Ben-Hur Review – Editions Rémanence journal

Editions Rémanence book reviews

It is difficult for the modern reader to comprehend the colossal impact of Lew Wallace’s Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ. Published in 1880 by a former Civil War general who had lost his faith and sought to regain it through writing, it became the best-selling American novel of the 19th century, surpassing even Uncle Tom’s Cabin. It was not merely a book; it was a cultural phenomenon, blessed by the Pope and devoured by millions.

But strip away the accolades and the Technicolor film adaptations, and you are left with a narrative of startling power and complexity. At its core, Ben-Hur is a story of dualities: Rome against Judea, pragmatism against faith, and hate against love. It is the story of Judah Ben-Hur, a Jewish prince of noble lineage who is betrayed by his childhood friend, the ambitious Roman tribune Messala.

The Prince and the Slave

The tragedy begins with a loose roof tile. An accident during a Roman parade is twisted by Messala into an assassination attempt, and in a single stroke, the House of Hur is erased. Judah’s mother and sister are imprisoned, and Judah himself is condemned to the galleys—a sentence meant to be a slow, agonizing death. Wallace’s description of life as a galley slave "Number 41" is harrowing. For years, Judah exists only as a machine of muscle and hate, rowing to the beat of a drum, kept alive solely by the burning promise of vengeance.

This section of the novel is a masterclass in resilience. When fate—or perhaps Providence—intervenes during a sea battle, Judah saves the life of the Roman commander Quintus Arrius. In a twist of irony, the slave is adopted by the master, returning to the world not as a Jewish outcast, but as a wealthy Roman citizen. He learns the ways of his enemy, mastering the arts of war and the chariot, all while hiding his true heart beneath a toga.

The Thunder of the Circus

The centerpiece of the novel, the chariot race in Antioch, is one of the most thrilling sequences in literature. Wallace writes with a kinetic energy that makes the pages tremble. We feel the heat of the arena, the roar of the crowd, and the terrifying speed of the four white Arabs—Altair, Rigel, Antares, and Aldebaran. But this is more than a sporting event; it is the culmination of years of hatred. It is here that Judah finally confronts Messala, not with a sword, but with a wheel, grinding his enemy into the dust of the track.

A Tale of the Christ

Yet, if the story ended there, it would be no more than a revenge thriller. The genius of Wallace lies in the parallel narrative that runs quietly alongside Judah’s fury. The subtitle, A Tale of the Christ, is not incidental. From the opening scene of the Magi following the star, the life of Jesus intersects with Judah’s at critical moments. A cup of water given to a slave in Nazareth; a sermon on a mount; a healing of lepers in a valley of death.

Judah expects a warrior king to liberate Judea from Rome; instead, he finds a man who conquers hearts. The novel’s true climax is not the race, but the crucifixion. As Judah stands at the foot of the cross, his desire for vengeance is finally washed away, replaced by an understanding of a kingdom not of this world. Ben-Hur remains a monumental work because it dares to ask the hardest question of all: is it stronger to kill your enemy, or to forgive him?