Josephus’ narrative of the massacre at Masada removes the Romans from complicity in the deaths of the defenders. In the Gospels direct criticism of Rome is absent.
Newsletter: Vol. 10. Iss. 2
May 2011
The Christian Significance of
Masada, cont'd.
Return
to previous page
Josephus is our only literary source for the celebrated events that transpired on Masada. Far from telling a story of ‘heroic self sacrifice’ or ‘collective suicide,’ which are popular euphemisms, Josephus tells a story of ignoble treachery and wholesale murder. It should not be overlooked that when Josephus wrote his narrative, his patrons were the Roman emperors Vespasian and Titus and their wives. It is equally significant that Josephus was writing at about the same time as the authors of Matthew and Luke and perhaps Mark as well, who were his contemporaries.
Josephus was a client of Roman emperors. So ingratiated
was he to his elite Roman patrons, that he adopted the names Titus and Flavius,
a standard Roman custom. Like the authors of the Gospels, Josephus was a thoroughly
Hellenized/Romanized Israelite. Thus, no one should expect that he would write
a narrative that would indict Rome’s actions in its suppression of the
Judean revolt. Josephus does tell some rather unflattering stories about Roman
figures, including Pontius Pilatus, but his narrative of the massacre at Masada
removes the Romans from complicity in the deaths of the defenders.
If critique of Rome was ever part of Jesus’ preaching, there is precious
little, if any, evidence of it in the Gospels. Even though Pilate condemns
him and Roman soldiers nail him to the cross, the Gospel narratives of Jesus’
passion take pains to depict these Roman agents as disinterested pawns in
the drama, subject to orders or beholden to special interests. The prime movers
in Jesus crucifixion, are not Roman, but the Judean Jerusalemite authorities
and an evidently blood thirsty mob. Josephus also takes pains to exonerate
the people of Israel in the eyes of his intended audience, the Roman public.
This is where the defenders of Masada come in to the picture. They are Josephus’
rather convenient scapegoats.
In modern story telling, the defenders of Masada are almost always regarded
as Zealots, a notorious Judean sub-group. The Zealots are known to us not
only from Josephus, but also from the Gospel of Luke (6:15) and the Book of
Acts (1:13). The author of Luke/Acts includes Simon the Zealot among Jesus
apostles. However, Josephus clearly identifies the defenders, not as Zealots,
but as Sicarii. The name derives from their use of daggers (Latin = sicar)
to accomplish political objectives. They were 1st Century Judean terrorists.
Josephus is careful to differentiate the Zealots from the Sicarii. He regards
the latter as a treacherous group of social deviants. He blames them for precipitating
the Judean revolt against Rome and ultimately for the destruction of the Temple.
He recounts a number of anecdotes to emphasize the group’s treachery,
including their attack on the Judean settlement of Ein Gedi. On that occasion,
the Sicarii descended from their mountain fortress and attacked the settlement
on the night of Passover. Over 700 men, women and children—all Judeans—were
slaughtered by the Sicarii, i.e., by those who are regarded in the popular
Masada fiction as heroes. Slaughter is hardly a noble, heroic act—neither
is treachery against one’s own people. In light of Josephus’ narrative,
it is difficult to see how any modern interpretation of the Masada story can
render the defenders as heroes. If these are heroic models, we need fewer
of them.
I have already pointed out that Jesus included among his apostles at least
one Zealot who was called Simon (Luke 6:15, Acts 1:13). More significant is
the fact that he also included a member of the Sicarii—Judas, who betrayed
him. As I often point out on our programs, all scripture comes to us in a
heavily modified form. For one thing, all scripture comes to most of us in
an English translation. This translation obscures the meaning of Judas’
name. Iscariot does not readily strike one as denoting an identity with the
Sicarii. Often in scholarship, the name Iscariot is translated as the one
who is from Kerayot, i.e. the village. However, there is no known village
of that name. Further, if one were to transliterate the Latin word Sicarii,
i.e., the ones of the knife wielders, into Aramaic, which was the native language
of Jesus and all Israelites in Judea, it would be rendered Iscariot. Thus,
in addition to Simon the Zealot, Judas was at least the second of Jesus’
12 apostles who was somehow associated with an anti-establishment Judean sub-group.
Not only does Judas Iscariot’s name telegraph his identity, so does
his conduct. He betrays to death a fellow Israelite on the night of Passover,
just as the Sicarii slaughtered over 700 fellow Israelites at Ein Gedi, also
on the night of Passover. Just as the Sicarii defenders of Masada end up taking
their own lives, so Judas hangs himself. In ancient Israelite society, murder
was not noble. Suicide was not heroic. It was the ritual acknowledgement of
the futility of one’s own cause.
Josephus tells the story of a group of treacherous Israelites called Sicarii
who betray their own people and end up acknowledging the futility and vanity
of their own cause in the symbolic act of taking their own lives. On the night
of Passover, more 900 Sicarii—according to Josephus—receive symbolic
justice for their act of murdering over 700 fellow Israelites at Ein Gedi
also on the night of Passover.
Like Josephus’ narrative, the Gospels are written in the aftermath of
the First Judean Revolt against Rome. They tell a story of a treacherous Israelite,
Judas Iscariot, i.e., the knife wielder, who betrays to death a fellow Israelite.
Then, to demonstrate that he accepts the futility and vanity of his cause,
Judas, like the Sicarii on Masada, meets death by his own hands on the night
of Passover.
Josephus is careful to avoid any frontal critique of Rome and its army in
his narrative. Neither do the Gospel authors, writing at about the same time
as Josephus, offer much by way of critique of Rome. Like Josephus, the authors
of the Gospels (and Acts) are Israelites. Indeed, like Josephus, the Gospel
writers’ most scathing criticism is directed not against Rome, but against
fellow Israelites. Like Josephus, they are writing in the aftermath of the
Judean revolt against Rome and they do not want to aggravate Roman suspicions
about Judeans by suggesting any disloyalty to Rome. These similarities are
not coincidences. If we ignore them or allow them to be obscured by the popular
fictions about Masada and the ‘last stand of the Zealots,’ we
miss an important way of gaining insight into the meaning and purpose of the
Gospel narratives in their original contexts.
Far from telling a story of ‘heroic self sacrifice’ or ‘collective suicide,’ which are popular euphemisms, Josephus tells a story of ignoble treachery and wholesale murder