Very
little is known about the historical Jesus, as opposed to the Jesus of
myth who appears in the New Testament. He is mentioned by the
1st-century historian Flavius Josephus in reference to his brother,
James, who led Jesus’ followers after his death. Two second-century
Roman historians, Tacitus and Pliny, also refer to Jesus’ arrest and
execution in discussing the movement he founded. Other than that, we
have to rely on biblical writings, particularly the gospels — the
earliest of which (Mark) was written down almost 40 years after Jesus’
death. None of the gospels were written by eyewitnesses to the events
described; they’re based on oral and perhaps some written traditions.
Much of contemporary biblical scholarship involves parsing and
triangulating the various accounts to surmise which bits are the oldest
and most likely to represent some real event or statement by Jesus
himself.
This, of course, hasn’t stopped anyone from trying to
reconstruct a historical account of Jesus’ life, however speculative it
must necessarily be. The latest to try is Reza Aslan, a professor of
creative writing with a background in religious studies, which seems
like just about the right configuration of skills. Aslan is best known
for “No god but God: The Origins, Evolution and Future of Islam” and his
appearances on “The Daily Show,” but his literary talent is as
essential to the effect of
“Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth”
as are his scholarly and journalistic chops. This book, he explains in
an author’s note, is the result of “two decades of rigorous academic
research into the origins of Christianity.” It’s also a vivid,
persuasive portrait of the world and societies in which Jesus lived and
the role he most likely played in both.
Any account of the
historical Jesus has to be more argument than fact, but some arguments
are sounder than others. Aslan wants to “purge” the scriptural accounts
of “their literary and theological flourishes and forge a far more
accurate picture of the Jesus of history.” The picture he uncovers is
very different from the now-common view of an unworldly pacifist
preaching a creed of universal love and forgiveness. Instead, Aslan’s
Jesus is a provincial peasant turned roving preacher and
insurrectionist, a “revolutionary Jewish nationalist” calling for the
expulsion of Roman occupiers and the overthrow of a wealthy and corrupt
Jewish priestly caste. Furthermore, once this overthrow was achieved,
Jesus probably expected to become king.
The
most fascinating aspect of “Zealot” is its portrait of the political
and social climate of Jesus’ day, 70 years or so after the conquest of
Judea by Rome, an event that ended a century of Jewish self-rule. The
Romans replaced the last in a series of Jewish client-kings with a Roman
governor, Pontius Pilate, when Jesus was in his 20s, but even Pilate
ruled by working closely with the aristocratic priestly families that
controlled the Temple in Jerusalem and thereby all of Jewish politics.
This elite reaped great wealth from the sacrifices the faithful were
required to offer in the Temple, as well as taxes and tributes. In the
provinces, noble families used the tax and loan systems to seize and
consolidate the lands of subsistence farmers. They also began to adopt
the customs of the pagan occupiers.
The dispossessed migrated to
cities in search of work or roamed the countryside causing trouble. Some
of them, called “bandits” by the Romans, robbed the wealthy (who were
often seen as impious) and rallied the poor and discontented. They
invariably offered religious justifications for their activities; many
claimed to be the messiah, the prophesied figure who would eject the
foreigners, raise up the oppressed, punish the venal rich and restore
the Jews to supremacy in their promised land. Although Jesus himself
wasn’t such a “bandit,” he definitely fit the well-known type of
apocalyptic Jewish holy man, so commonplace in the countryside that the
Greek philosopher Celsus wrote a parody version, a wild-eyed character
running around shouting, “I am God, or the servant of God, or a divine
spirit. But I am coming, for the world is already in the throes of
destruction. And you will soon see me coming with the power of heaven.”
