Response to Downing and Fredriksen

What I Did Not Say (Misreadings of my Article)

First, I will note instances in which I believe Downing or Fredriksen simply misrepresents my own article. To begin with a very minor one: I never used the term ‘zealot’ in either its ordinary or technical sense for Jesus or his movement. The word occurs in Downing’s essay but was not used by me.

1. I never make an issue of ‘traveling’ with a sword, carrying weapons in the countryside, or being armed outside a city. Downing introduces these issues himself. I was careful to talk only about how Roman authorities would react to someone being armed with a sword (or a dagger) in a city. Downing’s long discussions and examples of laws about being armed outside cities are just red herrings. That is not my concern, so I did not discuss the issue in my article.

2. Contrary to Downing’s insinuation, I never claim that ‘rules are universal throughout the Empire and over many centuries’ (p. 328). In fact, a careful reading of my article should give someone the opposite impression precisely because I point out that the Romans did not always react the same way to an armed insurrection: sometimes they killed everyone involved, and sometimes they arrested and punished only the ringleaders. Admittedly, I do think it probable that Roman authorities in those cities they controlled (that is, excluding villages, towns, rural areas, and some cities where they were not directly in control) would almost certainly have forbidden the open carrying of swords. But that is far from believing that the Romans always and everywhere pursued exactly the same policies, a position I have never taken. Another red herring.

3. In a similar vein, Fredriksen implies that I think Roman forces were everywhere in the empire policing all territories. She seems to think she is correcting me when she says, ‘Territory was administered, often by sub-contracting to local elites; it was not “occupied” by Roman armies’ (p. 315). Generally, I agree. But of course, that depends on what one means by ‘occupied’. I would insist that because legions were always in place at Rome (the center) and around the frontiers (the periphery), Rome was indeed ‘occupying’ the empire as a whole. More to the point, my concern was with Rome and Jerusalem, and yes, Roman soldiers and the prefect were indeed present in Jerusalem at the time of Jesus’ arrest, and they were the ultimate authority for the city. So they were in charge, ultimately, as is proven by the fact that Pilate – not the Jewish high priests – executed Jesus.

4. Contrary to Fredriksen’s claim, I do not use the absence of lamb at the last supper as evidence to ‘support’ my ‘previous arguments’ (about Jesus’ disciples being armed with swords and his opposition to the temple). Quite the contrary: I said that if one accepted my more central hypotheses (about the disciples being armed because of Jesus’ opposition to the temple), then one might be able, by extension, to speculate about Samaritans and lambs. My argument worked precisely opposite to the way Fredriksen presents it.

5. Fredriksen states that my claim is that ‘Rome typically disposed only or chiefly of the leader and then disbanded the group’ (p. 322). Again, I must disagree. I simply offered evidence that they could have done so and sometimes did. My argument, far from being about what the Romans ‘always’ or ‘typically’ did, was to point to evidence that they could have thought of Jesus’ band as seditious and yet still allowed them to escape.

6. Fredriksen, in a note, says she is agreeing with me that ‘the Johannine scenario [of the arrest of Jesus] is superior in terms of historical plausibility to Mark’s’ (p. 323 n. 14). No, I merely said I thought it ‘possible’ that the Romans themselves arrested Jesus. I said nothing about the Johannine account in general being ‘superior in terms of historical plausibility to Mark’s’. In fact, when it comes to historicity, I tend to favor Mark’s accounts over John’s in just about all cases.

But now to address real disagreements.

Swords

Though only Fredriksen disputes my interpretation of μάχαιρα as ‘sword’ and does so only toward the close of her essay, I address the issue first because I realize it is central and because I believe her suggestion can be easily refuted. Fredriksen notes (p. 323 n. 16) that LSJ gives as the first listed definition of the term: ‘large knife, or dirk; carving-knife; sacrificial knife’. She does not mention, though, that by far most of the examples given in that first definition are from early Greek – mostly from Homer. She also fails to note that LSJ provides many other definitions: sabre, straight sword, cavalry sword. LSJ even cites a text (from a collection of later astrological texts) in which the word occurs in the phrase ἐπὶ μ. τασσόμενοι, translated as ‘possessing power of life and death’, and thus the Greek equivalent of jus gladii. This text makes μάχαιρα not only a sword, but even the kind of sword used by Roman foot soldiers (gladius) and thus differentiated from the Latin term for the dagger they also often bore, the pugio. The point of that definition would be to differentiate μάχαιρα from ‘dagger’.

