THE OPEN TOMB
WHY AND HOW JESUS FAKED
HIS DEATH AND RESURRECTION
David Mirsch
Copyright © 2011 David Mirsch
KINDLE ISBN: 9781614345978
PRINT ISBN: 9781614344841
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Booklocker.com, Inc., 2011, First Edition
Dedication
To JS and BJ for all their help and especially for their belief in this project. More than anyone, you two kept me going. Thank you. Also, a big “thank you” to Angela for all her help and patience in the creation of this work. It could not have been done without you. Finally, thank you to my wife, Tami, for putting up with me for all these years while I worked on this project. That was no easy task for so many reasons.
List of Illustrations
Figure 1 --- Heron’s amphora from The Pneumatics of Heron of Alexandria translated by Bennet Woodcroft, 1851.
Figure 2 --- Hypothetical design of stone jar used to turn water into wine at Cana.
Figure 3 --- First Century clay jar found by Roland de Vaux at Qumran showing the distinctive holes used for securing the lid. From the collection of Jean-Baptiste Humbert and Alain Chambon of the Ecole Biblique in Jerusalem.
Figure 4 --- Close up of clay jar.
Figure 5 --- Map showing the boundaries of David’s kingdom.
Figure 6 --- Map of the First Century boundaries of the Palestinian provinces and the missionary travels of Jesus.
Figure 7 --- Entrance to the tomb of Queen Helena of Adiabene located in the area known as the Tombs of the Kings in Jerusalem.
“To those searching for the truth—not the truth of dogma and darkness, but the truth brought by reason, examination and inquiry, discipline is required. For faith, as well intentioned as it may be, must be built on facts, not fiction--- faith in fiction is a damnable false hope.”
Thomas A. Edison
Preface
The central idea of “The Open Tomb”, that Jesus somehow survived his crucifixion and lived for an unknown amount of time afterward, is hardly new. Rumors and theories about his survival began almost as soon as he was being lowered from the cross. Nor is it a new idea that, far from merely incidentally surviving the crucifixion, he actually engineered that survival, methodically and purposefully, has been presented as well, most recently by Dr. Hugh Schonfield in his work “The Passover Plot”. What is new in this current examination of that crucifixion and resurrection from so long ago is the analysis of the specifics of how and why it was accomplished, from the initial motivating incident, to the involvement of those in his inner circle, the drugs used and the magic required to convince those who witnessed these events, that Jesus had in fact died and risen again on the third day. “The Open Tomb” will show that Jesus was not the only Jewish leader of the first century to fake his death in order to achieve his goals and will show for the first time, in step-by-step detail, the process by which Jesus faked his death and rose from the grave.
INTRODUCTION
No one chooses to attack the foundational religious beliefs of over two billion people lightly. It is a difficult, soul-searching process that takes many years to resolve and even then there are doubts about the merit and motivation of the pursuit and the ultimate worth of the final goal. My intention, once I determined to begin researching Jesus the Nazarene, was never to be hurtful or disrespectful to those who believe his death and bodily resurrection, yet it was imperative to bring forth a fresh view of the events surrounding his death and resurrection if possible, one based on all the available evidence and one based much more in human terms. My goal has been to present the results of nearly ten years of research regarding this pivotal moment in human history and look at it in a different way, to release it from its traditions and dogma and ask the question, “If this is so, then why this?”
I began that research with an idea in mind and I was open minded to what I subsequently found only as those discoveries needed to be examined against certain criteria. At first, I was not looking to find the “real” Jesus as so many do today, nor study the entire span of his life and the entire panorama of first century Palestine, so much as I was looking to find whether or not his death and resurrection could have been faked. Were there signs in what was written about him that pointed to a different conclusion than the one handed down by tradition? Were there historical markers or mistakes in the translations or interpretations that might indicate what really took place in Jerusalem so long ago? Was Jesus’ love for parables and deeper meaning as written in the Gospels showing the way to the true story? I began the research to find out. The “fact” of whether he was a Jewish prophet, an Essene, a healer and miracle worker, a mystic or magician only interested me in so far as those classifications might influence his ability to accomplish the deception I suspected he might have planned. When searching for a needle in the haystack of first century Palestine, it is essential to know what that needle might look like. Since Jesus represents so many things to so many people, the idea of looking for him as a singular identity seemed absurd. Some biblical historians believe he was an itinerant preacher, a miracle healer, a radical political agent, a Jewish prophet and teacher or all of the above. Religious scholars see him as the holy Son of God, a messiah of change and hope. Some today even believe that he never actually existed at all, but is merely the fabricated godhead of a spontaneously created religion. The needle was too obscure I thought, the time and distance too much, the views of this man too varied and contentious to allow me the information I needed to resolve the questions about his death and resurrection. It was all gray area with no definition, a vague, indistinct view of the man only briefly clear in fits and starts depending upon who was defining the image, each writer-scholar convinced he or she knew the “real “ Jesus. Almost everything written about Jesus the Nazarene, I discovered, starting with the letters of Paul, to the synoptic gospels, to the rest of the New Testament, to the incidental remarks by first century historians, to all later New Testament studies and Christian apologetics, to new age re-reinterpretations of who he was, to current biblical scholarship, is almost entirely speculation and theory. There are no first hand accounts written about Jesus, no contemporary notes, observations or comments. None. The best that can be said of any of the accounts are that they are second hand (and they are few and really fall under the definition of propaganda, as the synoptics are generally agreed to be). No one knows who or what he was, although they will happily tell you that they do and that there are historical records to prove what they say. The biblical exegetes will tell you there is some small evidence regarding Jesus. The clergy will proclaim the historical accuracy of the bible and the New Testament in particular, the modern historians will testify to the accuracy of ancient accounts, but the truth is that it is all very subjective and open to interpretation. There just isn’t any first hand historical biographical evidence documented beyond the Gospels that indicate Jesus ever walked the face of the earth and the Gospels themselves are open to question as reliable historical documents that have been altered, amended, redacted and suitably tampered with to make gleaning any purposeful fact about Jesus almost impossible.
There are, however, some small signs hidden within the Gospels that seem to indicate that he did in fact exist.
These signs are hard to spot, but they are there. They are like the signs of any detective work; small, easily missed traces, layered meanings and misleading information that taken together point to a man living in first century Palestine who did something remarkable; he appeared to die, be buried and yet return to life, a remarkable event for any man in any age, but in that age and in that place, truly amazing. These signs make up the critical mass of this current work that, taken together, coalesce to form the basis for the theory this book presents. Independently, they are curiosities, quirks and questions in the story of Jesus that need explanation, nothing more, but together they form a new story, a deeper meaning within the parable of his life that points to a different conclusion, one, that I believe, he wanted known. What makes this work different from other works on Jesus and perhaps more accurate in its portrayal of what happened two thousand years ago, is a fresh perspective on the recorded material, one not clouded by religious doctrine to examine those small signs and how they have been pieced together. They have been there all along and they are not new discoveries, just pieces of the story, long available, obvious for anyone to see, that needed to be studied beyond the restrictions of tradition.
These signs nagged at me at various times in my life. They were questions contained within the canon of the New Testament that insisted that I resolve their apparent contradictions or awkward explanations. These were the things that would not be ignored, things that confronted me not in any darkly obsessive way but constantly and steadily, a nagging voice asking, “Well, if this is so, then why this?” Every time I considered the enormity of what they pointed to, every time I considered the implications, every time I thought that after two thousand years someone somewhere must have seen these same signs and must have explained them logically and written coherent explanations, they still nagged at me, demanding resolution.
The first of the signs that I became aware of as a young man was the drink of gall Jesus received while on the cross. More importantly, it was the timing of that drink that pestered me for years. If it was only given at his request to slake his thirst, why then did he appear to die so soon afterward? The timing of the drink seemed so close to his final moment as to be more than just coincidental. He called for the drink and after drinking, died. It seemed too pat, too closely linked to be just mere coincidence, especially since he had refused a similar drink of gall earlier in his crucifixion. Surely there was something of note in the fact that Jesus, as the suffering servant, who was supposed to suffer on the cross before his death, had decided to ease his suffering somewhat near the end. The timing of that drink seemed to be more than coincidental.
The next small sign that came my way was the open tomb. Christians everywhere point to the “empty” tomb as the single most important sign of the resurrection, the irrefutable fact that a dead Jesus had risen. Countless books have been written about the empty tomb and the witnesses to it as historical proof that Jesus must have risen from the grave and that therefore the resurrection must have taken place just as the Gospels say it did. Much is made of the fact that the tomb is empty and Christian apologists take great time and pleasure in debunking the various theories, then and now, which offer alternative reasons why the tomb was empty. The tomb was empty because a.) Jesus’ disciples came in the night and stole the body, b.) the body wasn’t buried in the grave the witnesses found empty; it was buried somewhere else, c.) the women witnesses were so distraught, they went to the wrong grave and found it empty, etc. The apologists have debunked them all. “No,” they say, “ that was the right tomb, no one touched it after he was buried and it was found empty after Jesus resurrected.” So? The empty tomb means nothing, for all the debunked reasons given. There were several reasons why it could have been found empty; the real significance to the incident is not that the tomb was found empty, but that it was found open. The empty tomb only begs the question, “Yes, it may have been found empty, but why was it open?” The open tomb is far more important in understanding what actually happened than the empty tomb and it was one of those signs, the broken twig perhaps, that pointed to the real Jesus’ story.
The third of these trail markers that has commanded my attention for so long was the repeated reminder in the synoptics that Jesus controlled much of what was happening around him at any given time and especially during the time leading to his execution. He repeatedly told those around him where to go, what to say and to whom, in order to achieve certain goals or orchestrate the outcome of events. Why is he so controlling in directing even the smallest detail of his activities, right down to securing the room in which they will share the Passover meal? Surely, there is no need for the Son of God to be concerned with where supper will be eaten. His followers could not have been so dim as to be unable to procure a place to eat, even amidst the crowds of the Passover holiday. Yet Jesus handles the arrangements, why?
Finally, there was one item that brought all the others together and forced me to truly re-evaluate the story of Jesus, to scrutinize it all with the growing realization that what has been handed down was not the real story, but only a façade. The story was a veneer that covers what really happened, that hid the true story of what Jesus planned and accomplished and was as simple and straight forward an object as can be contemplated, a jar; or more precisely, an amphora, with holes in it, allowing the flow of either water or wine at will. That simple item, as basic to human development in its way as fire or the wheel, took all of the apologetics and speculations and suppositions about Jesus and turned them upside down.
People believe what they want to believe. That seems like a relatively simple, straightforward observation, a truism that few would question, yet it wasn’t until I began to research this story that I really understood what it meant as far as religious belief and subsequently religious faith were concerned, and how that belief impacted the Jesus tradition as we know it today. People believe what they want to believe. What does that say about us as humans and how we process information? Is it an accurate assessment about how we fix our separate views of reality or is it an ill-considered remark, a simplistic evaluation of the strangeness and diversity of what others seem to believe? And is the converse true? Do people not believe what they don’t want to believe? Confronted with events and ideas beyond the decorum of their existential cocoons, people often refuse to believe what stares them straight in the face, unwilling or unprepared to accept information that forces them from their self imposed comfort zones. I needed to look at these questions to try to understand how we humans perceive and accept reality in order to understand how the teachings and traditions about Jesus had developed over the last two thousand years. Why did some people see him as a heretic while others saw him as a prophet and still others as the “son of god”? Were they in possession of different sets of facts and so could draw markedly different pictures of the same man or were the facts the same but so vague and few that they allowed for almost any interpretation one might imagine? It seemed to me that the latter was correct and that it was important to understand, if only slightly, how fact becomes belief and belief ultimately becomes faith before I could fully appreciate how the Jesus of faith had developed from the Jesus of fact.
It became imperative for me to understand the organic growth of one from the other in order to fully understand the impact of faith, tradition and propaganda on the Jesus story. Without that discernment, it seemed impossible to sensibly interpret the various accounts. No one approaches the idea of writing a single word about Jesus without first seeing the need to interpret most, if not all, of the records available. Every writer, scholar, minister, even the scribes who penned the Gospels, etc. interprets the “facts” of the life of Jesus, and what they write is invariably filtered through the vision of their own beliefs. So understanding the mechanisms of belief can go a long way in helping to make sense of the Jesus material. It is also extremely helpful to know what any writer’s agenda might be for choosing this subject in the first place. As in any human endeavor, there are many and divers reasons why writers choose a particular subject, examine it and then to present their particular view. Yet any bias or motive that a writer brings to this subject further influences the final portrait and only clouds the issue that much more.
In my approach to analyzing the development of faith I at first used what I imagined was a basic model for the evolution of an individual’s faith, namely that accepted fact leads to tradition that leads to truth that leads to belief that finally becomes faith. It was a simple progression, linear and sensible it seemed in its assumptions and logical in its outcome. Presented with any fact, (the sun rises in the east, say) you test the truth of that fact (through astronomical observation, repetition of the event, lack of deviations from the initial event, etc.) and having come to the conclusion that the original premise of the fact (that the sun rises in the east) is true, then you place, to a greater or lesser degree, a certain amount of belief in the fact. This is based upon the confidence you have in the criteria used to establish the truth of the event. The “lesser” end of the belief spectrum is generally simple belief, with the open-minded caveat that you believe it to be true, but if anything comes along to disprove it, you’ll accept that new awareness without much fuss. The other, apparently greater, end of that spectrum seems to be complete blind faith that the fact or event is absolutely, unequivocally true, and if something comes along to disprove it or even to suggest that the precipitating event or fact may not be true, the response from faith is that the disproving fact must be wrong. The model for establishing faith, in my view, must proceed from fact to truth to belief to faith. Faith, on its own, without corroborating or supporting truth, means nothing more than wish fulfillment.
