We have seen that the main political player in the Galilee during Jesus’ entire life was a man named Herod Antipas. We have also seen that Jesus was intimately connected to him in many ways. According to the Gospel of Luke, they met face to face just prior to Jesus’ crucifixion.1 Luke tells us that, at the end of the day, it was Antipas who turned Jesus over to Pilate. Earlier in the story, Luke also reports that while Jesus was still in the Galilee, Antipas had conspired to kill him.2 All this is in keeping with what we know of Antipas’ character. After all, he is the man who arrested and executed Jesus’ cousin, John the Baptizer. Interestingly, Antipas seems to change his mind about going after Jesus. Perhaps this change of heart had something to do with the fact that one of Jesus’ main supporters was a woman named Joanna who was married to Herod Antipas’ “steward”—that is, his chief of staff.3 Perhaps also, for reasons that will become clear later, Jesus changed his message and became less of a threat to Antipas. Maybe that’s why Joanna and her husband Chuza were able to get Antipas off Jesus’ back. Ironically, it was a woman connected to Antipas, Herodias, who sealed John the Baptizer’s fate, and it seems that it was a woman connected to Antipas, Joanna, who saved Jesus’ life while he was still in the Galilee.
Herod Antipas played the game of politics very well. During extremely volatile times, he managed to rule the Galilee and Peraea for over forty-two years. Not only that, when he finally went down, he managed to get himself exiled and not killed. Not bad, at a time when Roman emperors were being routinely murdered and poisoned, sometimes by their own families.
Antipas’ demise seems to have been caused by two factors—his wife Herodias and his nephew Agrippa. Herodias was Antipas’ niece and his brother Herod’s former wife.4 When she dumped Herod and married Antipas, Herodias was determined to trade upward. So she constantly pushed Antipas to get Rome to declare him King of the Jews,5 instead of his more lowly title Tetrarch of Galilee and Peraea. After the death of Emperor Tiberius and his replacement with the infamous Caligula, she urged Antipas to once again raise the king issue in Rome—this time with the new emperor. It turned out to be a big mistake. Not only was Antipas not upgraded to king, he was removed from his position as Tetrarch and sent into permanent exile.
Herodias and Antipas had miscalculated the influence of Antipas’ nephew, Herod Agrippa. The latter grew up in Rome with Caligula, so when Tiberius died and Caligula took over, Agrippa’s stock went soaring. For his part, Agrippa had something of a strange relationship with his sister Bernice. A celebrated knockout, she had young men and emperors falling for her well into her late forties and early fifties. Her main interest, however, was coaching her brother Agrippa and sponsoring his career. When Caligula sought Agrippa’s advice with respect to his uncle Antipas’ desire to be declared king, Agrippa accused Antipas of having conspired against Emperor Tiberius six years earlier. According to Agrippa, Antipas’ co-conspirator was a man named Sejanus. This accusation turned out to be Herod Antipas’ undoing. So, who was Sejanus?
As it turns out, Sejanus was the de facto ruler of Rome at exactly the time that Jesus was gathering crowds in the Galilee and making his way to Jerusalem. More than this, Pontius Pilate, who would later send Jesus to the cross, was a personal appointee of Sejanus. In fact, until Pilate, Rome had appointed two rulers (a combination of governors and prefects) in the area: one sat in Jerusalem and the other in Syria. To strengthen Pilate’s hand, however, Sejanus delayed sending anyone to Syria. In this way, he made sure that his man in Jerusalem would be stronger than any previous prefect.6
Since Antipas seems to have conspired with Sejanus around the same time that he stopped conspiring against Jesus, the fact that Sejanus was running the show while Jesus was on the move seems like an important lead. So let’s retrace our steps and set up that singular historical moment when the trajectories of Sejanus; Sejanus’ man in Jerusalem, Pilate; Herod Antipas; and Jesus converged. We’ll start with the emperor who ruled just before Sejanus amassed his powers.
Augustus, Tiberius, and Sejanus
Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus (born Gaius Octavius Thurinus) is considered the first Roman emperor. He ruled from 27 B.C.E. until 14 C.E. His reign represented the transition of Rome from republic to full-fledged empire. It was a stable period. Augustus is credited with the so-called Pax Romana, a long period of enforced peace. He is also the first to seriously launch the so-called “Imperial Cult,” in which the emperor was elevated from man to god. Augustus ruled at a time when the empire was seeking a new religion that would bind the different areas and peoples that it encompassed—hence the title Augustus, the “revered one.” Upon his death in 14 C.E., the Senate declared Emperor Augustus a god.7 This is no small point, especially when it comes to Judaea.
It is important to note, therefore, that for the first fifteen years of Jesus’ life, the empire was ruled by Augustus, a man worshipped as a god. For Jesus’ Jewish contemporaries, Augustus’ claims were a provocation. The Jewish people were sure that the God of Israel would now send a divine emissary known as the “Anointed One.” The Anointed One is called Mashiach in Hebrew (Messiah in English translation) and Christos in Greek (Christ in English translation). His divine mission was to liberate Judaea and the world from Roman idolatry, more precisely from the Imperial Cult: the worship of a man as a god. Jesus grew up during this specific period of Messianic expectations. But as Jesus was reaching manhood, Tiberius replaced Augustus.