Fredriksen cites Gen. 22.6 and 10 LXX as support that μάχαιρα means not only a knife, but a ‘sacrificial knife’ in particular (p. 323). That is true, but those are the only two verses in Genesis that merit that interpretation. The other five uses of the term refer to battle swords (27.40; 31.26; 34.25, 26; 48.22). Closer to home for us, the term is used in Maccabean literature exclusively for a battle sword (1 Macc. 3.12; 4.6; 10.85; 2 Macc. 5.3). ² Even closer to home, within the NT, μάχαιρα represents a sword used in battle (see Lk. 21.24; Heb. 11.33; Rev. 6.4; 13.10; and most other occurrences) or for execution (Acts 12.2; Heb. 11.37). Perhaps the Philippian jailor is armed with only a dagger or short sword, and that is what he intends to use to kill himself (Acts 16.27). Perhaps the weapon that wounded the ‘first beast’ in Revelation (13.14) is a reference to an assassin’s knife or dagger, but it just as easily may refer to a sword.

Indeed, we can see how unlikely it is that the word means ‘knife’ – much less ‘sacrificial knife’ – by translating other NT passages that way. ‘I have come not to bring peace but a knife’ (Mt. 10.34)? ‘All who take up the knife will die by the knife’ (Mt. 26.52)? ³ ‘Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Hardship, distress, persecution, famine, nakedness, peril or sacrificial knife’ (Rom. 8.35)? Ephesians lists μάχαιρα along with shield, arrows and helmet (6.17). Should the word here be translated as the ‘knife of the holy spirit’ to denote the ‘word of God’? Out of 14 uses of the word in the NT (excluding for the moment those used in the scenes of Jesus’ arrest in the Gospels), only two (as already noted) could be a knife or, more likely, dagger or ‘short sword’ (Acts 16.27; Rev. 13.14). Five are certainly references to swords used in battle (besides the four listed together in the paragraph above, add Eph. 6.17). One or possibly three refer to swords used in executions (Acts 12.2; perhaps Rom. 13.4; Heb. 11.37). Indeed, there is not one occurrence of the word in the NT that clearly means ‘knife’, and certainly not ‘sacrificial knife’. And every use of the term could quite plausibly be a reference to a sword used in battle. The primary if not only meaning of μάχαιρα in the NT is ‘sword’, and there is no certain attestation of an instance anywhere in the NT of a better translation being ‘knife’, much less ‘sacrificial knife’.

Moreover, we have no hint in our sources that Jesus or the disciples participated in sacrifices. And if these are sacrificial knives they are carrying, why have them on their persons hours after they would have been used for the sacrifice? Why have them after their meal? Why have them outside the walls of Jerusalem in a garden? It is much more likely that μάχαιραι are swords, and these, like probably every other occurrence of the word in the NT, are swords suitable for battle. Contrary to Fredriksen’s arguments, the Greek term in the Gospels refers to swords, not knives or sacrificial knives. Any other translation is precluded by the overwhelming evidence from the use of the word elsewhere in the NT, the LXX, Josephus and all other literature of the time.

Law

Both Downing and Fredriksen make much of the fact that I can cite no explicit law that we can be certain was ‘on the books’ in the first century CE forbidding being armed in a city. They both complain about the lateness of the Digest and its contradictions – with itself, I would add. That is one of the reasons, however, that I made my case without depending much on the Digest. I cite merely two laws from the Digest that I think are relevant. In my view, Roman policies are much better discerned by studying Roman behavior than by citing explicit laws. Laws counted for much less in the early imperial period precisely because, for the most part, authority was exercised ‘from the top down’ with the emperor being the highest authority. Downing is correct to mention that when Pliny wants to know how to proceed with Christians, he does not look for a law; he asks the emperor Trajan for his views, and he looks for precedent and usual practice. I agree completely, which is why I cited only two explicit laws and instead focused more on other kinds of evidence.

