are we not all suffering for others?”
“To be without sin we must be without God”
“if God were not indeed the last uncleanliness of the mind”
So overall I do think the tale a little slow and lacking a certain passion and naturalism. Towards the end the excitement of the Paul meeting his god was a missed opportunity (I would imagine holding a deeply religious view in which you find you’ve been unintentionally fooled all along a more massive challenge than depicted). I’ve read a few similar stories: Quarantine by Jim Crace (Jesus doesn’t survive the 40 days in the wilderness), The Last Temptation by Kazantzakis (Jesus has real human frailties) and ‘The Gospel according to Jesus’ by Saramago (another Jesus and family with human weakness) are a lot more interesting and recommended over this tale.
The story starts with the young Joseph (the son of Dan a wealthy trader of fish from areas including Galilee and close to the Roman leader Pilate) as he tries to find his way in life and an education. He meets various Masters e.g. Mathias teaching Greek and so on, and later the Essenes – a passive religious sect from amongst others including the Pharisees and Sadducees. At about page 100 of 400 Joseph hears of a wandering preacher called Jesus and despite hearing of Jesus apparent lack of learning and worldliness wants to find out more. Joseph just misses meeting Jesus in Egypt and Judea. We learn about Jesus, his healing powers and his fisher friends for about 50 pages or so. It is thus about half way through the main thrust of the story starts (having covered aspects of rivalry and Jesus demands for loyalty and not picking a ‘wealth’ disciple who would prefer to care for his dying father than follow him i.e. Joseph) that ultimately leads to Jesus being set up and Pilate persuaded to crucify him. Jesus is abandoned on the cross and Joseph arrives (having earlier obtained a crypt and Pilate’s permission to take down the dead body after only a few hours – even though usually it takes days to die, it happens that the centurion lied about spearing him) to discover him alive. Looked after in secret Jesus ultimately recovers to become a reclusive shepherd amongst the Essenes at the (real) Brook of the title – now here’s the interest 30 years on (and a period in which people have rationalised the vacant crypt as a resurrection etc) what happens when Paul of Tarsus (having had only a vision of Jesus/God) meets his religious ‘maker’? And what does Jesus think of his own youthful behaviour and philosophy now?
This is a most interesting story idea and not being familiar with the gospel stories (please forgive me if I’ve written anything out of turn) can imagine the idea is a reasonable and plausible explanation of the religious tale. I think the inter-rivalry between sects, the occupation, the locations and background are detailed but wonder if they are very realistic overall. In many respects Jesus doesn’t come across as a particularly nice bloke ultimately regretting that he could ever have imagined himself the messiah in his youth.
Some quotes “I have no imagination of how he came by the belief that he was sent in to the world to suffer for others. For are we not all suffering for others?”
“To be without sin we must be without God”
“if God were not indeed the last uncleanliness of the mind”
So overall I do think the tale a little slow and lacking a certain passion and naturalism. Towards the end the excitement of the Paul meeting his god was a missed opportunity (I would imagine holding a deeply religious view in which you find you’ve been unintentionally fooled all along a more massive challenge than depicted). I’ve read a few similar stories: Quarantine by Jim Crace (Jesus doesn’t survive the 40 days in the wilderness), The Last Temptation by Kazantzakis (Jesus has real human frailties) and ‘The Gospel according to Jesus’ by Saramago (another Jesus and family with human weakness) are a lot more interesting and recommended over this tale.
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