This is not necessarily so for those who have religious faith, as I came to find out. Their model for the development of faith seems to proceed along somewhat different lines. In their model the instigating fact (that Jesus turned water to wine, for example) cannot be subjected to any quantifiable criteria of examination and so becomes true only because the event has been written down in antiquity. More to the point, stories are believed as fact simply because they have been handed down over the centuries, recounted as true, and therefore are believed, not on the strength of their validity, but solely on the strength of the desire of the believers to accept the tradition as true. From their desire for this belief comes their faith that it must be true. Since there is almost no way to critically examine the instigating event, and because the desire for it to be true is so strong, such faith swings decidedly to the “greater” end of the spectrum. For these faithful, the transition from fact to faith bypasses truth almost entirely in favor of their desire that is coupled with their subjugation to religious indoctrination that discourages critical analysis. The linear development of this faith subsequently looks like; fact, to tradition, to desire, to belief, to faith; tradition and desire playing much greater roles in the sequence than truth, especially in the early stages of development.
It is not wrong to want something to be true. It is human nature to want many aspects of our lives to have the security and reassurance of truth. We want to be loved and wanted by those closest to us, for example, just as we want our lives to have some meaning and value. It is enough that we desire these things without the constant uncertainty of searching for the truth of them. We accept that the truth that frames these desires exists and it is this acceptance that keeps us centered and sane and confident enough to face the fragility of life on a day-to-day basis. It is only when we begin to doubt these truths or discover them to be false that our lives are thrown into upheaval and we begin questioning the nature of our lives and the meaning of our existence. How much greater would our insecurity be if in addition to questioning the true nature of our closest relationships, we then questioned what is for many people an even closer, more profound personal relationship, their relationship with God? The idea for many is unconscionable and frightening to the point that even when confronted with biblical inaccuracies (the perpetual virginity of Mary the mother of Jesus, for example) they refuse to believe it. For them, the bible is the inerrant word of God and anything that suggests otherwise must be wrong. They will not believe what they do not want to believe, whether of their own volition or through the insistence of their particular religious authority. Blind faith frees them from any and all uncertainty, the big questions of life are answered for them in the holy word, their ability to discern truth atrophied, their need to make complex decisions alleviated. With similar lack of skepticism much of biblical study today continues, biblical exegetes either afraid or unwilling to look hard at the evidence and study it beyond the traditional dogma.
Many who read this will no doubt say, “Yes, but you started your research with a preconceived idea and therefore you made whatever facts you uncovered fit your theory. You should have been more open to where those discoveries might take you, instead of forcing them into your theory. Your methodology is flawed, so your original premise cannot be proved”, which is, of course, nonsense. Any investigation, whether it is scientific, criminal, political or biblical, is started by positing a theory and then trying to find supporting facts. Methodology is only flawed when the investigator accepts only those facts that support the given theory, while disregarding others that might disprove it. There must be a starting point for any investigation, an idea, theory or instigating event that gets the ball rolling, in order to clarify the research. From that point, it is a question of studying what information exists and piecing it into the theory. If they fit, the theory advances towards truth. If they don’t fit, then the theory, or at least certain aspects of it, must be reconsidered. If enough pieces of evidence fail to fit, then the theory is flawed and may have to be discarded. Again, as in any theory regarding Jesus, assumptions may be made, suppositions examined and traditions questioned. That is the nature of almost any historical investigation where there is a dearth of supporting facts.
Theories about the Qumran community are a good example of this. Given only the remnants of a collection of scrolls and the archaeological remains of numerous buildings, who were the people who lived there and what did they do? Was it a villa overlooking the Dead Sea, a fortress, a religious sanctuary, a factory for making clay pots? No one at this juncture is absolutely certain, though various theories have come and gone, each taking into account the limited information available while trying to make the pieces fit each theory until new information is ascertained that either supports or disproves it. The methodology remains the same; view whatever evidence is available then pose various theories and see if they fit the evidence. “The Open Tomb” attempts to do just that.
I used the small signs that point to the real person of Jesus to lead me into the investigation of his death and resurrection. Once tradition and faith were left behind, the signs pointed directly to a conclusion vastly different from the one handed down to us by the New Testament and maintained by succeeding generations of theologians and apologists. When the pieces came together they formed a mosaic of a man, a first century prophet, magician, healer and mystic, a man of great courage and daring who was willing to risk his life in an attempt to offer his people hope, a man who stepped beyond the bounds of the traditions he knew in order to take his people in a new direction, a mortal man prepared to suffer horribly in order to free his people from suffering. It was the mosaic of a man born out of time, with ideas and plans more intricate and sophisticated than those around him could understand. It was the mosaic of a man, not a god. I did not set out to disprove his godhood, nor his resurrection. I set out wanting to see only if it was possible if he could have faked his death and resurrection, as someone else might set out to see whether or not he was in fact a carpenter.
As with any investigation I began with: who, what, where, when, why and how, for every situation. It was important to establish as much as possible the real events rather than the legendary accretions. Were the things I was examining within the realm of possibility for first century men and women? What would their motives have been? Did their activities require special abilities or knowledge, or were these activities beyond the capabilities of mortals and instead, required divine intervention? Could the things that I suspected were done then be done today and would we understand them in human terms or were they so dependent on time and place that only Jesus could have done them and only in that place and time? These were my criteria for beginning the research. As much as possible, I used the Gospels as the main reference for the story of Jesus and I used the Gospel of Mark as the primary source because it is purported to be the earliest of them. My general rule of thumb was that the farther in time from the events a source proved to be, the less weight I gave it. Also, if a writer’s agenda was clearly the motivating force behind his work rather than the simple transmission of what was related, (as with Paul) I tended towards greater skepticism. This meant that most of the New Testament, especially the Gospels, be recognized for what they partly were; propaganda and as such, although they might contain much that was useful and perhaps even factual, they had to be studied with skepticism and doubt as well. This was true of all writers and scholars, whether pro Jesus of the New Testament or not. My guiding mantra quickly became, “Find their agenda. Find their sequence of belief in writing what they wrote.” Nothing was accepted at face value.
Stripping away the centuries of legend accretion and tradition clutter it quickly became obvious that the story of Jesus was the story of a man completely in control of his destiny, directing the actions of those around him in order to achieve certain goals. The Gospels make no secret of this. They point to the incidents where he commands his followers to help him as he moves to fulfill messianic prophecy as if the Gospels are unaware that to fulfill prophecy incidentally is one thing, to fulfill it consciously, purposefully is another. More than that, the gaps between the lines of the Gospels told their story too, a story of people dropping from the narrative unexplained, while others appeared at very opportune moments. There seemed to be too much spy craft, for want of a better term, replete with code words and secret meetings, a distancing of family and old neighbors, too many people positioned in just the right place at the right time, too great an undercurrent of secret things and arcane knowledge. It read as much like a spy novel as the good news of the coming messiah. Clearly, there was a plan at work to put Jesus on the cross.
As you read “The Open Tomb” take the time to check for yourself the assertions made throughout. Have the Gospels nearby and access to the internet close at hand. Verify for yourself the claims that are made, put your own interpretation on the events. When a specific drug is mentioned or the name of a first century inventor or a statement made in a Gospel, look these things up and satisfy yourself that they are as represented in this work. I was compelled to write about these things because the truth of the story seemed all too real ---to me. I would hope that each person who comes to this material would come free of the blinders of faith, the shackles of tradition, to see the story of Jesus the Nazarene as it really happened.
As for the question of what agenda I may have for writing this, it is very simple: compulsion. I feel compelled, having seen that mosaic, to write down the story so that others may draw their own conclusions from it. I have tried many times to ignore this story and the conclusions that confront me, to put them aside and pretend that they do not exist, but they will not be dismissed and will not go quietly into forgetfulness. The research for this was never a paid assignment, nor was I ever assured of any monetary compensation for writing it. Nor do I have any particular ax to grind against the whetstone of Christianity. Though the results of my investigation are certainly controversial and directly question the fundamental teachings of Christianity, that was never my aim or concern. I have seen too many controversial theories about the origins of Christianity fall by the wayside to take much note of how this theory will be received. Christianity will trundle on un-phased by this latest assault on the veracity of its traditions because people believe what they want to believe and don’t believe what they don’t want to believe. No, it was only compulsion that required me to investigate the death and resurrection of Jesus. The signs pointed to a place, a time, a man. I have only uncovered them. They are not of my design.
Nobody sets out to write a book like this without great trepidation. The risks are too great, the chances for ridicule too certain. You stumble upon odd bits of fact or pieces of contradiction or they jump out at you as you try to live your life and the next thing you know, ten years of research have gone by and you are in possession of these shards of knowledge, like the shards of pottery at an archaeological dig, that lie scattered in the dirt and you carefully pick them up and try to piece them together and what they join together to be, what they are as a whole, points to something in the past that no one will believe, let alone admit, can be there. Yet you hold it in your hands, this accretion of shards of knowledge, you stare at it, you study it from all the angles, you wonder at it and you know that to ignore it is out of the question. To take the pieces apart and scatter them in the dirt again will not do. It cannot be done. They have a presence, a shape, a voice now that demands of you, “If this is so, then why this?”
David Mirsch
FORWARD
After two thousand years, it would be unreasonable to think that anyone could prove exactly what had happened to Jesus the Nazarene during his crucifixion and subsequent burial. The information left to us is too scant, too distorted by centuries of political and theological manipulation to afford us any hope of a definitive view of those events, but as with all attempts at securing such an understanding, an interpretation can be made. Critics of this present interpretation will undoubtedly dismiss it as wildly speculative and therefore unworthy of serious consideration, but I would contend that the ideas presented here are certainly no more speculative (and in fact, much less speculative) than the Christian traditions that make up the story as we know it.
Is it more speculative to imagine that Jesus rose from the dead after three days or that he engineered a plot to fake his death and resurrection? Is it more speculative to imagine that through the performance of a miracle he turned water into wine or that he staged and performed a simple magic trick that fooled simple people into believing he turned water into wine? Is it more speculative to imagine that Jesus was the actual living Son of God and could raise the dead or that a clever and motivated man could convince a naïve audience that he could? It is for the reader to decide. What is presented here is a speculative explanation of what very probably happened two thousand years ago. The events that took place were well within the capabilities of an educated and ambitious individual, well within human, not divine, capabilities. Whether or not any reader can accept the details and implications of what happened is directly proportional to the depth of his or her commitment to the Christian tradition.
Unfortunately, that tradition has too long influenced both the ability of scholars to see clearly the major events of Jesus’ life and the ability of theologians to recognize and embrace the truth. To illustrate this point, let’s look at just one example out of many available. Some years ago, three pre-eminent scholars of historical Jesus studies came together in a symposium at the Smithsonian Institution (September 1993). The scholars were; Stephen J. Patterson, then Assistant Professor of New Testament Studies at Eden Theological Seminary, Marcus J. Borg, then Hundere Distinguished Professor of Religion and Culture at Oregon State University and John Dominic Crossan, then Professor of Religious Studies at DePaul University. Their stated goal for the symposium, in fact the title given to it, was The Search for Jesus: Modern Scholarship Looks at the Gospels , the idea being that these three experts in the field of biblical exegesis would clarify the state of current understanding of the historical Jesus. These men are, to put it mildly, very influential within scholastic circles and for our general understanding of biblical studies. They have written numerous books on the subject of Jesus and the Gospels and they have appeared often in the public forum of television and print media where their opinions are frequently sought and always highly regarded. As Hershel Shanks, editor of Biblical Archaeology Review and Biblical Review , and moderator of the symposium put it, “We could hardly have a more expert, diversified or exciting panel.” (The Search for Jesus, page 6).
It is all the more disheartening then to recognize their complete dependence on Christian tradition as the platform for their scholastic interpretations. It is essential before beginning any search for the historical Jesus to first strip away the centuries of religious tradition if one is to have any hope of developing a more accurate image. This is, of course, easier said than done and the following examples, taken from the symposium, will illustrate just how difficult it is. These examples are not meant to denigrate the above-mentioned scholars, far from it. Their reputations within the field of biblical study are beyond question and above insult, but it is precisely because of their respected positions that they are perfect examples of how pervasive the dependence on Christian tradition has become in the search for the historical Jesus. It may seem unfair to the reader to judge the life’s work of any individual by examining one or two brief passages taken out of context from what was an oral exposition of their ideas but on this point I must disagree. Context, in this case the context of Christian tradition, means everything as it pertains to their personal and general approach to the subject. A person may spend their whole life striving for racial equality, but the moment a racial slur escapes them their life’s work must be re-examined with a fresh awareness. So it must be for biblical exegetes.
Taking a look at Stephen Patterson’s contribution to the symposium is a good first step. Patterson’s segment dealt specifically with the sources available to us for information regarding the life of Jesus, few and questionable as they may be. He mentions the first century Roman historian, Tacitus and duly notes the contemporary Jewish historian, Josephus, with the now requisite disclaimer warning of the probable editing of later Christian redactors. He goes on to mention other Jewish references that are in the Babylonian Talmud from around the 6 or 7 century of the common era, a fairly basic approach to the subject, nothing problematic there. In point of fact, there is nothing really troubling in anything Patterson said during the symposium. What is troubling, and this is where his dependence on Christian tradition comes in, is what he didn’t say. The Christian tradition has developed over the centuries that in any pursuit of the historical Jesus, scholars only need to refer to existing documents or historical records in order to glean whatever can be gleaned about Jesus. That, in itself seems logical enough to most of us; you can’t study what does not exist but therein lays the problem, a problem that has adversely influenced the work of many Jesus scholars and exposed the dependence on Christian tradition. There is a void in the meager record that must be addressed, a silence from history that speaks volumes yet is often either ignored or overlooked by scholars. The silence that is so profound is also quite simple; what did the ruling Jews of Jerusalem think of Jesus?
