A Once And Future King

April 11th.  A transition period.  Between the Old and the New.

Ralph Ellis, a British researcher, has done a rather remarkable job of tracing down ‘the Jesus story’.  In the last book of a trilogy, entitled ‘Jesus, King of Edessa,’ he concludes, from his meticulous research, that the fictional Jesus of the (so-called) New Testament was based roughly on a real historical figure, “a princeling with a small realm” (as Ellis describes him) in northern Syria, who decided, because of imperial encroachment on his territory (to do primarily with taxes), to take on the might of Rome during the period we Westerners know of as the first century AD/CE, thus causing that period’s Jewish Revolt, which ended so disastrously for the Jews, in the siege and sacking of Jerusalem and destruction of the Temple there.  All of this is recorded in the works of a Jewish historian named Josephus, who, having seen the writing on the wall for the Jews from such a reckless act and hopeless cause, ingratiated himself into the good graces of the Roman general in that area at the time, Vespasian, whom he approached and buttered up with ‘prophecy’ of his becoming emperor for his successful protection of the Empire in the Judaean area.  The fact that such an outcome for the good general was already mooted about may well have been what caused Josephus to play his next card, which was to let the good but impecunious general know that he, Josephus, could arrange a little transaction for the general from the riches of the Temple - hidden because of the Revolt and pending defeat of the hotheaded Jews - which he, as a member of the priestly lineage thereof, knew the whereabouts thereof.  Whatever the precise details of the deal, what happened was that Vespasian came into an, er, inheritance, which helped him immeasurably in being selected to be emperor, and Josephus, for his part, was allowed to become an adopted member of the imperial family.(1)

But his contribution to that cause didn’t end there.  As a sort of favor to his fellow Jews, whom he felt sorry for in their being so roundly routed in that particular Revolt (which led ultimately to Vespasian’s eldest son, Titus, delivering the coup de grace in Jerusalem), he drew on his understanding of why they were constantly rebelling against Roman authority - because of their belief in a militaristic Messiah who would come and lead them in victory over their enemies - and came up (undoubtedly along with some of the Roman members of the imperial family, who were learned, and knew about such things) with a plan to assist Vespasian in his job as emperor.  To wit: To create a story about a different kind of Messiah for the Jews (and the Empire's Gentiles) to believe in.  A pacific Messiah, who would counsel them to do the likes of - oh, say: ’Render unto Caesar what is Cesar’s’ - that is to say, to obey authority, because ‘My kingdom is not of this world’.  That should do

the trick.

Oh - and write yourself a part in the fable while you are at it.  For a bit of an inside joke.  And even give a little clue as to what was going on, by giving your character a name change.  Say, from Saul to Paul.(2)

Which little inside joke has lasted for a very long time.  Until recently, when such researchers as Ralph Ellis have figured it out.(3)  With Ellis specifically pointing out how Josephus, er, nailed the man whom he felt was the cause of the terrible destruction done in and to Jerusalem: by making this actual rebel leader out to be a pacifistic character in (largely?) his tale.  

Ah, the irony!  Sweet to a particular kind of person.

But back to the Ellis part of this intriguing story.  Because it doesn’t end with the ‘prophesied’ sacking of Jerusalem and destruction of the Temple there, as ‘chronicled’ in the, er, New Testament.  But with the actual historical outcome of this ambitious princeling of a small realm in northern Syria, who helped cause so much pain to the Jews (but in the event, gave them a new lease on life).  Or ‘historical’ at least insofar as Ellis has been able to trace the story down, and make a case for.  His conclusion:

This Jewish rebel leader was caught and crucified, as per the custom of the day.  But was taken down from the cross while still alive and brought before Vespasian, who was then in Alexandria (either before or after ascending the throne in Rome; I don’t recall that detail), and given a choice: He could swear that he, Vespasian, had miraculous powers (and was therefore a god, and thus fit to be an emperor), in having healed a person by the laying on of his hands, and then be sent into exile, along with some of his closest followers.  Or be killed on the spot.  And our princeling chose life, for himself and his closest companions.  And was dutifully sent into exile.  At the furthest reaches of the Empire (to keep him and them as far away as possible, from causing any more potential mischief):

Over in Britain.  In a place that we now call Chester.  Kept in a fortress compound, with his closest companions, under strict quarantine.  Around whom a legend grew.   Of a mysterious person, and small, especially chosen group of followers.  Which has come down to our day

as about King Arthur.  And his Knights.  Of a Round Table.     

 And about whom - it is said -

he will return. 

And as for his knights?

Ah, well.  All that remains to be seen.

Doesn’t it.

Along with the rest of

this Play that we are in.

In order to 'catch our consciences'. 

And prove ourselves worthy of - oh, say: Ascension

or not. 

In a realm - a small realm, but a substantial one nevertheless - of

our choice. 

—

footnotes:

(1) Along with a number his fellow priestly-lineage males, and their families  A not inconsiderable fact in the development of a new religion, to become known to history as Christianity.  But to continue.

(2) There are simply too many parallels between Josephus’s known (or at least recorded) life and Saul-become-Paul’s ‘New Testament’ life for it to be coincidental.  Down to their ‘both’ being in Rome at the same time, and from a shipwreck at a particular place.  In this clever bit of skullduggery.

(3) And especially Joseph Atwill, as chronicled in his remarkable job of historical sleuthing, titled ‘Caesar’s Messiah: The Roman Conspiracy to Invent Jesus’.