And I appreciate the fact that explicit evidence is scarce, but that is not unusual for writing Roman history and attempting to understand legal cases or practical policies. Downing’s insistence that carrying weapons was never a problem in the absence of criminal intent, however, is just wrong. Cicero’s letter states, ‘The Senate passed a decree that Vettius, since he had confessed to carrying a weapon [cum telo fuisse], should be put in chains’. ⁴ The Latin is clear (as is the situation when one reads the context): Vettius confessed to nothing more than being armed, but for the Senate that was reason enough to put a Roman in chains.

Perhaps I should have cited a bit more evidence for the legal or policy situation in Rome. Unfortunately, I am unaware of much more evidence. But there is some. Livy tells a story in which a man is framed by his enemies who do so simply by planting swords in his bedroom. Uncovering the weapons seems good enough reason to arrest him (Ab Urba Condita 1.51). Also in Livy, the Latins ask the Senate for permission to arm themselves because of a threat from the Aequi, suggesting that the Romans regularly prohibited troublesome subject peoples from being armed with weapons that could be used in warfare (as opposed to those for hunting or minimal self-defense; Ab Urba Condita 2.30). In any case, I consider the evidence of Cicero’s letter combined with the confiscation of the sword of Encolpius by the (maybe fake?) soldier in the Satyrica to be strong evidence for the policies and practices of Roman authorities when it came to civilians’ carrying of swords in cities of Italy. ⁵ One piece of evidence comes from the middle of the first century BCE; the other from the middle of the first century CE; the two conveniently ‘bracket’ the time of Jesus.

My main answer to the criticisms of Downing and Fredriksen is that their objections actually muddy the waters. They in fact complicate the argument that, in my making, is rather more simple than their responses imply. We need not have absolute ‘proof’ (if such exists in historiography) that it was ‘illegal’ in eastern provinces for civilians to carry swords while in a city. It does seem to be that it was Roman policy to forbid even Roman citizens from carrying swords at least in the pomerium – though I would argue that the evidence suggests that, by the first century, that policy included the entire city. Does it make any sense that Roman authorities, of whatever specific embodiment, would allow lower-class men from Galilee to carry swords in Jerusalem or even just outside its walls? This is extremely improbable, regardless of what formal laws were or were not in place. Neither Downing nor Fredriksen, in spite of their complicating the issue, has overturned that thesis.

Temple

Fredriksen wrongly insists that all the Gospels were written after the destruction of the temple in 70. In her view, the Gospel writers, all of them, retroject prophecies of the destruction of the temple into Jesus’ mouth as ex eventu prophecies, and they do so to blame the destruction on the disobedience and disbelief of the Jews and as punishment for the killing of Jesus. I also believe that the link between Jesus’ death, Jewish unbelief and the destruction of the temple are later developments of Christian anti-Judaism, but I reject using that observation to exclude any possibility that a prediction of the destruction of the temple could occur earlier than 70. And there is good evidence that the Gospel of Mark was written prior to 70, or just around the year 70, but before the full details of the destruction were known to the author.

In Mark, Jesus echoes Daniel in predicting the ‘standing up’ of a ‘desolating sacrilege’ in the temple just before the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple (13.14). There is debate about what this might mean. I believe, as do other scholars, that the wording, quoting Daniel where it did refer to the setting up of some kind of idolatrous object by Antiochus IV Epiphanes, suggests that the author expected the Romans to set up (‘standing’) an idolatrous statue in the temple. ⁶ Yet as far as we know, the Romans did not place anything of the sort in the temple before destroying it. They just burned it down. One cannot insist that all the Gospels post-date 70 when Mark seems to get the events of 70 wrong.

