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Loading...I am please to publish this guest post by Christopher Stanley, a scholar of the New Testament and Early Christianity who enjoyed a long career at St. Bonaventure University (after receiving his PhD in NT at Duke!) The post deals with a topic most of us haven’t thought about before. In the Jewish uprising against Rome that led to the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple in 70 CE, were there *some* Jews who were actually opposed to the revolt and sympathized with the Romans? The answer may be surprising.
This is a topic of Chris’s recent research and a novel that he has published, as he’ll explain in this intriguing post.
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Anyone who has read Bart’s books is aware of the gulf that often separates scholarly interpretation from lay readings of the New Testament. Some of the differences are apparent, such as questions about the authorship or historical reliability of the Gospels. Others are less obvious.
A topic that arguably belongs under the latter heading is the New Testament authors’ engagement with their political context. Explicit references to political authorities are uncommon apart from the trial of Jesus and the book of Acts, and injunctions to lobby, protest, or work for social and political change are virtually nonexistent. The few texts that mention rulers speak primarily about paying your taxes, submitting to the authorities, and praying for their well-being. It is thus no wonder that Christian history has been dominated by the belief that the New Testament is either apolitical or supports the status quo.
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Thank you Drs Ehrman and Stanley for a fascinating post, exploring a very important but neglected area. Some excellent points were made and I particularly liked the analogy with the American Revolution. From what I’ve read, the Revolution was seen at the time as a sort of civil war between ‘Englishmen’, the generic term for English speakers in the 18th century (no longer in favour, of course) and references were made to Cromwell and Charles I in letters, speeches etc. As you say, the concept of a more nationalistic war of Americans versus the British emerged later on. It just goes to show (and this is particularly true today with social media) that a very vocal minority (or maybe small majority) can give the impression that theirs is the view of everyone, even when that clearly isn’t the case (and, as you say, going back to Josephus’ day too.)
Thanks again for a very stimulating post.
I do not mean to excuse collaboration with imperial power, or to deny its moral ambiguity. Still, I wonder whether some Jews who cooperated with Roman rule did not act simply out of self-interest. People often try to preserve or improve the world immediately around them, but in doing so they can be caught between idealism and realism, between loyalty to a sacred vision and responsibility for the suffering of real people.
In that sense, cooperation may sometimes have been a tragic form of realism rather than simple betrayal. If resistance seemed likely to bring catastrophe, some may have seen engagement with Rome as the only way to limit destruction, preserve a community, or keep open some space for religious life.
This makes me think, by analogy, of Josef Lukl Hromádka, the Czech theologian who engaged with communist society and was sometimes called a “red theologian.” Josephus may offer another morally ambiguous example: after going over to the Romans, he tried to persuade Jews to surrender, apparently to reduce casualties. His account cannot be read naively, but it raises the question whether cooperation with Rome could sometimes reflect not only opportunism, but also a painful attempt to reduce suffering.
If Jews collaborated with the Roman occupiers, does that add evidence that Jews collaborated with the crucifixion of Jesus? This subject is much more fraught than Stanley acknowledges. If Jews were willing traitors to their own people, why wouldn’t they cooperate in the crucifixion of a troublemaker from Galilee? I appreciate Stanley’s effort to correct a historical omission, how some Jews collaborated with the Romans, but one has to be careful not to implicate Jews in the crimes committed by the Romans. This is similar to those who collaborated with the Nazis, in France and other countries occupied by the Germans, something Europe is still wrestling with today. For many antisemites, it’s a short leap from a few “Herodian” traitors, to the far worse historical charge that Jews killed God.
“Agrippa II, who was raised in the imperial court at Rome, sent 2,000 Jewish archers and cavalrymen to help the Roman general Vespasian put down the rebellion”
And the peace and love-ish Nabataeans sent 4,000 while the Zealots purportedly immolated the food supplies of their own Jewish people, per Josephus.
I perceive Jesus as harmonizing with certain *factions* of Empire, but making a subtle case for the return of the cushioning middle-layer, the king-of-kings Nabataean hegemony that you see in the Book of Maccabees.
The Nabataean water ablution deity Dushara/Dusares, to me seems simply to be Enki/Ea’s son Asar (later called Asarlluhi/Asalluhi). Just like the surrounding mountains are named for Mesopotamian gods – Mount Sinai (Sin), and Mount Nebo (Nabu), imo the Shara mountains might be named for Asar. That makes Dhu Shara read “Of Asar” and Asar’s logogram phonetically reads Dasares/Desares/Dasharas anyway.
I think Jesus is acting in the living image of Asar/Asalluhi in the Gospels, and later his dad Enki/Ea in Revelation. Asar’s material culture is just like his dad (living water, everlasting life, reeds, fish, barley) but unique items associated with his name are the crown of thorns (yep), and fragrance (like that costing a year’s wages.)
I have always been baffled that any of the Judeans seriously thought they had any chance of defeating an empire like Rome. I suppose they expected divine intervention, which is not what I would call a serious plan. The result was one of the greatest disasters in Jewish history.
Imagine how different that history would have been if they had just tolerated the status quo and remained content with the exemptions and privileges the Romans had already granted them. Both Judaism and Christianity would have developed very differently. Judeans might have remained a majority in their own land for centuries more and perhaps even outlasted the empire.
Christopher Stanley’s post on first-century factions sheds great light on Luke 23:31. Look at the literal Greek text (en tō hygrō xylō… en tō xērō): “If they do these things to the green tree, what will happen to the dry one?”
This is a direct contrast between Jesus and the false messiahs. Jesus is the Green Tree—innocent and peaceful. The “dry wood” represents the dead, militant rebel leaders who came later, culminating in Simon bar Kokhba.
When Jesus told the daughters of Jerusalem to weep for themselves and their children, he literally meant those next two generations. He knew what was coming. If authorities crucify an innocent green tree during peace, the ending for the dry tree will be far worse.
And his ending was infinitely worse than Jesus’. He wasn’t just executed; he was slain at Betar, his head was severed for Hadrian, his body left unburied, and his entire nation torched, with 500,000 slaughtered. That is exactly what happens when the dry wood catches fire.
The Personal Identification (en tō hygrō xylō… en tō xērō): The literal Greek contrasts two specific individuals. Jesus identifies Himself as the living Green Tree, and the violent false messiah as the dead Dry Tree.
The ESV Failure: By switching the word to “wood,” the ESV turns a living, organic tree into sterile commodity firewood. This kills the personal imagery of a living Messiah versus dead false leaders.
The KJV Failure: By changing the active clause to the passive “what shall be done in the dry,” the KJV completely hides the active agents who are doing the burning. It reduces a targeted prophecy into a vague, abstract proverb.
The Personal Ending: This erasure hides the direct trajectory to Simon bar Kokhba. Because he brought the flammable fuel of militant nationalism, his personal ending at Betar was physically worse than crucifixion—his head severed for Hadrian, his body left to rot unburied, and his entire nation torched.