Imagine today that a major metropolitan newspaper failed to report a story, any story, say the murder of a local politician. The newspaper just didn’t cover the incident. Why? There are two reasons that come to mind. Either the paper felt that the incident was not important enough to cover and so didn’t bother or the paper had an agenda perhaps about violence in the media or suppression of the local crime rate or they didn’t want the politician and/or his party to get any free press. It could be any one of a number of reasons why they didn’t cover the story. The point is that they had an agenda for avoiding the incident. In either case, lack of importance or agenda, the failure to cover the story says something about both the paper and the incident. An historian, coming across this scenario years in the future, might want to know the specifics of why the paper failed to cover the story. Perhaps this historian has a record of other newspapers covering the same incident and he is intrigued by this paper’s silence on the subject.
So it is with the story of Jesus. Why is there a silence in the record of what mainstream Jews of the time were thinking? According to the portrait drawn for us in the Gospels, the Jewish authorities had no love for Jesus and in fact, saw him as a very immediate threat to their collective welfare. Why then was there no public outcry against the man and his teachings? If “Q” (the completely hypothetical document that is known as “Q” or “Quelle”, the German word for “source”) can be hypothesized by similarities within the Gospels, why then is there no similar attempt to recall the origins of Jewish polemics against Jesus from other records? My point here is not to argue that our historical research has been inadequate, but rather that the silence, the lack of any record of contemporary Jewish sources, must always be addressed as a facet of any serious attempt to study the existing sources and in the same manner as that of the above newspaper; by asking the same questions; was Jesus not important enough for mainstream Jews to bother with or was there some other agenda that prevented them from recording what they knew of him? There are, of course, other reasons why such a record might be no longer available to us, not the least of which could be the willful destruction of such records by either the Jews themselves or early Christians, but the argument remains the same; the silence must be addressed as a fundamental part of any historical survey of Jesus. Tacitus, Josephus, the Babylonian Talmud, the Silence, et al. Failure to recognize this void, as per Christian tradition, only repeats the inadequacies of all the preceding generations and adds nothing to our understanding of Jesus.
The second example of Christian tradition subverting scholarly examination of the records really comes as two parts from the segments provided by Marcus Borg. Borg’s representations to the symposium concerned the Palestinian background for the life of Jesus and as such, attempted to give a snapshot view of what general living conditions existed then, and then in a following segment, he gave a portrait of Jesus that closely matched the person who modern scholars say he was. As with all the segments referenced here, the Borg segments, restricted by time constraints, were necessarily brief and hardly to be considered definitive. Still, the influence of Christian tradition can be seen clearly and can be judged to have had an adverse impact on the subject at hand. Borg, to his credit, addresses the potential for problematic Christian influence on his own scholarly pursuits at the beginning of his first lecture: “I live in two different worlds. On the one hand, I live in the world of the secular academy. My teaching position is at the state university supported by public funds, and the professional organizations in which I am most active are all committed to the nonsectarian study of Jesus and Christian origins. In those settings, it is inappropriate to approach the study of Jesus with specifically Christian presuppositions or with his significance for Christian faith in mind.” Nevertheless, those presuppositions still exist and, subtle though they may be, still exert their influence.
In the first lecture, Borg does a fine job of explaining to his audience about the extreme temporal and cultural gaps that exist between Palestine of the first century and our time now. As he quotes the author L. P. Hartley from his novel The Go-Between , “The past is a foreign country. They do things differently there”. The point Borg makes is that there is an enormous distance “between us and the world of the past”. He goes on to say that not only is the distance “between us one of time and culture but also of thought process and social structure.” What he neglects to say (and it may be intrinsic in his references) is that, like a foreign country, they spoke a different language as well. This may seem self- evident but it becomes problematic when he refers to Jesus as a tekton: “If the tradition that Jesus was a tekton, a worker in wood, is correct…” On the surface, this seems a fairly innocuous reference, one that has certainly been around from the beginning of the Christian tradition building, but it is just this kind of tradition repetition that anchors our view of Jesus the man in a portrait that may not be accurate. As Borg later illustrates; “In that culture, artisans, like carpenters, were not above the landholding small peasant class but were actually below. To be an artisan or a carpenter was to be from a family that had lost its land. That suggests that to be a carpenter is to be on the marginalized edge of the peasant class.” Christian tradition would have us believe that Jesus’ profession dictated his poverty and his poverty helped to dictate his message but is this necessarily accurate? As we shall see, the truth may be far different.
Another example of the influence of Christian tradition upon our view of the historical Jesus comes from one of the lectures given by John Dominic Crossan, who, as an acknowledged expert on the historical Jesus, gave a talk on the infancy and youth of Jesus. What is of primary importance to our recognition of tradition impact on modern biblical scholarship is not the lecture itself but rather the short question and answer period that followed. In his defense, Crossan admits at the very end of the segment that the Roman Catholic theology, which has influenced him, has left him with “a whole different set of prejudices.” While it may seem laudable that a scholar of his reputation can admit to theological bias, it simultaneously suggests that such prejudices may have clouded his view of the historical Jesus. Is it of any importance that such a view might be altered? A look at the exchange is necessary to determine the extent.
The question posed by an audience member refers to previous comments made by both Crossan and Shanks that indicated that were was a difference between the Jesus of history and the Christ of faith. The question continues, “…But if they are [different], then the Christ of faith must be false because, if the Christ of faith is based on the Jesus of history and if they are different, then doesn’t that rule out the Christ of faith, even though there is a Christ of faith?” Crossan’s response carries with it more than a hint of deniability: “I would never make that distinction. You did not hear that distinction made by me.” Clearly, Crossan wants no part of examining any distinction between the Jesus of history and the Christ of faith, but isn’t that precisely what a thorough and exacting biblical scholar should be eager to examine? Shouldn’t the aim of any biblical exegete be to pursue the information available without regard for where that information leads? Scholarship ceases to be scholarship when it becomes theology and Crossan seems to have stepped into the role of theologian with his response. This becomes more evident as he continues; “You cannot make an act of faith in a fact. Jesus is a fact. He’s just there. But to say that here is where I see God is an act of faith.” Here, the Christian tradition is at it’s most obvious, it’s impact most felt. What Crossan completely fails to appreciate is that without the fact of Jesus standing there, there is in fact no place to attach one’s faith. Without the focal point of the historical Jesus, the Christian faith must necessarily fall apart. It is impossible to have the Christ of faith without the Jesus of history and without the resurrection the Jesus of history becomes an obscure rabbi of the first century. Without fact, Christian faith is nothing more than invention and wish fulfillment, a socio-religious movement created out of whole cloth by a small group of dissenting Jews.
A further example of the scholars’ dependence on Christian tradition can be seen in Craig A. Evans’ book, “Jesus and the Ossuaries” (Baylor University Press, 2003). The book deals with an examination of various ossuary inscriptions and Jewish burial practices in late antiquity. It focuses near the end on ossuary inscriptions that may have significance for research into the historical Jesus, specifically the ossuaries of Caiaphas and James, brother of Jesus, among others. In a brief conclusion to his observations based on the archaeological find of the James ossuary, Evans remarks that, “James, originally of Galilee, continued to live in or near Jerusalem. We are left with this impression in the New Testament (particularly the book of Acts and Paul’s letter to churches of Galatia). After all, if James’ family and home were still in Galilee, then we should not have expected his ossuary to be found in Jerusalem. Its discovery in Jerusalem shows that in all probability his home had become Jerusalem”. But I would argue that the finding of this ossuary makes it just as plausible that by finding the ossuary of James, the brother of Jesus, in Jerusalem the argument becomes much stronger that he was from Jerusalem originally, that he (and members of his family) lived and died there and only the propaganda of the New Testament stories indicates otherwise. Given a choice between the hard evidence of the archaeology of the ossuary and the agenda laden history of the New Testament’s recounting of events, the need to carefully re-examine what is known of James’ and Jesus’ family becomes even more imperative. Could their association with Galilee simply be an attempt to distance the family from Jerusalem by the writers of the New Testament, much as those same writers distanced the Romans from the condemnation and execution of Jesus by downplaying their involvement in order for the writers of the new faith to separate themselves from the mainstream Judaism of the time and to more easily win over pagan converts? As we will see later, this may be the case. For now, it is enough to recognize the pervasive influence of Christian tradition on Jesus scholarship and to understand that if scholars of the caliber of Evans, Crossan, Borg and Patterson can be so heavily and directly influenced by such tradition it is no wonder that the real story of the historical Jesus has been so difficult to uncover.
It is essential in any search for the historical Jesus to first strip away the centuries of tradition and look for the man who was the focal point for the divine myth that became the Christ of faith. In order to begin that process, we must strip away the most obvious and distorting tenets of the Christian dogma. It is incumbent on any scholar or writer who presumes to propose an alternate understanding of the Jesus story to first refute those traditions that in any way might obscure a non-traditional view of the material. Once that is done, the way will be open to re-examine the historical Jesus and what he accomplished. With this in mind, we need to start by examining the fundamental Christian tradition that Jesus’ character was of such lofty status that it was beyond repute. Once it is established that his character, like the character of any man, was capable of less than perfect digressions it becomes easier to understand his actions and to acknowledge that he was indeed capable of planning and executing the deception for which he is known.
Notes
The terms Jew or Jewish , though widely accepted today as designations for a person who follows the precepts of the Judaic religion and/or someone of Semitic descent are not the best or most accurate choice of words when used in association with studies of First Century biblical and social history. They are terms better suited for use after the advent of Rabbinic Judaism, which developed and was codified in the early centuries of the Common Era but well after the First Century and though Judaism did indeed develop from certain schools of religious thought centered in Judea in the First Century, it should hardly be considered a blanket reference term for the many and diverse religious and philosophical groups present at that time. These terms have, over the centuries, slipped into common usage with biblical scholars as a sort of short hand, an easy designation for those people of the Middle East who held the Torah as the central foundation of their lives and beliefs. Unfortunately, as with any short hand or terminology of convenience, much in the way of accuracy and precision has been lost, especially for the non-scholar who might rightfully assume that all keepers of the Torah in the First Century, Jews as the scholars would have it, shared the same beliefs, followed the same customs, abided the same laws and worshipped God in the same way, which, of course, was not the case. Also, other groups, like the Samaritans, who might reasonably be included with other keepers of the Torah, are generally pigeon-holed as strictly Samaritans but not as Jews, thus blurring a common philosophical ancestry between the two groups. Jew, then, as a descriptive term, does not serve the purpose for which it is intended and as it fails to do so, it seems reasonable to replace it.
Though several other terms are sometimes used loosely to describe these same people, such as Hebrew and Israelite, they often suffer from incorrect or casual usage as well. Like Jew , these terms have their time and place, but as descriptive terms for the ethno-religious people of First Century Palestine they only serve to mislead and cloud our understanding of that time and culture. It is much the same obscuring terminology as that of American Indian that was in use for so long to describe the indigenous peoples of the North American continent. Such habitual misuse of socio-ethnic classifications, especially by non-affiliated or culturally “superior” groups generally leads to incorrect historical assumptions that make it difficult, if not impossible to fully understand the complete context of a particular historical episode. As will be seen later, the traditional New Testament translation of the Greek Ioudaioi as Jews rather than Judeans has implications that help obscure some of the facts of the Jesus story.
In looking at the Gospel of John, the gospel that makes the most egregious misuse of the mistranslation of Ioudaioi as Jews that was used over 70 times has been responsible over the centuries for much of the anti Jewish reaction that the Gospels have engendered. In those over seventy occurrences three distinct applications can be seen. The first classification renders an association to the temple leadership and the royal or tetrarchic authorities of the Jerusalem and provincial areas in general. For example, in John 1:19; “This is the testimony given by John when the Jews [Judeans] sent priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, “Who are you?’” the reference is clearly to those in authority in Judea and more specifically the Temple. The second association is to members of the ethno-religious community whose religious viewpoint was based on the Temple in Jerusalem. As a result, John 2:6 refers to “Jewish rites of purification” (although in Greek the reading would be, “rites of purification of the Jews”), a reference to a people who, no matter where they lived, followed those religious doctrines and customs established by the Jerusalem Temple cult and referring to the Jewish population as a whole. The third association is to the people living strictly within the confines of the province of Judea, whether Jewish or not. An example of this association would be when the phrase “King of the Jews [Judeans]” is mentioned (as on the titulus). The reference is to the population of Judea as a whole, not to any one ethnic or social group. What is significant to understand is that all three references are anchored in their connection to the province of Judea. The political, social, philosophical and cultural milieu of Judea of that time was what defined those peoples and regardless of their disparate ethnic, social and religious associations, the common thread that drew all their lives together and allowed them to be referred to by a single term is their connection to Judea.