Contrary to Fredriksen’s insistence, it is not at all a problem we need to solve that both Mark and John provide the same misinterpretation of Jesus’ actions in the temple. For one thing, the absolute independence of John from Mark or the other Synoptic Gospels is not settled scholarship, at least not anymore. I think the author of John must have known at least Synoptic traditions, and perhaps even their texts. But even if we insist on John’s ignorance of Mark’s text or traditions, it is not hard to imagine how they could both independently have provided a common interpretation of the temple event. Neither of them is particularly keen about Jesus predicting the destruction of the temple, so they would need to come up with an alternative interpretation of Jesus’ motives, and the idea that Jesus would want to reform corrupt practices associated with temple procedures could arise naturally to different authors independently.

The fact that Paul also shows no knowledge of Jesus’ prediction of the temple’s destruction is also not hard to explain. As I say at the end of my article, the disciples learned something from the arrest and crucifixion of Jesus: armed opposition to Rome and the Sadducees should no longer be an option. ⁷ They, or at least most of them, changed their minds quickly and found a new, and less violent, way of relating to both the temple and Jerusalem, a way related to future eschatological and ‘spiritual’ fulfillment rather than armed revolt. Paul became a follower of Jesus a few years after this change took place among most of the original disciples. What Paul ‘joined’ was no longer an anti-temple movement. So he had no interest in that previous movement. It is common knowledge among scholars that Paul had no real interest in what we modern scholars mean by ‘the historical Jesus’. And he joined the group only after the other disciples had rejected the violent, anti-temple position of the historical Jesus.

‘Criteria’

Another issue in which I believe Downing and Fredriksen ‘muddy the waters’ is their lengthy comments on the so-called criteria of dissimilarity or embarrassment and multiple attestation. I never claimed to be using those familiar arguments as any kind of fail-safe ‘proof’. Indeed, as footnote 15 of my previous article points out, I am not at all unaware of recent criticisms of these traditional scholarly ‘criteria’. But at the same time, basic rational arguments cannot so easily be overturned themselves. Yes, the more references we have in what we take to be independent sources do mean that those events or sayings were at least not invented by one of those sources. The story or saying at least pre-dates the actual written source in which we find it. No, of course that is not ‘proof’ that it goes back to Jesus; but it is evidence that it pre-dates the sources in which we find it. That is something, at least. And regardless of not providing firm ‘proof’, what is more reasonable: that early Christian authors would invent a story or saying that seems to go against their own beliefs or tendencies (Jesus denying he is God in Mk 10.18; Jesus’ disciples being armed with swords in Jerusalem at Passover), or that the authors inherited the story or saying from some source, written or oral, before them? I prefer some use of these arguments over the tendencies of modern scholars to take as ‘historical’ whatever happens to ‘seem right’ to them. Some kind of explicit methodology must be articulated. Contrary to the accusations of Fredriksen and Downing, I do not believe I have relied at all unwarily on some kind of ‘criteria’ that I take to be ‘scientifically reliable’. I have simply made arguments and proposed evidence.

Imperfect Parallels

Both Downing and Fredriksen make objections to arguments I offer by employing a rhetorical device popular among NT scholars, but that is in my view highly problematic: they note that something I offer as an instructive parallel is not relevant at all because it does not perfectly match the situation to which I apply it.

Fredriksen, for example, insists that Herod’s treatment of John the Baptist cannot be used as a parallel for understanding why the Romans did not hunt down Jesus’ followers (pp. 322-23). I cited the case as an example of an authority of the time executing someone feared to be leading a potentially seditious movement but with the authority making no attempt to round up and punish his followers. Fredriksen denies any comparison because John was arrested alone and executed in private, whereas Jesus was arrested surrounded by followers in public and executed very publicly. But those differences do not at all render reference to John irrelevant. I cite the parallel not because the cases are exactly alike. I do not need them to be exactly alike. All I need is to point to an instance when an authority in early first-century Palestine arrested and executed a leader without rounding up and executing his followers. And I do not need many examples. Some scholars have made this argument: some of the strongest evidence that the Romans did not conceive of Jesus’ movement as violent and seditious is that the Romans necessarily would have and always did punish followers also. That the Romans did not hunt down and punish Jesus’ disciples is proof, it is said, that the movement was not seditious. The sole point I need to demonstrate with the example of John the Baptist is that the assumption is just not true: here is an example. Likewise with the evidence of Josephus: it does not matter if the Romans often did punish the followers. If there is even one example given by Josephus (and there is: the one I cite in my article) then one cannot insist that the Romans must have rounded up the disciples if they were considered seditious. I do not need completely perfect and numerous parallels. All I need are some examples in which the followers are not punished. ⁸

