“In human intercourse the tragedy begins, not when there is misunderstanding about words, but when silence is not understood.”
– HENRY DAVID THOREAU
The texts of the New Testament have traditionally been seen as the most authoritative witnesses to the life of Jesus. Both professional historians and mainstream theologians have pointed to Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John as preserving the earliest and best data. Many historians now argue that the Gospel of Thomas (not in the New Testament) is among the earliest. Probably earlier than all of these Gospels are the letters of Paul. It should be said at the start that none of these texts tell us that Jesus was married. Paul’s letters, Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Thomas – none of these refer to a literal wife of Jesus.
But, and this point is equally important, the Gospels and the rest of these texts do not tell us that Jesus was single. As I discussed in chapter 1, our default is to assume that Jesus was celibate. The burden of proof is on those who would suggest otherwise. I would challenge this assumption. If our earliest and best sources do not speak concerning Jesus’ marital status, assumptions of his celibacy are unwarranted. After arguments from both sides are heard, we may well conclude that Jesus was celibate, but both sides should share the burden of proof equally.
I say “should share the burden of proof.” Should, of course, does not make something so. The fact of the matter is that the iconic Jesus of the Christianized West has been celibate for almost two millennia. Surely the burden of proof will be on those who would challenge this portrait. And so it is left to the historian to explain the silence of our sources concerning Jesus’ marital status: If Jesus had a wife, why don’t we know her name? Why don’t we hear a single word from her? Why doesn’t Jesus refer to her in his teachings?
If one begins with the default position of a celibate Jesus (and most people begin precisely here), these are questions that demand answers.
THE PROBLEMS OF SILENCE
The voices of women are most often unheard within the histories of men. There are exceptions, but the rule is primary. We don’t see many statues commemorating great women; we don’t celebrate many holidays in honor of women; we are much less inclined to remember the women who have shaped our cultural landscapes. This reality is undoubtedly true in the development of the Western world where “the most valued recollections remain only those that are inherently male.”1
So it should come as no great surprise that the mothers, sisters, daughters, and wives of ancient times are most often obscured. Indeed, I often challenge my students to think of an ancient heroine who is not primarily known as the wife, sister, daughter, or mother of a more famous male. There are a handful of exceptions, but not many.
The annals of history may have obscured the names and voices of important figures, but sometimes these nameless people still speak to us.
Take, for example, a poem written by Fu Xüan (c. 217–78 C.E.) titled “Woman.”2 The poem introduces the topic as a lament: “How sad it is to be a woman! Nothing on earth is held so cheap.” From this perspective, the lament relates to the entire family and is directly related to financial concerns: “No one is glad when a girl is born: by her the family gets no store.” The perspective of the poem purports to be feminine: “Boys stand leaning at the door; Like gods fallen out of Heaven.” In the face of her male luminaries, the woman must remain silent, and subservient, “Her teeth are pressed on her red lips.” Finally, the woman receives derivative self-worth from her husband, but this proves to be an illusion and fleeting: “A hundred evils are heaped upon her … Her lord will find new pleasures.” The final lament is perhaps the most heartbreaking, as the poem describes the eventual distance between herself and her husband: “They that were once like substance and shadow are now as far as Hu from Ch’in.”3 This poem offers a general expression of womanhood during the Han and Three Kingdoms periods in China (contemporary with the rise of Christianity). The poet demonstrates the problem of silence in at least two ways. The most obvious problem is on the surface of the text. The woman in this portrait humbly keeps her lips pressed. She is observant, subservient, only a shadow. Her worth is derived from her lord and is ultimately fleeting. Even at the best of times, her relationship with him is that of “substance and shadow.”
The second problem illustrated here is that of authorship. For all of the empathy that Fu Xüan engenders, this poem was composed by a man. The woman’s perspective is enclosed within a man’s voice. As subversive as this poem might sound, the act of speaking on behalf of a silent woman might be another way to preserve her silence.4
One could say that this poem is a portrait of a faceless and nameless woman. It is a problem that weighs heavily on me because one could say the same of the cover art and title of this book. On the one hand, this poem reflects the man who wrote it; on the other, the poem provides an irresistible historical portrait. Fu Xüan’s nameless woman is simply too compelling to dismiss.