The blanket term Jews used in place of the more precise Judeans is, under these circumstances, very misleading and has done much over the centuries to hide the intent of the Gospel writers. Jews , in this context, indicates simply “keepers of the Torah”, so that the impression is given that the Ioudaioi , the Jews , of say John 9:18, represent a socio-religious viewpoint, especially by way of distinction to the co-mentioned Pharisees of the same passage. The Pharisees are the initial group to question the blind man, but are referred to as Jews when the group shows disbelief or are mentioned in a negative light (JN 9:22). The use of Judeans within the same context, on the other hand, indicates a socio-geographic allusion that gives the reference a much more precise meaning. The healing of the blind man then becomes (as it was intended) a political statement that condemns the Judeans for their lack of faith in the political agenda Jesus was preaching. That historians and biblical scholars have continually allowed this mistranslation to continue should be a cause for some concern and should be remedied. Biblical scholarship is sufficiently hampered by tradition without polemical translations adding to the difficulties.
What then should we call these Jews , these “keepers of the Torah” of the First Century? What term or name will serve to accurately identify them, so that vague or inaccurate labels will not hamper references to them in their time and place? I would propose the term Mosaeans (as opposed to Mosaics) would be a more accurate name for these people and while, like any label that defines and consequently restricts as it does so, this name suffers from its own limitations, I would suggest that those limitations are far fewer and less misleading than the currently used Jew . The belief in the law of Moses, as handed down directly from God, as the foundational belief system of these First Century people is the one unifying and centralizing tenet that defines them all, no matter their geographical location or cultural refinements. Diasporan Mosaeans who lived in Rome or Corinth or Alexandria might have widely divergent views on the precise practice of their faith or the exact meaning of their laws but the foundational belief that Moses was the bringer of that practice and those laws was universal. The Torah was the keystone of their lives. The distance one lived from the Jerusalem Temple might dictate how one viewed animal sacrifice or the Temple tax or even the depth of one’s faith, but it could not and did not alter one’s core belief in Moses. Samaritans might have longed to rebuild their own competing temple on Mount Gerizim, Judeans might have hated and mistrusted Samaritans and Galileans might have seen themselves as rebels and outcasts but they all shared a belief in Moses the law giver, they were all Mosaeans. Using the term Mosaean helps to relieve us of the short sightedness of tradition and the cultural egotism that continue to blind us today. Rather than trying to justify the schizophrenia of Jesus as a Galilean Jew (Judean), two terms that, taken together, are mutually exclusive and counter descriptive (one must necessarily be from Galilee or from Judea, not both) and therefore obscure rather than define the man, we can now refer to him more correctly as a Judean Mosaean, a classification that defines him more clearly and allows us to place him correctly in his First Century context.
Another matter that requires some explanation and clarification is the definition of the Gospels. It is important to establish how they are viewed by contemporary historians and by Christian apologists and how they will be viewed within this work. What are they and how should they be viewed historically? Are they history as we understand the term or are they propaganda? Are they, as Crossan wonders, prophecy historicized or history prophesized? Most modern scholars see them as something akin to fictionalized history, not history as we today would understand it, but as an attempt to record the activities and sayings of a man without the restriction of absolute accuracy of time, place and corroboration and dependent always on the context of the message being recorded, much like an early docudrama. Most Christian apologists, on the other hand, tend to see them as more nearly biographical as we would accept the term today. They are the record of the story of Jesus of Nazareth, called the Christ and the Son of God, and while there may be contradictions or errors within their written accounts they are to Christian apologists, in the fullest sense of the word, accurate in their details and context. Still others see them as a completely fictionalized account, a retro pseudo history of a non-existent god-man, a creative attempt to manufacture and develop the godhead for a new mystery religion.
When I first began the research that lead me to the conclusions contained within this work, I was highly skeptical of the historical accuracy of the Gospels. The obvious contradictions and divergences of storylines between the four accounts, the miracles and healings, the virgin birth, the deification of Jesus, the lack of corroboration with contemporary historical accounts, all left me very suspicious of their veracity and historical value. While I never was so incredulous as to question their authenticity (I found it difficult to believe that the Jesus story was created out of whole cloth in an attempt to start a new religious movement), I certainly felt that the story contained within their pages had more than a little fiction imbedded in it and that much more than a little creativity was required to flesh out the Jesus they presented. I saw them as nothing more than religious propaganda of the most obvious kind, designed to bring the story to a wider audience and to bring new converts into the fold. This view was of course heavily influenced by the intervening centuries of tradition that had anchored the story in a post Jewish Revolt reality that placed its emphasis on developing its Christianity and removed it almost entirely from its true context of pre-revolt politics. It wasn’t long before I began to see the story beneath the story and to see the religious propaganda for the political propaganda that it was intended to be.
As this understanding gained greater currency for me, it became easier and easier to put Jesus back into his historical context and the story into its timeframe. The Gospels were still propaganda, but they were propaganda that made complete sense for their time and place. Where as the Christianizing propaganda of the traditional interpretation of the Gospels insisted upon Jesus’ fulfillment of biblical prophecy and the resultant schism his teachings wrought with the mainstream Mosaic philosophy of his time in order to fully understand and appreciate his message, the new understanding of the Gospels’ propaganda required no such insistence. The story unfolded naturally, fitting well within its context of the early decades of the First Century amid all the political, social and religious turmoil that were evident at that time. Jesus stopped being a mythical miracle man who spawned a new religion and became what he always was, a highly motivated political leader of First Century Judea who’s message remained pertinent up to the First Jewish Revolt. The Gospels were the multi-layered and clandestine transmission of that message, as they had to be, in the Roman occupied world of first century Palestine. The spirituality of Jesus’ message was there, certainly, but as a cover that provided plausible deniability should it be examined by the Romans or by the domestic powers that controlled the Jerusalem temple and the populace at large. Political subversion, the attempt to radically change the established order of things, seldom sees the light of day in an occupied country and Jesus’ message was no different. It had to be hidden beneath the layers of his parables and other teachings in order to protect the messenger. In part, that explains Jesus’ repeated admonitions for secrecy within the Gospels; to deflect attention from his activities that would draw too close scrutiny to his message, exposing the real political motive behind them. As long as he remained a poor, itinerant healer and prophet who spoke in parables about matters of faith and spiritual redemption, he was free to spread the word about the coming Kingdom of Heaven but his ministry would have been very short lived had the ruling powers understood the deeper meaning encased within his teachings.
Because of this deeper meaning and because of the political ramifications layered within the Gospels, their dating (or more precisely, the dating of the core teachings within them) should be reassigned a much earlier date. While current scholarship generally dates the Gospels from the very earliest suggested dates of the 40s and 50s of the common era to as late as 110CE for the Gospel of John, I would suggest that even the earliest of these dates is not early enough. The Gospels were not, strictly speaking, biographical, which might be expected to be written after the fact, but instead were political propaganda that could reasonably be expected to be written concurrently with Jesus’ preaching in order to most effectively disseminate his message to the broadest audience. Nor should it be assumed that because the message of his ministry was political in nature that this automatically means that there is no historical existence behind the propaganda. Even though the Gospels were clearly redacted and amended throughout their early years, there is no reason to assume that their core message was not available to the populace very early in their history, perhaps as early as the 30s in some written form and orally even earlier. The transmission of the political message would require such an early dating because that was when the movement based on Jesus’ teachings was at its most prominent point, and though the movement did change and alter its priorities after the resurrection as might be expected, the transmission of the message remained relevant throughout the years preceding the revolt.
In fact, there is internal evidence within the synoptics that suggests that the dating of at least some of the stories can be confidently assigned to the period leading to the crucifixion in 37 CE and immediately after, culminating in the writing of at least parts of Matthew sometime shortly after 39 CE. This dating (though much earlier than most scholars would care to accept), is significant in that it lays the foundation for understanding the true context of Jesus’ message and helps to establish the correct chronological order in which the Gospels were written. Specifically, the story of the healing of the demoniac and the contiguous stories of the bleeding woman and the healing of Jairus’ daughter seem to point to particular locations and a specific place in time, namely 36 CE. The fact that these stories in Mark and Luke contain specific reference to Jairus while the same story in Matthew does not, helps to determine the sequence of the stories and the intent of their message. This reference to Jairus is not casual or even historical but is an intentional metaphor for an actual historical person (Herod Antipas) whose inclusion in the first two stories carries an importance politically and temporally that his inclusion in Matthew did not, hence the omission of the name Jairus in that Gospel. This suggests that the writing of the Gospel of Matthew, at least as concerns these stories, probably took place after 39 CE or after Antipas had been removed from power and was no longer a political entity that needed to be regarded.
With this understanding comes the realization that the true sequence of the synoptics is not Matthew, Mark and Luke as the traditionalists would have it, nor Mark, Matthew and Luke as modern scholarship would prefer but rather Mark, Luke and Matthew with Mark being written soon after Passover in 37 CE and Luke not long after that, between 37 and 39 CE (this dating for Luke is possibly corroborated by the dates when its intended recipient, Theophilus, was high priest, that is 37-41 CE) with Matthew, as stated above being penned sometime after Antipas’ removal in 39 CE. Further corroboration of this sequencing comes in the form of additional internal evidence that has been largely ignored for two millennia, namely Jesus’ baptism stories and the inclusion/exclusion of the name of the high priest, Caiaphas, who is named in Matthew and John but missing from Mark and Luke (there is a single mention of Caiaphas in Luke 3:2 but only as a means of affixing a time frame to the story that may be a later addition). These items contain information that indicates the sequence of their development. Whether or not the inclusion of this information was intentional or incidental is impossible to determine definitely, but the development of the individual items both separately and as a group, does seem to indicate a definitive progression that, like a botanical progression of seed to sprout to plant, seems to confirm the order of the writings.
The baptismal stories in the synoptics seem to trace a spiritual growth in the minds of later writers, a development of the grandeur and importance of the occasion with each successive retelling of the moment.
Mark 1:10; “And when he came up out of the water immediately he saw the heavens being torn open and the spirit (pneuma ) descending on him like a dove.”
Luke 3:21-22; “…and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heavens were opened and the holy spirit (hagion pneuma ) descended on him in bodily form like a dove…”
Matthew 3:16 “…and when Jesus was baptized, immediately he went up from the water and behold the heavens were opened to him and he saw the spirit of God (pneumatou theou ) descending like a dove…”
The spiritual progression recorded in the development of the heavenly being in these three segments, from simple spirit in Mark, to the holy spirit in Luke, to the spirit of god in Matthew, seems to indicate the sequential order of the works as well. While Mosaeans of the First Century might be inclined to add or subtract the adjective holy to written material (although such a move would have been highly unlikely) it is even more unlikely that they would have tampered with any reference to God in any written work. In fact it was seen as a general rule in the Halacha or Mosaean law of the time that one may increase in holiness but not decrease. In other words, if God was written in Matthew originally, Matthew then could not have preceded works that subsequently omitted God as Mark and Luke did. Once God was written into a work it could not be left out of following works that either copied or paraphrased the original. Mosaean reverence for the divine figure of God was such that any written works that contained or might have contained any reference to God could not be purposely destroyed once they reached the end of their usefulness but were instead placed in genizahs or storage libraries where they were left to decompose naturally without human intervention. That same reverence would have dictated that if Matthew were the first of the Gospels to be written, Mark and Luke necessarily would have contained the God reference in their baptismal accounts. Since they do not, the supposition must be that they were written earlier than Matthew.
The inclusion/exclusion of Caiaphas in the Gospels parallels that of the use of Jairus, absent from the stories when its inclusion would have been politically disadvantageous (because he was still in power) and included in the stories later, after he was removed from power in 37 CE. Just as the omission of Jairus/Antipas in Matthew after 39 CE makes it clear that the political climate had changed enough to make the connection between Jairus and Antipas unnecessary, so too the dramatic changes that occurred in 37 CE allowed the inclusion of Caiaphas in the next Gospel to be written, which was Matthew. In Mark and Luke, Caiaphas is simply referred to as ‘the high priest’, an attempt to distance the real man, however slightly, from the consequences of what would have appeared to the Romans as a botched crucifixion of a Judean citizen. The writers of Mark and Luke, recording events so closely after they happened, hardly could have been expected to specifically name outright the man who had been in charge at the time when Jesus faked his death and rose from his grave. Caiaphas, though no longer high priest when these Gospels were written, must have retained friends in high places and had relatives in the area who would have come under some scrutiny and certainly derision for his part in the mess and while the Romans certainly knew Caiaphas and must have been suspicious of him as the Mosaean high priest and his part in the fiasco of Jesus’ crucifixion, the direct inclusion of his name in the written Gospels could have served only to inflame Roman reaction to unresolved events and to those Mosaeans then in power. Sometime later, after Caiaphas had been removed from power or perhaps had died, his name was included in the story as a means of confirming the Gospel’s historical veracity by association.
With these progressions in mind, it seems clear that while Luke may have preceded Mark and Matthew or Mark may have preceded Luke and Matthew it is extremely unlikely that Matthew, or at least this baptismal story in Matthew, could have preceded either of the baptismal stories in Mark and Luke. Their writers would not have omitted Matthew’s reference to God had Matthew been written first. The most likely sequence seems to be then Mark, Luke and Matthew, corresponding more closely to the progression of the political intent evident in the story of Jairus’ daughter; Mark and Luke being written pre-39 CE with Matthew written post-39 CE. The Gospel of John, written somewhat later, (probably between 40 and 68 CE) did not mention God in its baptismal account but used rather the simple ‘spirit’ or ‘pneuma ’ of Mark but John was a separate document from the synoptics, not so dependent upon them and reflecting, in a sense, a shift to a second phase of the revolutionary movement begun by Jesus. The political nature of all the Gospels, the revolutionary message imbedded within their stories, indicates that all four were in circulation before the First Jewish Revolt, or sometime before 66 CE when such a revolutionary message still had relevance. The synoptics, written close together in time and more highly dependent upon one another, reflected subtle changes in the political landscape of their times. John, written later, reflects a greater change within the movement, one affected by the loss of Jesus’ direct public involvement and the intrusion of Pauline Christianity that usurped the original political message and altered it to the peaceful theological message that we know today.