Tiberius Julius Caesar Augustus succeeded Augustus as emperor in 14 C.E. and ruled until 37 C.E. He was one of Rome’s greatest generals, conquering Pannonia, Dalmatia, Raetia, and temporarily Germania. He came to be remembered as an eccentric individual who often appeared disinterested in ruling. It was during his reign that Jesus was acclaimed by his followers as the long-awaited Messiah: the Anointed One. Jesus was crucified by the Roman army, which was nominally under Tiberius’ command.
Tiberius wasn’t supposed to have become emperor, but Augustus’ two grandsons and presumed heirs died. Wanting to ensure a smooth transition of power, Augustus had to fashion a succession plan. In 4 C.E., around the time of Jesus’ birth, Augustus “adopted” the 46-year-old Tiberius as son and heir. This adoption was a way of positioning Tiberius as the next emperor. But there was an important condition to the adoption: for his part, Tiberius had to “adopt” Augustus’ nephew, Germanicus, as his son and heir, even though he was younger than Tiberius’ own son, Drusus. Basically, Augustus’ offer to Tiberius was, “I’ll make you emperor if you make my nephew emperor after you.”
After this arrangement, Tiberius’ rise to power was meteoric. By the year 13 C.E., his authority was made equal to that of Augustus. When the latter died a year later, Tiberius was able to assume full imperial power without interruption or challenge.
As stated, Tiberius was an unusual emperor and in the 20s, in order to pursue his own personal hedonistic interests, he relinquished a considerable amount of power to a man named Sejanus. Sejanus was an ambitious soldier, and Tiberius appointed him commander of the Praetorian Guard, a position he held from 14 C.E. until his execution in 31 C.E. The Praetorian Guard was an influential military body that was created by Augustus to protect the imperial family. It expanded quickly from a group of bodyguards into a civic security force, protecting major sites and keeping the peace in the city of Rome. But despite its growth, Augustus had kept the unit decentralized. Once Sejanus took over, however, he moved quickly to consolidate the Guard into a central garrison. He also expanded the number of Guard cohorts (or divisions) from nine to twelve. At that point, it was clear to everyone but Tiberius, who was pursuing more worldly pleasures, that Sejanus was not going to be happy with limited power.
The transformation of the Praetorian Guard into a personal army—a force of approximately twelve thousand well-trained soldiers who reported directly to him—was Sejanus’ first step in the pursuit of the crown. Step two was more complicated. It consisted of ruthlessly eliminating Tiberius’ heirs. In 19 C.E., Tiberius’ adopted son and heir, Germanicus, suddenly died under mysterious circumstances. Germanicus’ wife, Agrippina, accused Sejanus of murder. Four years later, in 23 C.E., Tiberius’ biological son, Drusus, also died a sudden but seemingly natural death. Much later, Tiberius would be told that Sejanus had had Drusus poisoned. Germanicus had been arrogant and therefore exposed. But it was not easy for Sejanus to get to Drusus. More than ever, after Germanicus’ demise, Drusus was on the lookout for a possible assassination. But Sejanus was not to be thwarted. He succeeded in getting to Drusus by seducing Drusus’ wife, Livilla. He then persuaded her to become his accomplice in murder.
With both Germanicus and Drusus out of the way, Sejanus’ grand plan now involved a third step: insinuating himself into Tiberius’ confidence. In this regard, he succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. In fact, it seemed as if there was divine intervention designed to make Sejanus look good. The story went like this: just after Drusus’ murder, Sejanus found himself at a dinner party with Tiberius at the imperial villa in Sperlonga, about 75 miles south of Rome, on the Mediterranean coast. It was a place of sunshine and beaches where the emperor had one of his fancier villas, complete with a dining area on a man-made island, in front of a natural grotto. At the time, Sejanus was already very important—the head of the Praetorian Guard. But something happened at Sperlonga that would be very, very good for Sejanus. As the emperor was dining with his guests, some rocks came loose from on top of the grotto (maybe Sejanus even helped that process along). The giant rocks came falling down, crushing some of Tiberius’ guests as they ate. Tiberius, however, was not hurt. Like a true bodyguard, Sejanus flung himself over the emperor, seemingly ready to die in his stead.8 After this event, Sejanus became the emperor’s most trusted adviser, his chief steward, so to speak. Tiberius now called him “my partner in my toils.”
Still, not everything went Sejanus’ way. In 25 C.E., with Livilla free of Drusus—at a time when Drusus’ death was still perceived as natural—Sejanus petitioned the emperor for permission to marry the widow. The emperor refused, cautioning Sejanus not to overstep his rank. As a compromise, however, Tiberius suggested that Sejanus marry Livilla’s daughter. By happily entertaining the idea, Sejanus now alienated Livilla, his lover and partner in murder. The latter vowed that Sejanus would never trade her in for a younger model, especially not her daughter. Despite the tensions, their partnership seems to have survived this episode.