Downing makes a similar argument against my citation of the Qumran Jews as another Jewish group of the time that expected an eschatological battle in which they seem to have expected also to participate. Downing rejects the citation because the Jews represented by the War Scroll did not initiate the expected final battle, but simply were waiting for God to initiate one at a future appointed time (p. 331). But I do not cite the evidence to prove that the Jesus movement I hypothesize was just like the Jewish sect at Qumran. All I need to demonstrate with the parallel is that it was entirely possible for a Jew to expect an eschatological battle in which human beings would also participate. The Qumran example demonstrates that point.

The demand by some NT scholars that parallels, in order to do any ‘historiographical work’ at all, must be perfect parallels is just bad historiography. We do not need pure or perfect parallels. We just need historical evidence. One cannot reject the clear evidence I supply that (1) the Romans did not always arrest or execute followers when they did arrest or execute a ringleader; and (2) it was possible for Jews of the time to expect an eschatological battle in which they would participate. One cannot overturn such evidence simply by insisting on the presentation of only perfectly parallel phenomena.

Historical Omniscience

Another problem with the historiography of Downing and Fredriksen is their practice of confidently claiming knowledge of historical events, or even human intentions, they cannot possibly know. I am perfectly willing to admit that several of my own suggestions are speculative. I especially offered my speculations about the Samaritans and the absence of lamb at the Last Supper as hypothetical suggestions, not established historical ‘fact’. But both Downing and Fredriksen counter my speculations with firm declarations about things they cannot possibly know.

Downing insists that the ‘soldier’ in the scene of Petronius’s novel takes away Encolpius’s sword because Encolpius ‘is running wild, looking furious’ (p. 331), not because of some general policy against citizens being armed in cities. How does Downing know this? There is nothing in the text that indicates that as the motive of the soldier. Instead, the text just has the ‘soldier’ question Encolpius about his status. When he finds out Encolpius is a civilian and not a soldier, he confiscates the sword. Nothing in the text, in spite of Downing’s confidence, says anything other than that about the reason for the confiscation.

Against my hypothesis about Samaritan followers of Jesus, both Downing and Fredriksen insist that Samaritans would not have joined the group, even if the anti-temple sentiments were expressed, unless they could be assured that any new temple would necessarily be built not in Jerusalem but on Mount Gerizim. Since we have no evidence of such an assurance, my hypothesis about Samaritans is rejected. But how can Downing and Fredriksen have such certain knowledge concerning something of which there is complete silence in our sources? There could have endured two different expectations among Jesus’ followers: some could have believed that any future eschatological temple would be built in Jerusalem, while others believed it would be built on Mount Gerizim. Or Samaritan followers of Jesus could have changed their minds later. Or Samaritan followers could have later decided Mount Gerizim was not so important and that a ‘spiritualized’ temple was a better option, as some later Christians certainly came to believe. We do know that there were probably Samaritan members of the movement early on, at least after Jesus’ death, if we take Acts as any reliable indication. Did those Samaritans retain their allegiance to Mount Gerizim? We have no way of knowing. So neither Downing nor Fredriksen knows what was in the minds of any potential Samaritan followers of Jesus.

Downing ‘knows’ that any mention of lamb would have dropped out of the tradition because the Last Supper quickly became the Eucharist, which seems not to have included, or at least did not necessarily include, lamb (p. 332). But how does he know that? The three Synoptic Gospels all portray the institution of the Lord’s Supper at the Last Supper as a Passover meal. So, that it was a Passover meal was not forgotten. And how does Downing know that the movement toward Eucharistic practice and theology would necessarily preclude any mention of meat? He is practicing, again, historical omniscience.