More often than not, the ancients obscure the names and voices that we’re eager to discover. But the problem is also with us moderns. Take, for example, a woman who lived about one hundred years before Jesus. Her name was Shelamzion and she ruled as the Queen of Israel for over ten years. Shelamzion held together a fractured people, charged into battle, led her armies to victory, and was wildly popular among her people for generations after her death. She inherited from her husband a kingdom on the brink of anarchy – and improved her people’s fortunes. After her reign, Israel deteriorated quickly. The mismanagement of her sons led to internal conflicts and left Israel’s borders weak. After the departure of Shelamzion, Israel would not regain political autonomy until 1948.
Shelamzion “Salome” Alexandra: the last queen of Israel. Her remarkable story is the stuff of legend; yet she is almost entirely unknown to most modern people.5 This is not for a lack of references to her; she is mentioned in ancient histories, rabbinic literature, and in the Dead Sea Scrolls. The reason that her name is largely unknown to us is not the fault of ancient historians. Sometimes, we modern and “enlightened” folk are to blame for the silence of women in history. And if a woman as extraordinary as Shelamzion can become nameless and voiceless, what chance do first-century peasants have? The silence of women in history is an ancient and modern problem.
In the case of a possible wife of Jesus, our earliest sources do not address Jesus’ marital status. But we should not assume that silence is evidence of Jesus’ celibacy. Silenced women, obscured women – these are the lamentable rules of history. On the other hand, we should not simply assume that the silence concerning Jesus’ marital status indicates that he was married. The early Christians were not silent on the subject of marriage and family. Jesus himself was not silent about this topic, and much of what he said suggests a negative view of the institution. Our quest for the wife of Jesus might begin with silence, but it must account for the cacophony of voices that border this void.
NAMELESS WIVES AND SISTERS
Allow me to address a question that a friend asked me recently: “How is it possible that Jesus could have had a wife, but she is never mentioned in the Gospels?” Framed in another way, we could ask: Is it conceivable that Christianity, a movement that honored and commemorated the names of several women in leadership, could have entirely obscured the wife of Jesus?
Not only is this possible, it is likely that several important women were eclipsed by the commemoration of the early Jesus movement. I will give two examples: (1) Jesus’ sisters and (2) Peter’s wife.
Every indication from the New Testament is that Jesus was the firstborn among several siblings.6 Jesus’ brothers, most notably James, became leaders in early Christianity. But what of his sisters? Aside from a brief mention of them in the Gospel of Mark, we might never have known that Jesus had sisters. Mark tells a story set early in Jesus’ public career. Jesus’ neighbors are amazed and perhaps a bit skeptical of his budding career as a preacher and faith healer. Jesus is acting like a religious and prophetic authority, and yet he comes from a family of craftsmen. They ask: is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary, and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon? Are not his sisters here with us?7
His neighbors mention Mary (his mother), James, Joses, Judas, and Simon by name, but Jesus’ sisters remain nameless.8 They are an afterthought. This simply confirms what the historian expects. Either these names weren’t important enough to remember, or the author didn’t imagine that the reader would care.
Some scholars have suggested that this episode from Mark is where we might expect to hear of Jesus’ wife, if he had one. But such expectations are misplaced. Jesus’ neighbors point to Jesus’ blood relatives to emphasize that they know where he comes from. He and his family are artisans, not scholars, not religious leaders. More to the point, we know that some of Jesus’ brothers were married (more on this below) – and Mark neglects to mention any wives in this passage. The sisters are nameless and the wives are omitted altogether. It could be that there were simply no wives to mention. Clearly, this passage cannot be used as evidence that Jesus or his brothers were married during his public career. But it most certainly does not provide proof that they were celibate.