The
legitimacy of all of these figures was founded on zeal, which Aslan
characterizes as “a strict adherence to the Torah and the Law, a refusal
to serve any foreign master — to serve any human master at all — and an
uncompromising devotion to the sovereignty of God,” just like “the
prophets and heroes of old.” Although the Zealot Party would not exist
for a few more decades, most insurrectionists of the time — including
Jesus — could be rightly called zealots. They revered the Torah and
honored its many rules and regulations. The most fanatical of such
groups, such as the Sicarii, practiced a form of terrorism, attacking
members of the Jewish ruling class, even assassinating the high priest
within the precincts of the Temple itself, “shouting their slogan ‘No
lord but God!’”
Aslan points out that crucifixion was a punishment
the Romans reserved for political criminals, and that the men hung on
crosses next to Jesus’ are described with a word often mistranslated as
“thieves” but that in fact indicates “rebel-bandit.” The placard “King
of the Jews” hung on Jesus’ cross was meant not to mock his ambitions
but to name his offense; using that title or claiming to be the messiah
amounted to a treasonous declaration against the authority of Rome and
the Temple.
Aslan also insists that the parable of the Good
Samaritan is less concerned with the Samaritan’s compassion than it is
with the “baseness of the two priests” who passed by the injured man in
the road before the Samaritan stopped to help him. It was a class
critique as much as an exhortation to help one’s neighbors. He also
dismisses the gospels’ depiction of Jesus’ trial, with its reluctant
magistrate, as “absurd to the point of comedy,” given that the
historical Pilate never showed anything but contempt for the Jews and
sentenced hundreds of politically troublesome people to the cross
without a second thought.
How was Jesus, this “zealous Galilean
peasant and Jewish nationalist who donned the mantle of the messiah and
launched a foolhardy rebellion against the corrupt Temple priesthood and
the vicious Roman occupation,” transformed into the incarnation of God,
a being who sacrificed his life to mystically redeem the souls of all
mankind? This new Jesus, Aslan asserts, was largely the invention of
Paul, who never met the man he would celebrate as his savior (though he
claimed to speak often with the “risen Christ”), and Paul’s theological
heirs.
Paul clashed with James, John and Peter, who led the core
of Jesus’ following after his death. Theirs was a deeply Jewish
community centered in Jerusalem, where it awaited its founder’s return
and the restoration of God’s kingdom on earth. Paul instead opted to
convert and minister to gentiles as well as Jews in Rome and beyond. In
the year 70, the ferment in Palestine finally erupted in a full-fledged
revolt and then Roman reprisals. Ultimately, the Temple, Jerusalem and
the holy city’s occupants were destroyed, and with these the Jewish core
of Jesus’ followers. By default, it was Paul’s version of Jesus’
teachings — Christianity — that survived, splintering off from Judaism
and incorporating many ideas from Hellenistic philosophy.
This is a
credible account, and one that raises a provocative question: Just how
much of Christianity has anything to do with Jesus? In many respects,
Paul seems to have been the more visionary leader. Somewhat bafflingly,
Aslan remarks in his author’s note that he finds Jesus the man “every
bit as compelling, charismatic and praiseworthy as Jesus the Christ” —
by which he means the divine figure who presides over Christian
theology. I suppose that “the man” is more human and accessible, but he
is also not especially exceptional, original or innovative.
Although
Aslan never explicitly states as much, the parallels to today — to
certain deeply religious and nationalist Muslims who zealously strive to
cast out foreign occupiers and corrupt clerics — are hard to ignore,
especially when Aslan describes Sicarii shouting, “No lord but God!”
Perhaps “Zealot” is partly intended to make today’s zealots seem less
alien and scary, or perhaps it’s meant to suggest that all religions go
through a process of maturation that simply takes time. If so, I’m not
sure it works. The historical Jesus’ call for justice is stirring, but
the xenophobic and theocratic society he allegedly advocated is not — in
fact, it sounds a lot like what the worst of (so-called) Christians
seek today. I may not be a Christian myself, but even I can see that
Jesus the Christ stands for something better than that.
Author: Laura Miller
is a senior writer for Salon. She is the author of "The Magician's Book: A Skeptic's Adventures in Narnia" and has a Web site,