Fredriksen insists that if the historical Jesus had predicted the destruction of the temple we would certainly find some reference to it by Paul. She claims, ‘Where he has an early paradosis, Paul mentions it’ (p. 319). Really? How does Fredriksen know that Paul never knew of any other saying of the Lord or any other story about Jesus except those he brings up in our seven letters by him? We simply cannot know everything Paul knew.

It may indeed be true that some or all of my arguments are speculative, but I would insist that those offered in their place by both Fredriksen and Downing are at least as speculative, if not more so.

Love, Pacifism and Turning the Other Cheek

Downing raises an issue I have discussed in various presentations of my ideas but left out of the essay itself: how do I justify my scenario of expected violence on the part of Jesus with sayings in the Gospels that seem to advocate non-violence? That is a fair question. I did not include discussion of that issue because my article was already long enough, and, in order to provide a sufficient answer, I would need also to discuss my opinions on the historicity of the various sayings and what they would have meant in a construction of the historical Jesus. But having been given this second opportunity, I can provide answers.

I believe that at least some of the sayings of Jesus advocating non-violence could be historical. But if Jesus taught any kind of pacifism, it would have been, in my opinion, a ‘strategic’ stance of non-violence – non-violence for the ‘time being’, until, that is, the expected eschatological battle. It was certainly not the kind of universal principle of non-violence of the sort advocated in the modern world by leaders such as Gandhi or Martin Luther King, Jr. In the first place, I do not believe one can find that kind of universal principle of non-violence anywhere in the ancient Mediterranean world. In the second place, the very authors who include such sayings and teachings in their own Gospels and letters (here I think especially of Paul) also include warnings and promises of violence from other quarters – from governing authorities and God. The same author who wrote about turning the cheek, loving one’s neighbor and going the second mile (Mt. 5.38-48) also wrote Mt. 13.50, 18.34-35 and 22.11-14, all promising violence from God or his angels. The same Paul who wrote Rom. 12.14-21 and 13.8-10, advocating peace and love, also wrote Rom. 13.4, which reserves the right to rule with violence for the authorities. Paul is not reluctant to teach about violence committed by God (1 Thess. 1.10). Indeed, Paul insists that ‘vengeance’ belongs to ‘the Lord’ (Rom. 12.19). ⁹

In other words, the strategic advocacy of non-violence – for the moment – need not preclude an acceptance of violence by the historical Jesus in the cause of God or from God or God’s agents. That combination occurs all through the Bible and throughout Christian history and doctrine. If the historical Jesus taught non-violence, I expect that it was much like the non-violence advocated by many modern Christians such as Mennonites. Many of them couple teaching that human beings must be pacifists with an admission of the possibility of violence as the prerogative of God. Absent anywhere in the ancient Mediterranean world of the modern universal principle of non-violence, what the historical Jesus may have taught was strategic non-violence on the part of his followers, but without completely precluding future violence in the cause of God.

Conclusion

I certainly never expected my hypotheses offered in ‘Jesus in Jerusalem’ to convince everyone. I have recognized from the start that some of my points depend on arguments from silence and are certainly speculative, as I think all historiography to some extent is speculative. I do believe, though, that the counter-arguments proposed by Downing and Fredriksen themselves contain arguments from silence and are no less speculative than my own suggestions. And though I have much less confidence with some of my positions (about the Samaritans and the absent lamb in particular) than others (the disciples being armed), I stand by my central thesis. Moreover, I believe that my main argument is more simple than the impression one would have from Fredriksen’s or Downing’s representations of it. My basic thesis is: If Roman citizens were not permitted to carry weapons in Rome (swords or daggers), would Roman authorities have allowed Jews to do so in Jerusalem, especially at potentially turbulent times such as Passover? If not, what would Romans have done to Jesus and his disciples if they were found carrying swords in Jerusalem or even just outside its walls at Passover? My answer: they would have crucified at least the ringleader, Jesus, as a ‘social rebel’ (λῃστής).