The understanding that much of the material of the four Gospels was written between the 30s and 60s and the realization that their core message was political in nature, not spiritual, is a big step towards finding the Jesus of history. Once we can see his message for what it was, it becomes that much easier to see Jesus for who he was and to accept that much of what was written in the Gospels was based on disguising the political subversion that Jesus preached and protecting the individuals involved. For these reasons, the historical validity of any Gospel account must be weighed very carefully. Is it safe to assume the validity of Jesus’ poverty or his Nazareth home, or could these be misrepresentations designed to confuse or mislead the Roman authorities? If euphemistic nicknaming as a means of misdirection and obfuscation was commonplace within the society of the time and specifically within the Dead Sea Scrolls, could the same be true of names within the Gospels? These questions require anyone searching for the historical Jesus to assume nothing and to be open-minded enough to scrutinize all other alternatives. If the Gospels present certain events as factual, one must assume for the sake of reliable research that they might be metaphorical. If an incident seems inconsequential (the taste of gall, perhaps) one should consider that there might have been greater significance attached to it within the story. The point to remember is that the Gospels are not what they seem to be, even after centuries of dissection and interpretation, but they can be read and understood as the story of Jesus the Nazarene if they are framed within the dangers and oppression so prevalent at the time. To ignore or minimize this fact is to be unable to read and ascertain the real story they represent.
The inner core of the Gospels, the parables, miracles and teachings of Jesus that date from the late 20s to the 30s and beyond (before any redactions or schismatic biases were written into them) were written to hide their true message. Consequently, they were written using three levels of meaning that can be understood as: 1) the given anecdote (the parable, miracle/healing or observation) that is to be taken at face value with no interpretation; 2) the individual/spiritual/enlightenment level which requires a certain philosophical interpretation and served primarily to obscure the true message and 3) the political/social/ nationalistic level that requires the deepest understanding of context for interpretation. This third level (and it runs through nearly all of the teachings attributed to Jesus in the Gospels) concerns almost exclusively his agenda for reunifying the United Monarchy of Israel from King David’s time as a means of securing God’s forgiveness of sin for the Mosaean people and ultimately re-establishing God’s kingdom (the United Monarchy) on earth. Once re-established, the Kingdom, whether through God’s agency or the newfound strength of a repentant, unified and united people, would drive any oppressors from the lands of Israel.
A prime example of this layering is clear in the story of the Samaritan woman at the well that is found in John 4:1-42. The first layer, the basic story of Jesus coming upon a Samaritan woman about to get water from Jacob’s well and talking with her about her past marital life and about the “water of life” he offers to those who receive his message, seems straight forward enough in our time, yet it would have been a very shocking story to listeners of first century Palestine. The idea that a woman, especially alone, would have spoken to any man who was not a close relative of hers would have been unthinkable, even scandalous. That Jesus, a Judean, (as evidenced by her remark in 4:9 that he is a “Jew” though actually, as indicated above, “Judean” is meant) would have spoken to a hated Samaritan, whether male or female, would have been equally shocking considering the animosity that existed between the two peoples. That he would have identified himself as the Messiah to a Samaritan who was expecting her own “Samaritan” messiah would be troubling to both Samaritans and Judeans, and that a Judean would have known anything at all about the past of a Samaritan woman would have seemed highly unusual to say the least. So the basic story, the first layer, while unremarkable to us would have been shocking, even agitating, to First Century Palestine listeners.
The second layer, the individual/spiritual/enlightenment message of the story would have required only a brief explanation for First Century listeners, as it would today. The spiritual message was relatively simple, Jesus was the Messiah, the chosen one of God, and if he was prepared to minister to someone like the Samaritan woman, a pariah to a Judean, a social outcast because of her accessibility to a strange man, an enemy to the Temple in Jerusalem because of her birthplace, then the listener, as a believer in Jesus, should be ready to accept such people as well. If Jesus was prepared to share the gift of the water of eternal life with this Samaritan woman, then all people and peoples must be important to God and therefore worthy of ministry. If Jesus, as a Judean, was prepared to accept the role of the Samaritan Messiah, then the messiah must be universal, must be the messiah for all people and all nations. Acceptance is the key to this message, and a willingness to avoid prejudging people, so that listeners will embrace those whom they might first shun. A very common, even characteristic, message in Jesus’ ministry, made clear with only the simplest of explanations but it is when we examine the third layer of the message that the true meaning of what Jesus was saying becomes clear.
The social/political/nationalistic message of this story really epitomizes the thrust of Jesus’ original ministry as a political movement, which is why it serves as such a good example from the Gospels. As has been stated, though this political agenda runs through much, if not all, of what Jesus taught, it is most readily accessed here, in this story. The key to that access comes in the conversational reference to the Samaritan woman’s five husbands. It was an awkward moment between Jesus and the woman, an intimate awareness on his part of what she no doubt considered to be an unsavory or at least unfortunate aspect of her life, and yet she was both surprised and impressed by his knowledge of her background. Why should she feel so and why did Jesus make the reference at all? Surely her character had been well established in the story by the facts already mentioned, that she was a disgraced woman talking with a strange man and a Samaritan talking with a Judean. Did her character need to be impugned further by the references to her multiple husbands and her current, unmarried but attached state to press home the message? It is in the understanding of her “husbands” that the political message reveals itself.
Samaria, like the rest of the Palestine area, had known nothing but political turmoil and social unrest for centuries up to and including the First Century. The land and its people had been conquered and re-conquered, occupied and reoccupied by foreign invaders and indigenous rulers alike so that a steady stream of heads of state had passed through leadership positions in Samaria. It is to this stream of rulers that Jesus refers when recalling the Samaritan woman’s husbands. The Samaritan woman clearly stands for the province of Samaria and her “husbands” just as clearly stand for the last five rulers of the province of Samaria. They are: Hyrcanus II, who ruled from 63-40 BCE, Antigonus 40-37, Herod the Great 37-4, Herod Archelaus 4 BCE-6CE and upon his removal, Rome (the “husband” who, as a metaphor for a foreign power, could not be legitimately “married” to a Samaritan). The reason that the first four husbands were noted by Jesus is that they came to power after the Roman incursion of Palestine in 63 BCE and although they were all born in that region and were Mosaeans, they were all more or less subject rulers to Rome (Hyrcanus was in fact approved and placed into power by Rome and Archelaus was removed from power by Rome), thus reflecting Samaria’s checkered political past.
Seen in this light, the story more clearly reveals its subject. Jesus, representing the Judeans, by pointing out the woman’s checkered past is indicating his understanding of what Samaria has endured for nearly one hundred years (63 BCE-27 CE approx.) under Roman occupation. By accepting the role of the Samaritan Messiah, he is holding out a hand of unity and friendship to the Samaritan people. More than that, by asking her initially to get him a drink, he is asking the Samaritan people to help him, to join him politically, to reunify. Surprised by his request, she asks him (in 4:9) why a Judean would ask a Samaritan for a drink/help. Jesus answers by telling her that if she knew “the gift of God” (reunification of the United Monarchy of David, the Kingdom of God and Heaven so often referred to in the Gospels) that she would be asking him instead for a drink of the “living water”, a reference to the “living water” of the Jordan river in contrast to the “dead” (not moving) water of Jacob’s well. This mention of waters is a comment on the differences between past and future salvation, but more, it is a comment on the sectarianism that has prevented the needed reunification. Jacob’s well lies in Samaria, on land given specifically to Jacob and his descendants, now exclusively Samaritan, whereas the Jordan, flowing as it does from north to south, physically touches all the lands of the United Monarchy; Samaria, Galilee, Judea, Perea, etc., free flowing, unaltered by man. The importance of this distinction would not have been too obscure for First Century listeners. They would have grasped the deeper meaning Jesus conveyed to them about leaving behind old prejudices, old faiths in order to secure the Kingdom of God, now, on earth.
He makes this specific point later (in 4: 21-23), when he declares to her that “the hour is coming when neither on this mountain (Gerizim, the holy mountain of the Samaritans and close to Jacob’s well) nor in Jerusalem will you worship the Father”, a hint that a new, nonsectarian temple will be built after reunification, and though he underlines the differences between the two peoples by indicating Judean priority in matters of faith, he also affirms that all “true worshippers will worship the Father in spirit and truth” and not by sectarianism or geography. That the Samaritan woman understands this message is shown by the fact that she leaves her water jar behind (signaling that the old waters/ways are to be left behind) as she goes to her town to inform the people that she thinks she has met the Messiah.
This message of the actual reunification and restoration of the United Monarchy of David would have been seen by both the Roman and Jerusalem authorities as the highest form of insurrection and sedition, an obvious attempt to rouse the populace to rebellion, as Jesus and his listeners would have known. To be caught by the authorities preaching such a message would have meant instant arrest and execution, possibly for everyone involved, preachers and listeners alike. Under such circumstances, it doesn’t require much imagination to realize that burying the intended message beneath a layer of more easily explained, conventional preaching was both prudent and expedient if the message was to be disseminated to the people. This then, is the story contained within the Gospels, a hidden political agenda obscured by the spiritual teachings of Jesus, a case of the second layer of meaning serving as plausible deniability if necessary to mask the intended message. In its time and place, that political message was as dangerous and deeply divisive as any subversive and seditious movement could be and yet it was also a message of hope and redemption for thousands of poor and disenfranchised people who longed for a better future. As we proceed to study the Jesus story, we will analyze other parables and healings that represent his political ambition, understanding for the first time what the Gospels meant and how they were altered after his crucifixion to adapt to a more spiritual and mythical agenda.
Another underlying facet incorporated within the Gospels that should be noted is their use of gender selection for various characters within the pericopes to differentiate between social- political entities. As a general rule, men and women represent specific cultural connections as a means of conveying secretly the messages of the stories. For example, women on the whole can be understood to stand for population groups (as the woman at Jacob’s well stands for Samaria) or geographical locations (as can be seen in the raising of Jairus’ daughter), while men represent institutional identities like the priesthood or government bodies (as can be seen in the Good Samaritan or the healing of the blind man at the Bethsaida pool). This usage of gender to represent different social segments was just another way for Jesus and the writers of the Gospels to again obscure the deeper political message they were preaching, yet at the same time these choices give us further insight into the depth of the chauvinism that existed at that time. Men were assigned to represent the higher institutions portrayed in the Gospels, the religious, legal and political aspects of the stories while women characters represented the lower order of things, the general populace and the social-political organizations that defined them. These assignments help to explain the seeming importance of women in Jesus’ ministry contained within the Gospels. The importance of conveying the political message demanded that women be used metaphorically as places and groups to help the listeners grasp the deeper meanings in the stories as a means of clarification. If the story involved a man, his metaphorical role was as an institution. If a woman was the focal point, her metaphorical role was as a place or common social group. Jesus and the Gospel writers would have seen nothing wrong in these distinctions since the distinctions were simply reflections of their society that would have been accepted by one and all. Women may not have been trustworthy enough to give testimony in a court of law in Jesus’ time, but they could certainly be used in a metaphorical way to represent significant aspects of a seditious message.
One more note requires attention although the recognition must be brief (there is hardly a chapter of this current work that doesn’t deserve much lengthier attention). Some scholars today have proposed and supported the view that an historical Jesus never existed and that the Christ of faith is the result of the development of a mythic godhead by First Century Mosaeans intent upon creating a spiritual schism with the Jerusalem Temple. These scholars, known generally as “ahistorists” have built a theory of the mythical Christ Jesus based primarily on two tenets, the first being the Argument from Silence, a position that states that because there are no unambiguous or unqualified references to Jesus written contemporaneously with his purported existence in the First Century that the likelihood of his actual, historical existence is greatly diminished, if not refuted out right. Since the references to Jesus in the works of Josephus and other First Century historians are of questionable authenticity, the ahistorists assume a skeptical view of the existence of the historical man. In their understanding of the extant sources, not enough is written about such a prophet and holy man and miracle worker to justify belief in his real existence. This view, coupled with the second tenet of their theory, the absence of any tangible biographical data about Jesus contained within the non Gospel writings of the New Testament (the Gospels being viewed as a later addition to the Jesus story in order to provide biographical substance to the fictive godhead), sundry other early church writings and the teachings of the early church fathers (Paul, et al) and the deification and mythologizing of the Christ of faith contained within those works, has lead the ahistorists to the conclusion that the Christ of faith is a totally fabricated and fictional character, a mythical founding father that served as a starting point for their mysticism and support for the belief that the historical Jesus had no basis in fact.
Again, without going into too much detail, it seems essential in this current work to make some response to the ahistorist theory, if only to remove it as a stumbling block in our search for the Jesus of history. While many of the ahistorical arguments are well reasoned and confirmed by the written record left to us and while, in part, the second tenet of their theory seems accurate and well corroborated, believable, and factual, the first tenet is less so. The argument from silence, while on its surface seems to be the stronger of the two tenets, upon closer analysis fails for several reasons. For one thing, the ahistorists, like many modern biblical scholars, take the Jesus story out of its context of first century Palestine. As we will see later, that context is foundational to the story, influencing what we know of the story and just as importantly, what we don’t know or shouldn’t know about it. The fact that the people of that time and place were continuously under the oppression of both their local leaders and those of a foreign power goes a long way to explaining the lack of documented evidence about Jesus. Add to that the fact that his message was largely political and seditious, highly controversial and extremely dangerous and it is not too hard to understand that the contemporaneous recording of any biographical details of his life and message would be necessarily irresponsible and risky. As Jesus himself says in Mark 4:11-12, “ …but for those outside, everything is in parables, so that they may indeed see but not perceive and may indeed hear but not understand lest they should turn and be forgiven.” The nearest analogy that comes close to mirroring the dangers faced by Jesus and his earliest followers would be the underground fighters in Nazi occupied Europe during World War II. It would be hard to imagine that the French Underground would take both the time and the risks to document the life and political message of one of their leaders during their country’s occupation without either encoding the information in some way or obscuring it beneath layers of metaphor and allegory, which, as noted above, is exactly what they did. Such an activity as openly recording the biographical details of a freedom fighter’s life goes beyond reason considering the threat of capture or exposure of the documents. One of the essential differences between the French Underground and the Jesus movement lies in the fact that the Nazi occupation lasted less than a decade, while the Roman occupation of Palestine lasted for centuries, thus negating the chance for contemporaries of Jesus to go public with their stories for fear of retribution against other members of the movement or their families.