An even more telling omission is the example of Peter’s wife. Peter, also called “Cephas,” is the most celebrated of Jesus’ disciples. He has the most speaking roles in the Gospels and was an important leader in early Jewish Christianity. From a Catholic perspective, Peter is listed as the first pope. It is worth pointing out that we do not hear from most of the disciples of Jesus; the Gospels list various disciples who are never given speaking roles. Given this relative silence by the disciples, Peter’s role is magnified by the Gospels. We are told that he was in the fishing business, but we know very little else about Peter’s life before he joined Jesus’ movement.
One thing we do know, however, is that Peter was married. We know this despite the fact that his wife is never mentioned in the Gospels. The Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke mention Peter’s ill mother-in-law.9 So while there is no mention of Peter’s wife directly, we can infer that he was married from the fact that he had a mother-in-law. Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians confirms Peter’s marital status with a passing comment about Peter’s marriage. Paul argues that he himself has the right to get married if he so chooses, just like Peter. He asks rhetorically: “Do we [Paul is speaking of himself] not have a right to be accompanied by a believing wife, even as the rest of the apostles and the brothers of the Lord and Cephas?”10
Paul knows of Peter’s marital status, but does not refer to Peter’s wife directly. She remains a shadow in the annals of history. She had a husband, a mother, she becomes a precedent for Paul – but she has been eclipsed. It is not Peter’s wife that we hear about, but Peter’s marital status. I assume no ill will on the part of Paul; his letters are focused efforts on particular topics and this is just a passing comment. My point is simply that if Paul were not so preoccupied with defending himself and his claim to apostleship, he might not have mentioned Peter’s marital status. That we know of her existence at all is a remarkable exception to the rule.
We also learn from Paul that the disciples (called “apostles”) of Jesus were married. It seems that even the most important leaders of this religious movement were married (or at least were married at some point in their lives). Paul acknowledges that he is the odd exception in choosing (temporarily?) celibacy, but he reserves the right to be married just like the others. It is worth noting, however, that second-century theologian Clement argues that Paul was married.11
Paul also assumes that Jesus’ brothers were married. To put it as plainly as possible: it is highly likely that all of the first apostles were married, that Jesus’ brothers were married, and yet we never meet their wives in the pages of the New Testament. If Jesus had a wife at some point, it would not be surprising that we never hear from her or about her. For a Jewish religious leader in antiquity to be married and for his wife to be completely ignored is lamentable, but shouldn’t surprise us in the least.
THE WISDOM OF SALOME
Without question, many early members of Jesus’ following were eclipsed by characters such as Peter and John. But it would be misleading to paint an entirely negative picture of the Jesus traditions. Some stories about the life of Jesus break from the typical patterns of misogyny in a number of ways.
A great deal has been written about Mary, the Mother of Jesus, and Mary Magdalene (both are key characters in the narratives), but lesser known among the followers of Jesus is a woman named Salome. She is not to be confused with the many other Salomes from this period. The follower of Jesus by this name is mentioned twice in the Gospel of Mark and once in the Gospel of Thomas. In Thomas, Salome declares herself a “disciple” of Jesus. This designation is usually reserved for the men associated with apostleship.
In the Gospel of Mark – the first narrative of Jesus’ life – Salome is among the traveling companions of Jesus. She has followed him to Jerusalem and eventually witnesses his execution. She is also among the women who attempt to tend to Jesus’ corpse only to find the tomb empty. Salome is thus a witness to two of the most celebrated events in the life of Jesus: his death and resurrection. Yet her character never appears again in the New Testament.
The silence of Salome, however, is broken in a text called the Proto-Gospel of James. At least, a character named Salome enters this narrative and witnesses another great moment in the life of Jesus: his birth. Perhaps the author reasoned that if Salome had seen the death and empty tomb, she ought to have witnessed Jesus’ birth as well.
The Proto-Gospel of James (also called the Protoevangelium of James) is a second-century historical fiction that centers on Mary, the mother of Jesus. One might think of it as a “prequel” to the canonical Gospels, as it purports to describe events that happened before and during the birth of Jesus. This story tells of Mary’s birth and marriage at the age of twelve to Joseph. It assumes that Joseph had children by a previous marriage. The text seems to exhibit a high “Mariology” – in other words, Mary is venerated highly in this text, and a defense of her perpetual virginity is launched. The text seems to rely on Matthew, Mark, and Luke for information about Jesus’ birth, but portrays the birth of Jesus in a cave.