After placating Livilla, Sejanus adopted a different tactic with Tiberius: isolation. In 26 C.E., he suggested that the emperor withdraw from Rome to the island of Capri, and Tiberius acquiesced. This was not out of character for Tiberius. Earlier in his life, he had abandoned a great military career for a stint of isolation on the island of Rhodes. Also, as ancient gossip had it, Tiberius possessed an insatiable sexual appetite for young girls and boys. A pleasure-palace in Capri allowed him to pursue his fantasies unfettered by officials in Rome. In The Twelve Caesars, Suetonius describes these sordid pursuits in great detail—sex with young girls and boys, group sex, young children dressed up as nymphs cavorting in grottoes around the island for his voyeuristic pleasure, and so on.9 This quasi-exile left day-to-day decisions in Sejanus’ hands. The latter also controlled most of the information flow back and forth between Tiberius, the capital, and the Senate.
By 26 C.E., the year he appointed Pilate to represent him in Judaea, as Jesus was beginning to attract attention in the Galilee, Sejanus had become the real power in the empire, backed by the Praetorian Guard. His quest for power seemed tempered only by Tiberius’ mother, Livia, a formidable player at the time. After her death in 29 C.E., however, Sejanus began a purge of opponents, eliminating all who stood in his way, senators included. Politicians and influential people throughout the empire lined up to declare their allegiance either to him or to Tiberius, and many who opted for the latter were executed. By the late 20s—at the same time as John the Baptizer and Jesus began to attract crowds—Sejanus was at the height of his powers and the de facto ruler of the entire Roman Empire. Incredibly, millions of Christians and most scholars have ignored all this when it comes to the Jesus story—as if it doesn’t matter. But it does.
Sejanus did not sit aloof in Rome. He took an interest in the Middle East. As stated, in 26 C.E. he appointed none other than Pontius Pilate as his operative in Judaea. Pilate’s policy of antagonizing the Jewish people likely played into Sejanus’ long-range plans. Because he had not yet risen to the status of emperor, Sejanus loved creating tensions so as to make protagonists weak and dependent on him. It was probably then that Herod Antipas, sensing the changing fortunes in Rome, sided with Sejanus, just as Herod Agrippa later alleged.10
By 31 C.E., Sejanus felt that he was close to creating his own imperial dynasty. No doubt the fourth and final step of his plan was to eliminate Tiberius and assume the throne himself. By fall of that year, with Tiberius virtually exiled and opposing senators dead, Sejanus was well on the way to realizing his dream. Not much stood in his way.
But once again a woman played the critical role. Her name was Antonia, and she was mother of Livilla, the murderous widow of Drusus. The story goes that Apicata—Sejanus’ spurned first wife—approached Antonia with information. She alleged that eight years earlier, a servant girl who had been in the employ of Drusus and Livilla had seen Livilla prepare the poison that killed Tiberius’ son, Drusus. Obviously this was a serious charge. To get Tiberius out of his promise to Augustus that Germanicus would succeed him, it seems that Sejanus conspired with Tiberius to kill Germanicus. But according to Apicata, when it came to Drusus, Sejanus went behind Tiberius’ back—killing his biological son without anyone but the conspirators knowing. It now seemed to Antonia that, together with her own daughter Livilla, Sejanus was about to make it three in a row—with Germanicus and Drusus out of the way, it was time to go after the emperor himself.
Antonia decided that enough was enough. Daughter or no daughter, Sejanus had to be stopped. So in a move that would influence the fate of Jesus and, as a consequence, the history of the world, she managed to smuggle a personal note to Tiberius, who was still ensconced on Capri playing sexual games with children. Upon reading Antonia’s note, Tiberius kicked into action. He left Capri and returned to Rome. Through a ruse, he managed to get Sejanus into the Senate unprotected. Here, Tiberius had Sejanus condemned to death and summarily executed.
Several points should be noted: First, all this was going on while Jesus was purportedly healing the sick, turning water into wine, declaring the Kingdom of God, and getting ready to make his entrance into Jerusalem. Second, women were the key figures in most of these conspiracies. Finally, the world described above is perfectly mirrored in the plot to kill Jesus, Mary the Magdalene, and their children in Joseph and Aseneth. After all, Joseph and Aseneth describes an attempt to murder a “son of God,” steal his wife, and murder his children. Basically, this is exactly what Sejanus was trying to do to the emperor. He killed Tiberius’ children, seduced his daughter-in-law, and now he was going after the man-god himself.
We are not saying that Joseph and Aseneth is describing Sejanus’ story as outlined above. Our point is that Joseph and Aseneth is describing the real-life world around Jesus in far more detail than the Gospels do. What seemed like fantasy is actually history, and what seems like history turns out to be carefully edited spin.