Beyond the omission of context and the inclusion of Jesus’ political agenda, there are other factors that seem to refute the argument from silence as a qualified objection to an historical Jesus. As has been indicated in the Introduction, there are certain items and specific dates buried within the Gospels that would seem to indicate the existence of a real Jesus. It is hard to imagine that those who fabricated the mythic Jesus would include in their fiction references to specific subtle markers that either historically date various incidents or suggest the presence of human rather than divine intervention. While it is understood that the creators of the myth wanted to ground its founder in a real, human setting, it is less easily understood why they would depend on such subtle markers to do so. Why not be specific and obvious in indicating the historical context of the myth? Why not ground the myth with greater historical certainty, a less ambiguous date of birth perhaps, a more historically accurate marker than “around thirty” for the beginning of his ministry? There were better and more tangible ways to ground the mythic Jesus in his society than were used in the Gospels (the documents that most ahistorists point to as an attempt by early writers to ground the mythic Christ in reality), and while the argument might be made that the ambiguity of his biography was an important facet of the fiction, allowing wider interpretation and acceptance of the man while at the same time interfering with any real attempt to recover any facts of his non-existent life, that seems a fairly tenuous and risky approach to developing the myth. There would have been too many reasons for actual, living people to refute the myth and decry the deception.
What seems to exist within the Jesus story is a profound dichotomy, an un-resolvable gulf between the Jesus of history and the Christ of faith, and while the ahistorists are satisfied that their Christ of faith is only a myth, hiding their embarrassment over a real Jesus of history behind their Argument from Silence, what they fail to realize is that the two are mutually exclusive. The Jesus of history does not need to impinge on the Christ of faith to secure his existence, and the myth of the Christ of faith doesn’t require an historical Jesus to be believable. The Jesus of history can exist without becoming the Christ of faith and the Christ of faith can exist without the grounding of an historical Jesus. Christian apologists, on the other hand, will denounce such a dichotomy as unhistorical, untraditional and completely fictive, another extreme interpretation not supported by the written record but that is an argument from desire and not from fact. The written record, especially the Gospels, has been open to interpretation from the earliest writings and continues to be interpreted to this day. What the dichotomy interpretation lacks is the sanctification accorded to most Christian interpretations by Christian apologists, beyond that, it has as much credibility as any other biblical interpretation.
PART I
REFUTING CHRISTIAN DOGMA
“For though we walk in the flesh we do not war according to the flesh for the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but mighty before god to the casting down of strongholds, casting down imaginations and every high thing that is exalted against the knowledge of God and bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ.”
2 Corinthians 10, American Standard Version
“Unthinking respect for authority is the greatest Enemy of truth.”
Albert Einstein
OF CHARACTER AND PROPHECIES
The character of Jesus, as it has been recorded in the Gospels and handed down through Christian tradition, is and was beyond any reproach or hint of deceit. As the son-of-God, indeed, as God himself, it seems absurd to question the integrity of such a man. His honesty and moral certitude are clearly beyond question and while he may have displayed moments of anger, frustration and fear, those moments did not, by themselves, speak to any greater weakness in his character, especially to any weakness that would have allowed him to fake his death and resurrection. Such an idea goes beyond both our expectation and understanding of who he was and what he represented. It is a blasphemy to even consider such culpability on his part, an impossibility to be derided and scorned rather than seriously entertained even for the briefest moments. But is it really so far-fetched? Remembering that our study is of the man and not the man-god created through pious propaganda and long standing assumption, is it really beyond question or imagining to wonder whether or not the man, the rabbi of the First Century, might have been capable of actions and intentions that later generations might view with disdain or at least skepticism? In that time and place, would a rabbi have been allowed, within the context of that society, to practice a measure of deceit in order to achieve what he considered righteous and worthwhile goals? Apparently, such was the case.
Within forty years of Jesus’ supposed death on the cross, a prominent Jewish teacher and leader used the artifice of faking his death to secure his escape from besieged Jerusalem. His name was Jochanan ben Zakkai.
Jerusalem, in the year 68 C.E., was a city besieged as a result of the collapse of the First Jewish Revolt. Roman legions surrounded the holy city, trapping tens of thousands of Judeans within its walls. Those besieged felt the constant pressure of the Roman onslaught. Various groups within the Jewish community vied for control of the meager resources available, each group struggling for tactical control of a situation that was rapidly falling apart. The most violent and lethal of these groups were the so-called Zealots. Their fanaticism was so great that they swore an oath to kill any Jew who tried to surrender or aid the Romans in any way. The dead and dying lined the streets and by the time that Jerusalem finally fell in 70 C.E., estimates of the death toll ranged anywhere between 100,000 to one million Jews in a city with an estimated population under normal circumstances of around 40,000 people and a land (Judea, Galilee and the surrounding areas) with an estimated population of just three million. The city was, in a very real sense, hell on earth and those Jews who took no part in the rebellion, nor shared the extremist views of the Zealots were trapped there, guilty by association, condemned out of hand by the Roman general Vespasian and the Zealots.
Jochanan ben Zakkai was one of those besieged within Jerusalem. To fully appreciate the significance of what he did, it is important to understand his prominence within Judaic society of the time and his continuing importance to this day. As with most Jewish leaders of his time, very little factual information was recorded about his early life. When and where he was born are subject to conjecture, though it is suggested that he may have been born as early as 15 B.C.E, possibly in Galilee, and his role as a leader within Jewish society may have begun sometime between 30 and 40 C.E., nearly contemporary with the ministry of Jesus. What is known about him is that he was the youngest student of Hillel, another very prominent educator and leader of the time, and that he is considered one of the Tanna’im, or rabbinic sages whose views are recorded in the Mishna, the complete body of Jewish law that had been passed down orally up to 200 C.E. He was a member of the Great Sanhedrin of Jerusalem, the assembly of seventy-one ordained scholars that functioned as both a supreme court and a legislature concerning issues of Jewish law and custom. While he was never designated as Nasi, (prince or head) of that body, probably because he was not of Davidic descent, he nonetheless assumed the duties of that office. He was, in a very real sense, the leading expounder of Jewish law of his time and is considered today to be one of the fathers of modern rabbinic Judaism. He was also a staunch pacifist and stood in opposition to the rebellion, a war he felt the Jews could not win.
What is of concern, in light of Jochanan’s obvious historical prominence, is the account of his escape from besieged Jerusalem. Trapped as he was by the Zealots’ injunction on one side and the Roman assault on the other, Jochanan determined that the only way to exit the city was to feign death, so he had his students carry him, encased in a coffin, beyond the city walls. After escaping the city, he was brought before Vespasian and according to Talmudic tradition he correctly predicted Vespasian’s forth-coming ascension to emperor of the Roman Empire. This prediction secured his immediate freedom and the chance to preserve and protect the town of Yavneh. Together with its students, Yavneh ultimately became a new Jerusalem as the center of Jewish learning and law. His escape, though worthy of note, was in fact, a minor incident in an otherwise long and prestigious life. There are no more detailed accounts of this escape and so historians are left to surmise some of those details.
For example, if his escape required the deception of his death and the placement of his supposed corpse within a coffin in order to be successful, instead of a simpler, less involved slipping away through the walls on his own, Jochanan must clearly have been watched by the Zealots. A man of such prominence who was a vocal pacifist and opponent of the war, could hardly have gone unnoticed by the Zealots and would, most likely, have been watched by them very closely, thus necessitating the deception. If that were the case, it would also stand to reason that the Zealots would hardly have let the coffin of such an outspoken critic of the war exit from their control without first verifying that its occupant was indeed dead. This suggests (and Jochanan must have considered the possibility) that the coffin would be opened and the body at least perfunctorily examined. Given the chance that such an examination might arise, and it must have been a very real possibility, did Jochanan, in anticipation of such an event, do or take anything in order to present as lifeless a “corpse” as possible or was he prepared to accept the possibility that he might be found out? Unfortunately, there are no surviving accounts detailed enough to enlighten us. In drawing reasonable conclusions, however, the possibility seems to exist that he might have taken some drug in order to insure that the deception would be successful. If his death at the hands of the Zealots would be the outcome of the discovery of his escape attempt, it seems hard to imagine that he would have cast his fate to the whims of chance hoping that he would be lucky enough to slip by unchallenged. Surely a man of his intellect and sophistication would leave nothing to chance but would instead guard against failure by doing all that he could to make the deception work, up to and including drugging himself into a death like state.
What is pertinent to any understanding of this event is not so much the details of how he accomplished his escape but more importantly that the given account indicates that he was prepared to mislead and deceive those around him in order to obtain his freedom. It should be noted that far from the selfish act of simple self- preservation that this account seems to indicate, Jochanan’s motives for the deception were of a more profound nature: the survival and preservation of the Jewish culture. At a time when the failure of the rebellion and the knowledge of Roman retribution insured the complete destruction of Jewish society, Jochanan was prepared to risk his life in order to save what he could of Jewish life. That he went on after the escape to found his school at Yavneh and preserve the structure of Jewish law and custom only confirms his dedication and determination to do just that.
How does this account speak to the character of Jesus? It states quite clearly what a prominent and respected rabbi of the first century was prepared to do in order to protect and advance the Judaism of his day. Whether or not Jochanan ben Zakkai was aware or knowledgeable of what happened to Jesus is open to question. It would seem unrealistic to assume that someone of his stature within the hierarchy of Jerusalem of the time would be completely unaware of what a radical rabbi was doing and saying, even if those things were done and said five or even ten years prior to his involvement. It seems safe to say that Jochanan must have known of Jesus and perhaps suspected a deception on Jesus’ part with regards to his death and resurrection. The point is, it was well within the moral, ethical framework of a rabbi of that time to utilize whatever means available, up to and including the deception of his death, in order to achieve whatever goals he felt were important enough to justify the means. Just as it was possible for Jochanan ben Zakkai to feign death in order to secure his freedom from a besieged Jerusalem, so it must have been morally and ethically possible for Jesus to feign his death upon the cross in order to advance his agenda. It does not seem, as evidenced by the account of Jochanan, to have been beyond either imagination or moral expectation to attempt such a deception. It was, in fact, well within the character of the historical Jesus to create such a deception. Were Jesus’ cultural imperative and social responsibility any less important to him than Jochanan’s were to him? It seems unlikely. The messianic path that Jesus followed, indeed, the path he had followed from birth, was of vast importance in his mind as a means of saving his race and culture from the heresies of the Sadduccean / Hashmonean usurpers and the Roman invaders. Could he have been capable of feigning death and burial in order to advance his messianic mission through resurrection? Absolutely. Could Jochanan have been aware of what happened to Jesus and sensing a deception, used that awareness to craft his own escape? Again, absolutely. Was it a character flaw in either of these men that allowed them to deceive many of those around them or was it merely a question of expediency in furthering their goals? That is a question for each reader to address. Clearly, it was no stigma on the career of Jochanan to have perpetrated such a deception and judging by the traditional characterization of Jesus, such a suggestion is not worth debating.
The dangerous, calamitous times of first century Judea allowed a subjugated people a certain moral freedom to view themselves and their actions, especially in regard to their oppressors, in a less demanding light. If deception was necessary to outwit those oppressors, even if the oppressors were other Jews, then so be it. Such lapses in honesty would not necessarily be seen as lapses in righteousness. They would be seen as the clever and morally acceptable actions of men in response to the totalitarian regimes they faced, as is the case with any occupied society. To demand of the historical Jesus a character of higher principle is both unrealistic and unreasonable. He was a man of his times and was capable of whatever necessity required of him.
Christian apologists, however, have been adamant about the character of the Christ, a character of such unimpeachable honesty and ethical superiority that the very idea that the Christ of faith could possibly deceive those around him in any way is patently impossible. Deceit and their view of Christ’s character belong to two opposite ends of the moral spectrum, so much so, that any supposition that hints at Christ’s less than perfect moral certitude is clearly in the realm of fiction and holds no association with the Christ of faith. Unfortunately, that view is based on the exalted tradition of him developed by legendary accretions and propagandists’ needs and is not based on the values and ethics extant in the first century that no doubt shaped him. Our study here is of the man before the myth-making, before the propaganda, a flesh and blood individual who was brought up in the political turmoil of his time, an ordinary man who from childhood had been trained for a certain purpose that might ultimately require of him the ability to do the extraordinary.
There is more to an enlightened view of Jesus’ character than the comparison with Jochanan ben Zakkai. The Gospels tell the story of a man, both driven and controlling, who was prepared to manipulate people and events in order to secure the desired outcome. These vignettes of Jesus as he directs his disciples on where to go and what to say and to whom, are the obvious manipulations of a man with a very specific agenda. All these actions speak to his need for events to conform to a preconceived, very human based plan. His conscious efforts to control events subvert his purported divinity by posing the question; why, if he is god, must he verbally direct those around him?