As the story goes, Joseph and Mary were traveling when Mary begins to feel the pressure of childbirth. In this version of the story, Joseph finds a cave for Mary to “hide her shame.” Mary gives birth to Jesus, but in such a way that miraculously leaves her hymen intact. A local midwife comes to examine Mary and is amazed. Then Salome enters the scene.
The midwife went out of the cave and Salome met her. And she said to her, “Salome, Salome, I can describe a new wonder to you. A virgin has given birth, contrary to her natural condition.” Salome replied, “As the Lord my God lives, if I do not insert my finger and examine her condition, I will not believe that the virgin has given birth.” The midwife went in and said to Mary, “Brace yourself, for there is no small controversy concerning you.” Then Salome inserted her finger in order to examine her condition, and she cried out, “Woe to me for my sin and faithlessness! For I have tested (or tempted) the living God, and see, my hand is burning, falling away from me!”12
Salome then prays for mercy and an angel appears to her. The angel instructs her to pick up the baby Jesus. When she does, she worships him and her hand is healed. She also vows to keep secret this miracle until Jesus enters Jerusalem (presumably, in his adulthood). This last detail suggests that this fictional Salome is based on the character at the end of Mark’s Gospel. Perhaps the silence of Salome, named prominently but with no real personality in Mark’s Gospel, was too much to bear for early Christians. When silenced by historical memory, historical fiction filled in the gaps.
A person named Salome also becomes a central character in a text called the Gospel of the Egyptians. No manuscripts from this gospel survived, but it is quoted by Clement of Alexandria in the late second century. Based on what we can reconstruct of this gospel, Salome and Jesus discuss childbirth: “When Salome asked, ‘How long will death prevail?’ the Lord [Jesus] replied, ‘For as long as you women bear children.’”13
Jesus’ response reflects a common idea about childbirth that Christianity adopted, probably reflecting a second-century mythology.14 For now, I will simply note that in both of these early fictions, Salome is connected with the topics of childbirth and sin. In the Gospel of the Egyptians she is instructed on this matter (with misogynistic undertones) by Jesus. In the Proto-Gospel of James, Salome is instructed on the purity and virginity of Mary, implying that Jesus was not born in impurity or sin.15 Salome’s prominence but silence in Mark’s Gospel probably piqued the curiosities of many early Christians, who were scandalized by the idea of a woman “disciple.” Salome, then, became the spokesperson for the sinful cycle perpetuated by childbirth.16
Salome also has a minor speaking role in the Gospel of Thomas. Like many sayings in Thomas, the conversation is presented with very little context. We also run into the problem of gaps in the text. Here is the exchange:
Jesus said, “Two will rest on a bed: the one will die, and the other will live.” Salome said, “Who are you, man, that you … have come up on my bed and eaten from my table?” Jesus said to her, “I am he who exists from the undivided. I was given some of the things of my Father” … “I am your disciple” … “Therefore I say, if he is destroyed he will be filled with light, but if he is divided, he will be filled with darkness.”17
While the references to two “on a bed” and Jesus resting on Salome’s bed might indicate eroticism, it is more likely that the implied setting is a public feast. This is not to say that ancient Mediterranean parties couldn’t include both food and sex, but Jesus and Salome seem to be reclining during a meal in this episode. In either case, this portrait of Jesus shows him making himself at home in Salome’s house.