Again, let’s look at Joseph and Aseneth. In this manuscript, it’s Aseneth (Mary the Magdalene) who is front and center and it’s Jesus who is in the background. In other words, it seems that Joseph and Aseneth is a document told from the point of view of one of the central women in the drama. Put differently, in Joseph and Aseneth we not only have a rare document that takes us into a world of intrigue and betrayal, sex and murder conducted behind the scenes by people surrounding Jesus—it takes us into that world with a woman as our guide. Seen from this perspective, we can now see clearly that in Jesus’ world it is the women who were often the main players—pushing their men toward that ultimate prize: divinely sanctioned rule.11
Let’s take another look at the facts. Livilla conspired to kill her husband, marry Sejanus, and, together with him, make a grab for the imperial crown. Had they been successful, Sejanus would have been declared a god and she, as was sometimes the case, might have been elevated to the status of a goddess. Meanwhile, Herodias managed to get John the Baptizer executed and then pushed her husband, Antipas, to gamble everything for the title King of the Jews. At that same time, not to be outdone, Bernice, sister of Agrippa, was also pushing her brother—there were rumors that they were also lovers—to become King of the Jews. With this goal in mind, she reportedly bedded many of the power players in Rome and, in the end, succeeded: Agrippa was indeed declared King of the Jews. He was given a territory larger than Herod the Great’s. Had he not died suddenly under mysterious circumstances, both his Jewish and Gentile followers might have declared him Messiah.12
As noted, Joseph and Aseneth perfectly reflects this period. But it adds something to the stories of intrigue in pursuit of power. It argues that Mary the Magdalene could have married a local political player, but she decided not to. She married a mystic and a healer, a magician and a miracle worker. He was, however, of royal lineage, and she backed him in his quest for the crown. In other words, she played the King of the Jews game. In this sense, Mary the Magdalene was one of the Messiah pushing girls, so to speak: Herodias had husband/uncle, Antipas; Bernice had brother/lover, Agrippa; while she had her Messiah/husband, Jesus.
Based on Joseph and Aseneth, we can imagine Mary the Magdalene conspiring with Joanna, wife of Chuza, surviving a near-assassination and making an alliance with Sejanus on behalf of her husband, Jesus. One can reject this scenario, but one thing is for sure: it is certainly true to the historical reality on the ground.
Herodias, her daughter Salome, Joanna, Livilla, Bernice, and Mary the Magdalene seem to be the unsung players who in the first decades of the 1st century were the main movers and shakers in the politics of Messiahship. Based on our newly deciphered text, it seems that Mary the Magdalene played the game well and, by the time her husband rode into Jerusalem, she must have secured assurances from Sejanus that even if Jesus caused a near-riot in the temple, he would not be touched. At first, he wasn’t. But no one could have predicted that Antonia, the mother of Sejanus’ mistress, Livilla, was about to intervene, causing Sejanus to go down—taking Jesus down with him.
Sejanus Close Up
Was Sejanus really that important to Jesus’ life and death? The historical record is clear. Pilate and Antipas, two of the men who were principally responsible for the crucifixion of Jesus, were also intimate allies of Sejanus. This is not beside the point. It seems that these various stories somehow converged and, in the process, changed the world forever.
We are not the first to connect Sejanus and Jesus. Back in 1968, Paul Maier drew attention13 to a strange report in the Gospel of John. John 19:12–15 records the Jewish high priests, which were led by the high priest Caiaphas, saying to Pilate: “. . . if you release this man [Jesus], you are no friend of the emperor.” According to Maier, such a statement only makes sense after Sejanus’ fall in 31 C.E. He is right. Pilate was Sejanus’ man. After the fall of his mentor, he became vulnerable for the very first time since his arrival in Judaea. In Maier’s words, the only time a Jewish high priest could have threatened his Roman boss was “at a time when Tiberius was prosecuting adherents of Sejanus . . . under the rubric of maiestas—treason to state and Emperor.”14
Unfortunately, Maier goes further. He writes that since Sejanus was an anti-Semite (as attested to by Philo and Josephus), Jesus would not have dared to enter Jerusalem before his downfall. Meaning, Jesus must have come to Jerusalem because Sejanus had gone down. According to Maier, Jesus’ plan backfired. By the time Jesus was arrested, Pilate was afraid to appear lenient toward a pretender to the Judaean throne, and Jesus’ fate was sealed.
Maier’s insight is that Sejanus’ downfall is connected to Jesus’ activities in the Galilee and his arrival in Jerusalem. But the problem with Maier’s overall analysis is that it is contradictory. According to his view, Jesus went to Jerusalem after Sejanus’ demise because he felt that it was now safe for him to be there. But Jesus miscalculated. Somehow, in the aftermath of Sejanus’ downfall, Pilate felt vulnerable and turned out to be less than friendly. According to Maier’s view, Sejanus’ downfall makes things safer and more dangerous for Jesus at the same time. This simply doesn’t work. If Jesus was afraid of Sejanus, why would he have gone to Jerusalem when Sejanus’ man, Pilate, was still running things there?
Armed with the new information provided by Joseph and Aseneth, we can now see that though Maier is correct in connecting Sejanus to Jesus, he seriously underestimates the depth of that connection. Jesus didn’t go to Jerusalem because Sejanus fell, he went to Jerusalem because Tiberius was about to fall. Sejanus’ downfall did, indeed, affect Jesus. But it did not cause him to go to Jerusalem. It sent him to the cross.
Let’s recapitulate the clues in this two-thousand-year-old mystery.