Christian apologists, of course, will say that these Gospel references record not Jesus’ manipulations but rather his fatalistic requirement to fulfill ancient prophecy. It is necessary for him to say and do certain things because the prophecies of the Messiah demand that he meet those expectations, the tail wagging the dog, as it were, however, how can the apologists ascribe to the idea that he was incidentally fulfilling prophecy when it is clear that he is directing events in order to appear to be fulfilling those prophecies? Nothing is more clearly written in the Gospels than that he was manipulating events in order to fulfill the prophetic expectations for the coming Messiah. He is purposefully, not incidentally, meeting the expectations. Jesus, as did his father, had the Old Testament right in front of him as a guidebook or instruction manual of what the expected Messiah was supposed to do, say and endure. To accept that his fulfillment of prophetic expectation was divine in nature, that it was incidental because he was in fact the Messiah, requires such a suspension of logic as to be implausible if not merely unbelievable. He had the specifics of what the messiah would be, what the Messiah would do and how the messiah would suffer from childhood! His father had it, their culture was based upon it, and people were actively looking for this Messiah because of the Old Testament references. The only truly amazing thing about Jesus meeting prophetic expectations is that he and Joseph were apparently the only ones to put together a plan that fully met those expectations. There were other messianic claimants, but none who so thoroughly followed the instructions left to them in the Old Testament. For that, we must thank Joseph and his preparations.
Again, while it seems impossible for Christian apologists to accept that the man who became the Christ of faith was capable of the most obvious and definitive manipulations in order to achieve his goals, the evidence is there that such was the case. Does meeting messianic expectations mean less if it is contrived and manufactured or must prophecy be fulfilled unintentionally, almost as an accident, without conscious intervention for it to have significance? It is clear from the Gospels that Jesus contrived to be the Messiah but it is hard for us to know if such manipulation was considered a character flaw in first century Palestine. If Jesus considered it a detriment to his character, he apparently did not let that awareness stop him from pursuing his agenda, right up to and including the suffering that was foretold for the Messiah. As we shall see, Joseph was prepared for that as well.
As a last bulwark against suggestions that Jesus’ completion of messianic expectations is anything but divinely inspired fulfillment, Christian apologists argue that while Jesus may have had control over many aspects of the messianic prophecies, there was at least one aspect that he could not control; his birth, and because of this he must be seen as the embodiment of the Messiah. This, of course, is an argument from desire and not from logic. Aside from the fact that earlier accounts of his birth were mythologized accretions from other ancient miraculous birth stories that had been tailored to fit prophecy and consequently should not be taken too seriously, what does the argument really justify? That an individual who went on to fulfill messianic expectations consciously could not consciously control the time and place of his birth as well? Fair enough, so the man Jesus could not control the time and place of his birth, so that means that his later fulfillment of prophetic destiny must be legitimate? Hardly. Jesus may not have been able to control the circumstances of his birth, but Joseph could, at least as far as the place was concerned and whether or not one believes in the story of the census that mandated Joseph take the pregnant Mary to Bethlehem, Joseph, whatever his motives might have been (and he had motives), still consciously went to Bethlehem so that his child would be born there. What the apologists fail to understand is that all great men are great due to the accident of their birth. They are born into a place and time that both molds them and provides them with the circumstances to be great just as Jesus was born at a certain time in a certain place that met prophetic expectations. What followed in his life was as a result of the circumstances of his birth. One must wonder if Alexander the Great or Napoleon or Einstein would have become the men that they did become if they had been born a century or even a decade before or after their actual births. Would they have been molded to the same shape as the man of history? Would different circumstances have existed that hampered their pursuits? It is impossible to say. What is known is that they became great men within their own times and in their own places. They had singular visions of what life held in store for them and they used those things available to them to achieve those visions.
So it was for Jesus. The circumstances of his birth were that he was born into a time and place of great unrest and change when messianic fervor was at its height and where almost the entire population was seeing messiahs behind every rock and tree. The Roman occupation of their country had gone on long enough to make nearly everyone so desperate for divine intervention that the citizens were ready to accept almost anyone capable of performing the least magic trick as the national savior. Jesus was also born of parents who were so righteous in their understanding of scripture and so desperate to save the people of their nation that they were prepared to risk safety of their first born son in order to effect substantive political change. Also important as a circumstance of his birth was that Jesus was born at a time when the greatest repository of the world’s knowledge was consolidated in the Library of Alexandria and some of the greatest medicinal and pharmaceutical knowledge of the time was available with the Therapeutae who lived on the shores of Lake Mareotis just outside Alexandria. All of these circumstances made it possible for first Joseph and then Jesus to imagine that they might achieve what was necessary to meet prophetic expectations.
If any of these circumstances had been absent or different in any way Jesus, in all likelihood, would have followed a much different path through his life than the one he did and the Christ of faith would not have existed. Prophecy did not dictate his birth, and divine intervention did not choose time and place. The circumstances of his birth allowed him to consciously and purposefully pursue, with his father’s help, the prophetic vision that lay before him. He and his father made the most of the circumstances of his birth, with his father seizing the opportunity from the outset and Jesus, as he grew, accepting the responsibility that his father had set before him. The fact that the Christ of faith still exists is a testament not to prophecy fulfilled but rather to circumstances recognized and utilized. It is interesting to note that in a recent study detailed in the November, 2007 issue of the Journal of Applied Psychology, researchers found that when the line between right and wrong is ambiguous among people who think of themselves as having high moral standards, the do-gooders can become the worst cheaters, their rationale being that the ends justifies the means that allows them to transgress moral and ethical limits if they feel the outcome deserves it. As Scott Reynolds, a researcher at the University of Washington Business School in Seattle put it, “When people have a strong moral identity, they think of themselves as great moral people, their behavior tends to go to the extremes.” No doubt Jesus and his father felt themselves to be people of high moral character and as such must have rationalized much of what they planned as important enough for the benefit of their people that using means outside normal ethical codes of their day would not have been too much of a burden to bear.
It is up to the reader to determine which is the more reasonable to assume; that the Christ of faith, because of his divinity, was beyond reproach in all things and that, even though the Gospels seem to indicate otherwise, he incidentally fulfilled the ancient messianic prophecies as intended by God, or that Jesus the man, born by circumstance in a time of unrest and change, was, in a sense, anointed by his father to fulfill the role of Messiah through whatever means available in order to unite and strengthen the various factions in his society.
THE GROWTH OF EARLY CHRISTIANITY
One of the most prevalent arguments Christian apologists use to support the actuality of Jesus’ crucifixion and especially his resurrection is the supposedly explosive early growth of the Christian faith, the supposition they posit being that; converts would not come to the new faith so quickly if it were based upon anything but the factual bodily resurrection of the crucified Jesus. Would the apostles and disciples be so willing to accept martyrdom for a lie? No one could go willingly to a horrible death in support of a known fiction, no matter what the cause. The resurrection must then be true. But is this an accurate assumption? What was the growth of the early faith really like and was that growth based on the truth of the resurrection or were there other factors involved? Were early followers really ready, almost eager to martyr themselves in the name of Christ or were first century views of life and death sufficiently different to lend martyrdom an acceptance we might shun today? Once again, one is required to step beyond the traditions and re-evaluate what took place.
To begin with, there are three prominent facets to the Christian tradition that need to be examined closely. The first deals with the very earliest followers of Jesus, the apostles and disciples who were contemporaries of Jesus who formed the core of the small Jesus sect that went on to become the nucleus of the movement. Who were these men and women and how did they behave both before and after the resurrection? Could they have had motivations beyond simple belief in the resurrection or was that truly enough to fundamentally change them from dispirited, frightened hangers on into the bold and convinced believers that tradition tells us they became. Secondly, we need to examine first century attitudes towards suicide and martyrdom with special note being made of the real number of martyrs in the early faith and how they impacted those around them. Were the early followers really that eager for martyrdom, so eager in fact that the traditional representation of their martyrdoms helped to confirm the historical truth of the resurrection? Finally, one needs to study the growth of the early faith as a social phenomenon, the real basis of the apologists’ argument. Was it truly different from other social movements in the speed and breadth of its growth or did it conform to social norms, growing at a pace completely in keeping with the growth rates of other, similar movements? As we address these questions, a new picture will emerge of the early Christian movement, one less dependent on the propaganda of tradition.
As mentioned earlier, one of the most often repeated arguments by Christian apologists regarding the veracity of the resurrection is that it is beyond human capability to knowingly die for a lie, to willingly submit to torture and abuse if you know in your heart that what you avow to be true is in your mind untrue. Clearly, the apologists say, judging from the metamorphose the followers went through, they believed what they had witnessed, that Jesus had died on the cross but ultimately rose bodily from that death and met, spoke and even ate with his followers for a period of time after his resurrection. This belief in the resurrection, this tradition of the empty tomb and the risen Jesus make up the foundation of the Christian faith. It is the rock on which the faith stands. As Paul said in 1 Corinthians 15, 14, “And if Christ has not been raised, our preaching is useless and so is your faith.” Take this tradition away and the religion crumbles.
It is hard to imagine that an initial small group of followers would or could so drastically change both their outlook and their motivation without being coerced unless they thoroughly believed what they had seen and heard. One individual, perhaps two, might be able to make the supreme sacrifice of their lives in order to further personal or political agendas based on deceit and falsehood, but hardly a group of a dozen or more people. Surely someone in that original group would stand up before being nailed to a cross or stoned by a crowd and say, “Wait! It was all just a lie! We took the body and hid it, just as you say!” Or would they? Who were the first followers of Jesus and is the Christian tradition accurate in its portrayal of them? As with the search for the historical Jesus, the search for his historical first followers is impractical if not impossible. The Gospels say that they were, by and large, poor, uneducated and somewhat unsophisticated people from Galilee, a place known for the rebellious spirit and lack of traditional piety of its inhabitants. Some were fishermen, one a tax collector, etc. Mostly, they were men and women marginalized by their society in some way. They were not highly educated, highly religious, highly sophisticated members of the main stream Jerusalem society of the time. The less empathetic people of Jerusalem would probably have looked upon them with some disdain as yokels. Beyond this thumbnail sketch, we know very little about them. How then do we assess the truth of the Christian tradition that records their conversions in order to fully understand the impact of the resurrection upon their behavior?
There are several forces very much in play when people, especially groups of people, claim belief in a particular thing and none of the forces has anything to do with truth. These forces are the nature of belief itself, the need for acceptance and the psychology of conformity. Belief, as has been mentioned, is an adjunct of desire, people believe what they want or desire to believe. The individual reasons for any belief are probably as individual as fingerprints and would require a separate examination to fully understand. Just as a large percentage of the world’s population believed for centuries that the Earth was flat, or that it was the center of the universe, or any such thing, none of that belief made any of those things true or factual. The Earth is not flat, even though the prevailing wisdom of many generations believed it was. There are many people today who firmly believe that the Earth is visited regularly by UFOs, they may even stake their lives on such a belief, certainly, they are willing to risk ridicule and possible censure for those beliefs, but those beliefs do not in any way make it true that UFOs exist. More substantial and verifiable proof must be obtained than simple belief before the truth of UFOs can be accepted. Belief, without independent, unbiased and objective verification means very little as far as a confirmation of truth is concerned. Belief may be a great and powerful motivator and it can accomplish many things, from the near impossible to the sublime, but it should never be mistaken for truth. Consequently, just because the first followers of Jesus believed he had risen from the dead did not make it true, no matter how deeply they believed it.
Acceptance, the acceptance by those around us, is also a great and powerful motivator and contributes in part to how and why we believe. Our individual needs to be accepted by those closest to us and or those whose affirmation we require is a very strong force in our lives. We are, after all, basically tribal or group beings, more secure and content within our social families and more to the point, extremely uncomfortable and threatened when circumstances isolate us from those groups. Again, it would require too lengthy an examination to fully understand the impact and influence of acceptance on our lives in this current work to be practical but the examples in our own time of psychological studies confirms the depth of human need for personal acceptance. It was no less so for the first followers of Jesus, who, given the circumstances of life in their time and place and the fact that they were confronted with their association with a crucified criminal whose body had seemingly disappeared were no doubt under a tremendous stress. The threat of retribution by the Roman authorities given the circumstances would have been enough to terrify the bravest individual. With that awareness, it becomes quite understandable that the members of the group desperately needed the acceptance of the other members in order to navigate their way through the crisis. It most certainly was not the time to go it alone, as evidenced by the fact that while they may have dispersed prior to the crucifixion in response to a fight or flight situation, they obviously reconvened sometime soon after the crucifixion, the need for reassurance and acceptance drawing them together. The need for acceptance never would have been greater and no doubt would have influenced their individual views of what had transpired at the empty tomb. Even if some of these followers had had doubts initially about what might have happened to the body of Jesus, they could hardly have been expected to voice the specifics of their doubts in the confusion and uncertainty that engulfed them. Later, after meeting the risen Jesus, the idea of refuting any aspect of the resurrection would have seemed patently absurd; he stood before them, spoke with them, ate with them. What more would one need to confirm the resurrection, especially if those around them admitted to the same understanding?