While this saying probably does not reflect a historical event, it does provide us with some very intriguing historical information. It may even fill out a number of details about Salome and Jesus. This saying, while probably fictive, lends support to the probability that:
1. Jesus often attended parties.
2. Jesus often conversed with women as a rabbi would with a disciple.
3. A woman named Salome was among Jesus’ companions.
4. Jesus accepted hospitality and support from women.
On this last point, we should remember that the Gospel of Luke puts forth the picture of Jesus traveling and preaching alongside his twelve apostles and many women. These included Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Susanna, “and many others, who provided for them out of their resources.”18 While not named in Luke, Salome’s portrait in Thomas would fit Luke’s profile. This is probably what Mark has in mind when Salome is named specifically and depicted as providing “for him when he was in Galilee.”19
Salome is the rare exception: a woman who is mentioned by name and remembered independently of a male relative.20 She is not explicitly named as the sister, or mother, or aunt, or wife of a more famous disciple. While later Christian authors attempted to categorize her as a female relative to one of the men in these stories, she is an independent disciple in the Gospel of Mark, Gospel of Thomas, Proto-Gospel of James, and Gospel of the Egyptians.21
Anne Lapidus Lerner observes something very similar in Eve’s legacy: “Eve enters the biblical narrative as a dimly perceived shadow. She is subsumed in the adam, the first human … Eve’s trajectory moves from obscurity, to real power, falling precipitously” in subsequent narratives.22 One could say something very similar about the trajectory of characterization applied to Salome in Christianity. Salome enters in obscurity, rises to prominence in the imagination among early Christians, and then becomes a vehicle to explain how sin enters the world.
What is fictionalized about Salome is her role in misogynist propaganda. She becomes a foil to degrade the purity of childbirth and womanhood in general. Her silence made her a blank slate upon which general indictments of women could be written. Her historical portrait is that of an independent disciple, important in her own right. The historical fictions about her use her as a prop. This procedure will need to be remembered as we consider Mary Magdalene’s legacy.
THE SOUND OF SILENCE
Israeli scholar Tal Ilan writes: “The techniques used to diminish and silence women are many and varied.”23 In this chapter I have only touched on a few of these techniques. What is equally important about Ilan’s observation is that she recognizes that not every silence betrays a typical scenario. In other words, while historians have been typically myopic, not every historian is silent for the same reason. To extend this line of nuance, I will risk an obvious statement: sometimes silence is just silence.
The vast majority of human memory is narrowly focused and oblivious to what it has missed. In like fashion, every choice that a historian makes to emphasize a particular story, figure, or detail is a neglect of many others in the periphery. This is just how memory works and history, of course, mimics memory. Forgetfulness is the rule; memory is the exception. So we can only take the neglect of ancient historians and narratives so far.
Modern investigators do their best to observe the proverbial smoke that betrays the fire, but we must be willing to acknowledge when there is no smoke to behold. Concerning a possible wife of Jesus, it is necessary to point out the rules of androcentric history. In doing so, we simply open the door to a historical possibility. Silence does not prove that Jesus was celibate. It also does not prove that he was married.
CHALLENGES
Any discussion of a possible wife of Jesus must contend with the problem of silence. First, the names and voices of women tend to be obscured by ancient and modern historians. Second, we see this very tendency in our sources for the life of Jesus. We have every reason to believe that James, the brother of Jesus, was married. Is the silence that obscures James’ wife the same sort of silence that we might expect to render a wife of Jesus inaudible?
In the case of Salome, I have pointed to a tendency to take liberties with her silence. Many who have fictionalized her appended their own ideologies onto her name. To some extent, historians and novelists cannot help but to exploit the unknown. This is not necessarily a bad thing; we must retell our important stories with creativity in order to save them. But we must be self-aware as we do so. If not held in check, our imaginations can do violence to the very figure we hope to commemorate.
Markus Bockmuehl, Simon Peter in Scripture and Memory: The New Testament Apostle in the Early Church (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2012).
Bart Ehrman, Lost Christianities: The Battles for Scripture and the Faiths We Never Knew (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005).
Anne Lapidus Lerner, Eternally Eve: Images of Eve in the Hebrew Bible (Lebanon, NH: Brandeis University Press, 2007).
Amy-Jill Levine with Maria Mayo Robbins, A Feminist Companion to the New Testament Apocrypha: Feminist Companion to the New Testament and Early Christian Writings (Cleveland: Pilgrim Press, 2006).
Christopher W. Skinner, What Are They Saying About the Gospel of Thomas? (Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 2012).