The detective work led us to Antipas, Antipas led us to Sejanus, and Sejanus led us to Pilate. Their interactions reached a climax at precisely the moment that Jesus rode his foal into Jerusalem. All this perfectly fits with Joseph and Aseneth, except that Joseph and Aseneth goes one step further. According to our text, Jesus, Mary the Magdalene, and Jesus’ disciples are not passive observers. They are part and parcel of the intrigue—a plot involving someone code-named “Pharaoh’s son.” But who is this villain identified only as “Pharaoh’s son?” Decoding his identity is key to making sense of this last section of Joseph and Aseneth . . . and also for understanding the power politics that led to Jesus’ crucifixion.
Pharaoh’s Son
Let’s be precise. Since we’ve identified Joseph with Jesus and Aseneth with Mary the Magdalene, our entire reconstruction stands or falls on two things. “The Pharaoh” in Joseph and Aseneth must refer to a Roman emperor, and “Pharaoh’s son” must refer to a biological son, an adopted son, or an intimate representative of the emperor’s. We are obviously setting the bar quite high for ourselves. We are making our analysis of the plot to kill Jesus, Mary the Magdalene, and their children conditional on identifying the villain of the story: “Pharaoh’s son.” But what are the chances of identifying the son of a Roman emperor who is physically in the Galilee area during the height of Jesus’ career? And even if we find such an individual, what are the odds that he would have had the opportunity and motive to penetrate Jesus’ entourage and to conspire to kill Jesus, rape Mary, and murder their children? And even if we identify such an individual, what are the odds that he died in the Galilee area just as Joseph and Aseneth describes?
Here’s the amazing thing about our text: Joseph and Aseneth leads us to not one, but two candidates for the role of “Pharaoh’s son.” As we’ve mentioned, Tiberius had two sons. Together with Livilla in 23 C.E., Sejanus killed Drusus, Tiberius’ biological son. Earlier, in 19 C.E., Sejanus killed Germanicus, Tiberius’ other son whom Augustus had forced him to adopt. Let’s look at their stories more closely. One or the other of these two individuals has to be the villain.
Drusus
First of all, the identification of “Pharaoh” as Tiberius is solid. In fact, Joseph and Aseneth calls “Pharaoh,” “the old lion.” This fits perfectly with a story told by 1st-century historian Josephus concerning Tiberius: “Now Marsyas, Agrippa’s freed-man, as soon as he heard of Tiberius’s death, came running to him . . . and said, in the Hebrew tongue, ‘The lion is dead.’ Understanding his meaning, Agrippa became overjoyed at the news.”15
It is interesting that the term lion for Tiberius seems to have been a code specific to the Jews. As in Joseph and Aseneth, Agrippa’s servant does not mention Tiberius by name. Rather, in the Hebrew tongue he calls Tiberius the lion, and Agrippa immediately understands. In other words, both Joseph and Aseneth and Josephus use the exact same code word for Tiberius. So “Pharaoh” in Joseph and Aseneth is none other than the Roman emperor Tiberius.
But which son is “Pharaoh’s son”? Whom can we identify?
Drusus is a very good candidate for this role. First, he is the biological son of Tiberius. Second, he dies in mysterious circumstances. Third, he is involved in plots and counter-plots that reach into the highest circles.
Drusus’ story feels like Joseph and Aseneth. For example, in the manuscript, “Pharaoh’s son” is called his “firstborn,” which seems to be consistent with Drusus but not with Germanicus. Also, Germanicus never hung around Tiberius. He was always off fighting somewhere else. Drusus, on the other hand, stayed in Rome and probably visited his father’s Capri pleasure-palace on numerous occasions. In Joseph and Aseneth there is an incident which vividly describes an aborted attempt by the son to murder the father. In 25:1 it states “Pharaoh’s son rose in the night and went to his father to kill him with a blade but his father’s guards prevented him from entering (the room).” It is easy to imagine young Drusus in Capri trying to sneak into his father’s bedroom to do him in. The fact that it’s his father’s guards who thwart his plans is also consistent with the historical role of the Praetorian Guard. Furthermore, although the son plots against the father in Joseph and Aseneth, the father does not plot against the son. This suits Drusus. It seems that Tiberius may have plotted against Germanicus, but was taken aback by the murder of Drusus.
Drusus’ relationship with his wife, Livilla, is also in keeping with his being “Pharaoh’s son,” the villain. In Joseph and Aseneth, the heir to the throne seems totally disinterested in anyone but Aseneth (a.k.a. Mary the Magdalene). In fact, his father asks him “why do you, the king and ruler of all the land, seek a wife beneath you?” (1:9). As we have seen, Drusus didn’t have a very good relationship with his wife, Livilla. It is easy to understand why Drusus would be attracted to Mary the Magdalene while his woman was having sexual relations with Sejanus, becoming pregnant with Sejanus’ twins and conspiring to murder her cuckolded husband.
When it comes to character here, too, the description of “Pharaoh’s son” fits Drusus. Drusus was a drunk, a womanizer, and a regular patron at the local brothels. He also had a temper, once famously smashing Sejanus in the face. If he died a slow death at Sejanus’ hands, he lived to regret that outburst. In any event, Joseph and Aseneth depicts “Pharaoh’s son” as a scheming, spoiled, temperamental individual who alternates between bravado16 and fear.17 All this fits Drusus.