Conformity, too, must have played a role in both the beliefs and needs for acceptance that must have directed the actions of the first followers of Jesus. While it may seem obvious that their acceptance was dependent upon their conformity to the group’s view of events, there is a deeper and more fundamental conformity that needs to be examined. Most discussion of conformity starts and ends with the superficial conformity of the individual within the behavioral expectations of their environment. Does the individual try to look, act, believe the same as the other members of their society? Do they speak a common language, observe common traditions, and fulfill common imperatives? In short, do they conform to social or group norms? But there is a more profound conformity, a more intrinsic and subconscious conformity that influences everyone’s ability to survive mentally and physically within the actuality of their lives, their conformity to a given reality. Conformity to a given reality is what keeps each of us sane. Our ability to conform to the reality of our individual existences helps us to accept that reality. Altering that reality through hallucinogenics, fighting that reality through psychoses, or ignoring that reality through neuroses are all signs of a lack of conformity to a given reality.
The early followers of Jesus were able to quickly conform to their new reality after the resurrection to the extent that a very deep change in their beliefs and characters allowed them to develop from uncertainty and insecurity to absolute certainty and conviction, but was not as the result of the resurrection but rather the all too human needs mentioned earlier. The following is a quote from Michael Prokes, a member of Jonestown who managed to escape the mass murders/suicides that engulfed that cult. He is writing to several people whom he knew and the note gives an interesting insight into the mind of one who had joined the cult of a charismatic leader and who later regretted the horrific outcome. “The ‘total dedication’ you once observed of me was not to Jim Jones--- it was to an organization of people who had nothing left to lose. No matter what view one takes of the Temple [the Peoples’ Temple, as the cult was called], perhaps the most relevant truth is that it was filled with outcasts and the poor who were looking for something they could not find in our society. And sadly enough, there are millions more out there with all kinds of different, but desperate needs whose lives will end tragically, as happens every day…” Shortly after this message was written and sent out, Prokes committed suicide, perhaps too despondent after the fall of the Temple to face life. What is of interest to this study is that, with only minor changes, Prokes’ note could have been written in the first century about the early followers of Jesus. They were in a sense, the same marginalized people that Prokes had known in the Peoples’ Temple, committed to their beliefs even unto death.
If the reader doubts the impact of belief, acceptance and conformity on the moral and practical psychology of group behavior, they would do well to study the actions of groups in such historical contexts as Jonestown that claimed the lives of over 900 people or the Salem witch trials, where nineteen innocent people were executed as witches by a group of religious fundamentalists, or the disaster of the Branch Davidian in Waco, Texas or the Spanish Inquisition or Islamic fanaticism/terrorism, etc., etc. Knowing the significance of belief, acceptance and conformity on various groups of people, it is not then surprising that the first followers of Jesus believed honestly and spiritually that he had died and risen from the grave and that this belief moved them to such a degree that they were fundamentally changed and were prepared to preach the truth of the resurrection far and wide. The fact of a dramatic conversion and subsequent missionary fervor is wholly understandable for a small group of frightened and confused people just as it is for larger groups of people mislead by tradition. What is surprising is that in light of these modern day examples people today continue to believe the Christian tradition that the resurrection is factual simply because a small group of first followers believed that it was true. No matter what tradition tries to convey to us, belief is not a substitute for truth and often, for people who conform to a different reality, belief can appear as the polar opposite of truth. If Christian apologists wish to continue to use this argument in defense of the truth of the resurrection, they are welcome to do so. For others the question becomes; if belief is not the same as fact, is there any other possibility that would explain the resurrection of Jesus? There is, but before it can be examined and the true nature of the resurrection and all that it meant understood, the suggested rapid growth of Christianity should be examined as well. Tradition tells us that the fervor of the early martyrs was the spur to the sudden growth of the new faith and the fact that there were so many early converts willing to die for their beliefs encouraged thousands of others to follow, but is that what really happened?
In his extremely valuable and detailed work, “The Rise of Christianity”, Rodney Stark touches on the misconception of the tradition of the early martyrs, though obviously at much greater length than can be presumed here. What immediately becomes apparent in his examination of the early martyrs are their numbers. According to estimates developed by W.H.C. Frend, the actual number of early (first three centuries of the common era) Christian martyrs was only “hundreds, not thousands”, or perhaps only about three to four per year. Hardly the numbers intimated at by Christian apologists. Of this number, the greater majority were bishops and leaders of the new church; not the rank and file members, but the more visible and more invested people of the faith, in essence, the people more inclined to make a show, as it were, of their faith by stoically accepting their martyrdom. As an indicator of this acceptance, Stark points out a kind of “rock star” status afforded the pending martyrs by their followers. Because their persecutors were bent on sending the widest possible message to the local citizens, the martyr in question was often allowed almost unlimited access to their followers and the public at large while incarcerated, basking in the glow of their followers’ adoration and empathy while they awaited their fate. No doubt this exposure and adulation contributed greatly to an individual’s ability to accept, indeed to embrace, with an uncommon fatalistic grace the martyr’s death that awaited them, thus exemplifying at least one of the benefits of their new faith; an almost heroic stoicism in the face of torture, mutilation and death. This stoicism, coupled with a vastly different acceptance of suicide in the early years of the common era (prompting one Middle Eastern ruler to bemoan, “Are there not enough cliffs, are there not enough ropes to accommodate these Christians that we must see them constantly in our theaters?”) made martyrdom the most visible and impressive sign to the rest of the pagan world that the new Christian faith must hold some power lacking in the numerous pagan faiths extant. Frend’s numbers, while much lower than Christian apologists would have us believe, should be lower still because not all martyr’s deaths were necessarily martyr’s deaths.
In the strictest sense, at least some of the early Christian martyrdoms would be more correctly categorized as political assassinations rather than martyrdom. If what is generally accepted to be a martyr’s death required the victim to either profess their belief as a criteria for guilt or, conversely, to have the opportunity to recant their belief in order to avoid martyrdom then some of the deaths of the early followers do not qualify as martyrdom. Though James, the brother of Jesus, is often cited by early church fathers as a martyr, his death had more to do with political expediency than it did with the depth of his faith. His assassination by the high priest of the Jerusalem Temple in 62 CE did not afford him the chance to profess or recant his faith but was merely achieved as a means of silencing him in order to avoid social unrest, an extreme solution to crowd control. Since no numbers are presently available to determine the ratio between true martyrs and the violent deaths of early Christian followers subsequently judged as martyrdom by church fathers it is impossible to accurately establish just how many early martyrs there in fact were in the first centuries of the common era. If every violent death of one of the faithful was automatically judged a martyr’s death, the use of the prevalence of martyrdom in the early years as a measure of the authenticity of the Christian story becomes somewhat suspect.
Add to this realization the knowledge that the early Christian martyrs were not the only faithful willing to suffer and die for their beliefs and the martyrdom message is diluted even further. Josephus mentions in Against Apion that, “It is an instinct for every Jew, from the day of his birth to regard [scriptures] as the decrees of God, to abide by them and if need be cheerfully to die for them. Time and again ere now the sight has been witnessed of prisoners enduring tortures and death in every form in the theaters rather than utter a single word against the Laws…” And again, in his work, Jewish Antiquities , when referring to the fourth philosophy or Zealots, as they became known, he indicates their willingness to suffer and die for their principles; “They also do not count the cost of dying any kinds of death, nor indeed do they heed the deaths of their relations and friends, nor can any such fear make them call any man lord.” If this was the case and the early Christians came from such a philosophical milieu that required ultimate commitment as part of their faith, it is no wonder that some of them chose martyrdom when tested. It was part of their cultural expectation that they would suffer and die for their faith and being formed by that heritage it was hardly less likely that they would do the same for their newfound faith. They grew up witnesses to a willingness to martyr themselves for their beliefs and as the child becomes the man, they were equally prepared to continue in that willingness as followers of the Christ.
Yet not all early followers of the Jesus story were prepared to martyr themselves for the cause, as evidenced by the formation in the third century of the Novatians, a schismatic sect of the Catholic church, that took its name from Novatian / Novatius (c.200 CE- 250 CE), a Roman priest and theologian hard liner who refused to readmit the lapsi , former Christian believers who had renounced their beliefs under persecution from Emperor Decius. The Decian persecution of Christians of around 250 CE required that followers of the Christian faith swear an oath of allegiance to Rome by making sacrifices for the emperor and receiving certificates to that fact to satisfy pagan commissioners responsible for verification (a practice in which even bishops engaged). How many lapsed Christians avoided persecution in this way is unclear but evidently the number was great enough to create a rift within the church between the moderate Cornelius, the elected pope and Novatian, who elected himself pope in opposition to Cornelius’ more forgiving stance. What is of interest in the story of the Novatians is that it makes clear that within approximately 200 years of Jesus’ resurrection, many early believers were less inclined to make the ultimate sacrifice of martyrdom for their belief in the Christ than apologists would have people believe. Clearly martyrdom was an avenue of faith followed by a relatively small number of the faithful, as it must have been before the advent of the Jesus story by the Jews in their faith and as it is today by fanatic fundamentalist Muslims in their faith. Viewed in this context, martyrdom can be seen for what it is and was, a product of human psychology rather than the net result of dogmatic religious faith.
If the infrequently repeated example of willing martyrdom cannot fully explain the growth of the early Christian faith, what then accounts for it? Again, attention must turn to Stark and his statistical findings to get a better picture of Christianity’s early growth. Surprisingly, from his statistical analysis, the growth of the early church was not as rampant as Christian apologists would like people to believe. According to Stark, the initial growth of the church was on par with the growth of other socio-religious or philosophical communities for which there is more data. The early growth of the Christian community was of no faster pace than that of the Mormon community of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Quoting Stark when comparing his analysis of the Christian community to the Mormons, “This is a very encouraging finding since it is exceedingly close to the average growth rate of 43% per decade that the Mormon Church has maintained over the past century.” (Stark 1984, 1994). I would add that this growth rate was also equal to, if not dramatically slower than, the early growth of Communism in Russia and China if measured from 1848 when Marx published his manifesto to the late ‘50s and early ‘60s when Communism was at its height, a period of barely more than a century, and while it might be argued that membership in these Communist communities was not altogether voluntary, the same might be said of Christianity once Constantine had decreed it to be the state religion in the mid fourth century. Contrary to the tradition attached to its growth, the Christian community probably progressed at a fairly slow rate, with a projected total of only approximately 7500 members by the year 100 based upon a starting figure of 120 several months after the crucifixion (Acts 1:14-15), growing to 5,000 sometime later (Acts 4:4) and reaching “many thousands” by the year 60 (Acts 21:20). This is hardly the same growth as that of Communism over the same amount of time where membership would have been in the tens of thousands or more, voluntarily.
So why then did the new Christian faith grow? What encouraged the faithful to join its ranks if it wasn’t necessarily an outright belief in the resurrection or the example of willing martyrdom? Again, Stark lays out the specific aspects of both statistical analysis and human psychology that accounted for the growth of the early church and while the complex nature of his findings require more extensive elaboration than can be given here, a very brief look at them will help to explain why people joined the Christian movement. There are essentially three main reasons that people join religious/philosophical groups: a strong personal connection with people who are already members (generally husbands join because their wives are members, though other personal relationships influence membership); the group or organization offers benefits on a personal/cultural level that members cannot acquire elsewhere (a sense of community, health care, welfare, etc.); the member derives some spiritual benefit from membership (the promise of eternal life, an all caring god, etc.). Anyone of these three motivators might have been enough to encourage membership in a religious community but what is interesting here is that the early Christian faith offered all three of these motivators to new prospects.
Unlike paganism, the competing philosophy of the times, Christian thinking and behavior incorporated all three of the strongest motivators to induce people to join its ranks and, at least in its very earliest stages, incorporated a fourth motivator that would have been extremely attractive at the time, allowing women a place of authority within the church. Early Christians believed strongly in monogamous marriage and decried divorce, thus establishing an environment conducive to the first motivator, the idea that inter-personal relationships were both important and necessary for the growth of the new faith and the well being of the faithful. Combined with the admonishment to the faithful to care for the sick, the elderly, the widowed and the orphaned, these were powerful incentives for people to join, especially in a society that had no state run healthcare or welfare. Life in the early centuries of the Common Era was extremely dangerous and deadly. Life expectancies were short (surviving to one’s late 40s or early 50s was considered old age) and being maimed or killed through accident or disease at an early age was typically the case. Epidemics were commonplace as were famines and natural disasters. Without the state to provide assistance during these hardships, people were left to their own devices for survival and again, unlike paganism in which deities were often capricious, petulant and unconcerned with human activities, the Christian God was presented as caring and loving, a perfect father, concerned with the welfare of his children in the face of all hardships. As E.R. Dodds has summarized it, “A Christian congregation was from the first a community in a much fuller sense than any corresponding group… Its members were bound together not only by common rites but by a common way of life… Love of one’s neighbor is not an exclusively Christian virtue but in [this] period Christians appear to have practiced it much more effectively than any other group. The church provided the essentials of social security…” ([1965] 1970:136-137).
These were the driving forces behind the growth of the early Christian movement. While it may have suited the purposes of the early church fathers and later apologists to attribute the growth of the faith to the resurrection of Jesus or the obvious convictions of the martyrs, such was not the case. The faith grew and membership in the movement grew from the Christian community’s ability to meet the consequences of the social and cultural pressures extant in the First Century and beyond. People did not join for religious dogma and beliefs so much as they joined for a sense of a caring community and the practical benefits that provided. As Stark concluded, “Christianity did not grow because of miracles in the marketplaces [although there may have been much of that going on], or because Constantine said it should, or even because the martyrs gave it such credibility. It grew because Christians constituted an intense community, able to generate the “invincible obstinacy” that so offended the younger Pliny, but yielded immense religious rewards. And the primary means of its growth was through the united and motivated efforts of the growing numbers of Christian believers, who invited their friends, relatives and neighbors to share the “good news”.