The main problem with identifying Drusus as “Pharaoh’s son,” however, is that we have no record of Drusus living or dying in the Middle East, as our manuscript clearly requires.
So we conclude that it is very likely that Drusus is not the “Pharaoh’s son” of our lost gospel.
What, then, do we know about Germanicus?
Germanicus
As it turns out, we know for certain that Tiberius’ adopted son, Germanicus, was in the vicinity of the Galilee during the time that Jesus was gaining followers there. Also, in a sense, he was Tiberius’ firstborn. Although he was not the biological son of Tiberius, by virtue of the deal that had elevated Tiberius to the throne, Germanicus was in first position to take over from Tiberius. Legally speaking, by being the heir to the throne, he was the firstborn.
But did he have any interest in conspiring against his adoptive father, the Emperor Tiberius? On this score, too, Germanicus fits the bill.
Germanicus was a highly popular general, well beloved by the people. His campaigns in Germania were especially successful and, after the death of Emperor Augustus in 14 C.E., the troops under his command wanted to proclaim him emperor. He wisely turned down this premature acclamation, honoring Augustus’ choice of Tiberius as his successor. At that time, instead of grabbing power, Germanicus took his soldiers into battle against a group of Germanic tribes, under their leader Arminius. A few years earlier, this same Arminius had successfully defied Roman rule and slaughtered thousands of Roman soldiers. Overstepping his authority, Germanicus took the battle across the Rhine River, which Tiberius had decreed as the outermost border for Roman rule. This would not be the only time Germanicus demonstrated disdain for his adoptive father’s prerogatives.
Suspicious of Germanicus’ growing popularity18 and military might in 17 C.E., Tiberius recalled him to Rome under the pretext of honoring him with a full triumph. Five of his children accompanied Germanicus on his triumphal procession through the streets of Rome. The contrast between emperor and emperor’s son was dramatic. There was Tiberius: the “old lion,” an aging emperor, almost sixty. There, too, was Germanicus: the hero of the day, a highly decorated and popular military leader who had restored Roman pride on the northern frontier. And he was only thirty-two. With a roster of children on display, a dynasty seemed ensured.
Germanicus probably sensed that time was on his side and that it would not be long before he became emperor. At the time of his triumph, all of Rome must have thought so too. The onlookers included Sejanus, who immediately understood that he had a formidable rival with whom to contend.
In 18 C.E., Germanicus was made consul. Sejanus probably played no small role in this matter. The “promotion” was an opportunity to remove Germanicus from the center of power, and he was given a new command in the eastern part of the Roman Empire. There were problems in the East, especially in Parthia and Armenia. Also, the provinces of Syria and Judaea had petitioned for a reduction in taxation. As Tacitus puts it, “the commotion in the east was rather pleasing to Tiberius, as it was a pretext for withdrawing Germanicus from the legions which knew him well, and placing him over new provinces where he would be exposed both to treachery and to disasters.”19 As in Joseph and Aseneth’s depiction of “Pharaoh’s son,” treachery and disaster followed Germanicus everywhere he went.
Germanicus came to the East with the status of maius imperium, a position of power that exceeded the authority of every Roman governor or appointee in the area. In effect, this gave him virtual unlimited rule in the region, almost on par with the emperor himself. He was, in essence, co-emperor in all but name, and he was based in Antioch, just up the coast from the Galilee.
Rulers in the Middle East—Syria, Judaea, Galilee, Nabataea—would have been well aware of the implications of this appointment. Power had suddenly shifted: rather than reporting directly to the emperor, they would now be accountable to the emperor’s son. As a result, it became important for Pilate’s predecessor Valerius Gratus (15–26 C.E.) to ascertain Germanicus’ policies and personal ambitions, and to align himself with them.
At precisely this moment in time—18 C.E.—Valerius appointed Caiaphas as high priest in Judaea, a term of office that lasted until 37 C.E. Obviously, this appointment would have been made with the new political reality in mind. In other words, the High Priest Caiaphas, the man that the Gospels accuse of arresting and trying Jesus, was appointed to his position precisely because our candidate for “Pharaoh’s son”—the emperor’s son, Germanicus—had arrived on the scene. To be appointed high priest by Valerius, Caiaphas must have been someone close to Valerius, someone the procurator thought he could count on. Caiaphas’ appointment, therefore, would have connected him to Germanicus, not Sejanus. This should change the way we look at Jesus’ confrontation with the authorities that ultimately had him crucified. When Jesus faced Caiaphas, Herod Antipas, and Pilate, he was facing a high priest who had been allied with Germanicus and two individuals implicated with Sejanus, the man who had Germanicus murdered.
In any event, in 18 C.E. Herod Antipas would also have taken note of Germanicus’ arrival. During his lengthy forty-two year reign as tetrarch over the Galilee and Peraea (4 B.C.E.–39 C.E.), Herod Antipas saw many political masters come and go, and he outlasted them all. He didn’t survive by ignoring their presence. In fact, after his arrival, all the political players in the area had to seek ways of ingratiating themselves to Germanicus.
But the political landscape was much more complicated than just cozying up to Germanicus and aligning one’s policies with his objectives. At the same time as Germanicus was given enhanced imperial power, Tiberius created a new and complex political dynamic in the Middle East. Even as he “promoted” Germanicus, Tiberius removed Creticus Silanus, the governor of Syria, from his post. Silanus was a politician who had close ties to Germanicus. His removal was especially embarrassing for Germanicus, since Silanus’ daughter was betrothed to Nero, Germanicus’ oldest son. In Silanus’ place, Tiberius appointed a strong opponent of Germanicus, Cneius Piso, whom Tacitus describes as a “man of violent temper, without an idea of obedience, with indeed a natural arrogance.”20 Piso was no fool. He understood that his mandate in the Middle East was to thwart the personal ambitions of Germanicus. But the animosity went much deeper—it involved their wives. Piso’s wife, Plancina, hated Germanicus’ wife, Agrippina. The hatreds, therefore, were political and personal and involved women. Once again, it seems that the political picture on the ground in Syria and Judaea was much closer to that in Joseph and Aseneth than to the accounts in any of the canonical Gospels. Intrigue, counter-intrigue, and shifting alliances were the order of the day. And in the midst of it all, as in our lost gospel, was an emperor’s son.
In addition to Piso, Germanicus had to contend with Drusus, who was being groomed for power, closer to home. As Tiberius’ natural son, he was a powerful rival. Then, too, there was Sejanus, who was beginning to make his moves on, and positioning himself as the head of, a well-trained army that reported solely to the emperor. It’s entirely conceivable that in this web of intrigue, Germanicus began to think of how to rid himself of Tiberius before Tiberius got rid of him. Again, this is a perfect fit with Joseph and Aseneth, where “Pharaoh’s son” wants the Pharaoh dead.
But let’s take a closer look at our manuscript and see if we can bring the history into even sharper focus. According to our gospel, “Pharaoh’s son” is foiled, and he dies in the area of the Galilee from wounds inflicted by one of Jesus’ disciples. Did Germanicus die a gruesome death in the Syrian/Galilean area? Did he ever visit the area long enough to lust after Mary the Magdalene and hatch the plan described in Joseph and Aseneth?
Well, we know Germanicus traveled extensively throughout the Middle East. For one thing, he turned the regions of Cappadocia and Commagene in modern Turkey into Roman provinces. More specifically, according to Tacitus,21 during his short-lived Middle Eastern career Germanicus attended a banquet hosted by Aretas IV, King of the Nabataeans.22 Piso was there and took the occasion to insult his host as well as Germanicus. Herod Antipas was likely there because, at the time, he was probably still married to Aretas IV’s daughter. Other local political and religious leaders must have been present as well—people like Chuza and Joanna.
From his base in Antioch, in order to get to Nabataea (modern-day Jordan), Germanicus would have had to travel along the Via Maris and then down the north-south highway that ran through Nabataea all the way to Egypt. These highways crossed at one specific spot: a town called Magdala, Mary the Magdalene’s hometown. Incredibly, the highway intersection has recently been excavated and can be seen at the site.
Soon after visiting Nabataea, Germanicus visited Egypt, a country under the emperor’s personal control. Entry for anyone who held the rank of senator or higher required the emperor’s permission. Germanicus didn’t ask for or receive permission to enter Egypt. Ostensibly, Germanicus went for sightseeing purposes, visiting the pyramids, Thebes, the great stone statues of Memnon and traveling as far south as Elephantine and Syene. But he also took the occasion to boost his popularity with the people, moving freely amongst them without soldiers as bodyguards. In particular, he reduced the price of corn by opening up the grain warehouses to help relieve a local famine—again, without the emperor’s explicit permission.
Reducing the price of corn, an act of seeming civility, displeased Tiberius immensely, for Rome counted on Egyptian grain warehouses to feed her own people. Germanicus’ act was political. It won favor for him in Egypt and sowed the seeds of trouble for Tiberius in Rome. It directly undermined the emperor’s power.
What was Germanicus’ motivation in venturing into Egypt? Was he really just a tourist? That’s one possibility. More likely, he was mobilizing public support for his bid for the emperorship. Perhaps it was a test to determine how the “old lion” (that is, the aging Tiberius) would respond to an upcoming challenge to his authority.
In any event, the trip to Egypt would have taken Germanicus right past Magdala, back and forth. In other words, between the trips to Nabataea and Egypt, Germanicus passed through Magdala at least four times in the space of about a year. The question arises: in the midst of all the politicking against Tiberius, Sejanus, Piso, and all, was Germanicus the type of individual to go after a local leader, simply to assert himself over his wife? Opportunity is one thing, but are the actions described in Joseph and Aseneth in character for Germanicus?
The fact is that, historically speaking, we know Germanicus took a special interest in women, especially local leaders’ wives. For example, after capturing Thusnelda, wife of Arminius, the German tribal leader, he sequestered her in his tent. She was already pregnant with Arminius’ child at the time, but that didn’t stop Germanicus. Both she and her child were later featured as prized conquests in Germanicus’ triumphal procession through Rome. In similar fashion, Germanicus could well have attempted to push Jesus aside in order to abduct Mary the Magdalene. It would be totally in keeping with Germanicus’ character to want to do to Jesus, Mary, and their children what he had already done to Arminius, Thusnelda, and their child.
Old prejudices die hard. We can imagine people thinking: come now, Mary the Magdalene is the object of Germanicus’ lust? Jesus, the object of his envy? Politically speaking, wasn’t Jesus too much of a bit player to be taken seriously by an emperor’s son? Wasn’t Jesus a starry-eyed preacher who was not on any Roman leader’s radar? Well, not really.
As we’ve seen, the small cauldron of Middle East politics featured people such as Piso in Syria and Aretas IV in Nabataea who counted big-time in their day but are now all but forgotten by history. As we have also seen, seduction and murder feature prominently not only in our text but in Germanicus’ life or, more precisely, in his untimely death. Jesus was no less important in the Galilean context than Arminius in the German context. In fact, unrest in Judaea might have had more far-reaching consequences than in Germania, at the outer borders of the empire. Also, Jesus had royal pretensions and was gathering a following. We see that later, in the aftermath of his cousin John the Baptizer’s death, Jesus becomes the obvious candidate to wear John the Baptizer’s mantle.23
So if we compare Jesus and Arminius, we see that they had several things in common: both had attractive wives, and both could make trouble. Also, as Tacitus reports concerning Piso’s later attempt on Germanicus’ life, the Romans were obsessed with magic, and Jesus had a reputation of being a world-class magician. This is attested to in the Gospels, the Talmud, and pagan texts.
Put differently, the story in Joseph and Aseneth makes perfect sense in the Galilean context of the 1st century. By comparison, we know that the plot against John the Baptizer involved a ruler (Antipas), two women (Salome and Herodias), and a death (John’s). Similarly, the plot against Jesus seems to have involved a ruler (Germanicus), a woman (Mary the Magdalene), and a death (Germanicus’). Seen in this light, i.e., that Germanicus is “Pharaoh’s son,” it seems that Germanicus’ downfall saved Jesus, Mary, and their children.
Lets take a closer look: with Tiberius as his mentor, Piso constantly fought with Germanicus, undermining his decisions, insulting him, and refusing to implement his orders. For his part, Germanicus was eventually able to sideline Piso, but not before discovering that Piso was trying to poison him, using a combination of magic and germs. Tacitus writes that within the floors and walls of his living quarters, Germanicus found disinterred bodies, incantations, and spells. Also, the name of Germanicus had been inscribed on magical tablets. The plot seems to have worked, because Germanicus immediately became ill and died in Antioch in 19 C.E.24 There were rumors at the time that his body showed evidence of poison, but it’s entirely possible that he died of wounds inflicted on him in the Galilee, as he returned to Antioch from his insubordination in Egypt.
Germanicus’ wife, Agrippina, widely blamed Tiberius for her husband’s death. Piso was also blamed and arrested for treason, but he allegedly committed suicide before he could tell his part of the story. It had been anticipated that there would be a trial and Piso would sing like a canary, but his untimely “suicide” made that impossible.
All in all, whereas the idea of an emperor’s son conspiring against the emperor and against Jesus and his family may have seemed outlandish when we first raised it in reference to Joseph and Aseneth, we can now see that there was an emperor’s son in the area at the time, that he must have traveled through the Galilee on his way to Egypt and Nabataea, that he was involved in political intrigues, that he had reason to want the emperor dead, and that he was killed in a wide-ranging conspiracy that reached into the highest circles of power.
The fact is that in the extensive cover-up that followed his murder, no one is exactly sure of what did Germanicus in. As in Joseph and Aseneth, he was involved in a battle with enemies both in Rome and in the area of Judaea—and he lost. It’s entirely possible that poison did him in or maybe, as it says in Joseph and Aseneth, he was struck and died of his wounds after three days. Perhaps poison was the official story. Maybe Joseph and Aseneth is giving us the inside story on this two-thousand-year-old cover-up. We don’t know. The entire affair is shrouded in intrigue and mystery with dead bodies literally all over the place. What we do know for certain, however, is that the Joseph and Aseneth text led us to search for an emperor’s son who died in the Galilee area under mysterious circumstances. And we found Germanicus.
Germanicus, not Drusus, perfectly fits the role of the villain, “Pharaoh’s son.”
Germanicus’ widow, Agrippina, was not as fortunate as Mary the Magdalene. With Sejanus amassing power and consolidating influence with—and over—the emperor in 29 C.E., Agrippina and two of her sons—the heirs to the throne—were arrested. Soon after, the two boys died. The boys were probably murdered or, like Piso, committed “suicide.” In 33 C.E., exiled and broken—just after the crucifixion of Jesus—Agrippina succeeded in starving herself to death. Basically, Sejanus did to Agrippina what “Pharaoh’s son” (Germanicus) wanted to do to Mary the Magdalene.
In Joseph and Aseneth, the story of “Pharaoh’s son” serves no theological purpose whatsoever. Kraemer is convinced that this “part of the story . . . takes place in ‘history’ and narrates the deeds of ‘historical’ persons.”25 Our analysis has demonstrated that this part of the story describes the historical circumstances that led to the Mara (i.e., the lady, Mary the Magdalene) being saved from the clutches of a member of the ruling class. In other words, since it isn’t myth, it must be history.