In Ezekiel, the relevant passage is the famous vision of a valley filled with dry bones, all of which, God announces, will live again:
I mean to raise you from your graves… and lead you back to the soil of Israel. And you will know that I am Yahweh, when I open your graves and raise you from your graves… And I shall put my spirit in you, and you will live…’ (Ezekiel 37:12-14)
So important was this passage deemed to be that a copy of it was found buried under the floor of the synagogue at Masada.6
The concept of resurrection derived from Daniel and Ezekiel was picked up and adopted by the original ‘zealots for the Law’, the Maccabees. Thus, in the second book of Maccabees, it is used to encourage martyrdom for the sake of the Law. In 2 Maccabees 14:42, an Elder of Jerusalem kills himself rather than be captured and suffer outrages. In 2 Maccabees 6:18ff., a priest and teacher of the Law kills himself as an ‘example of how to make a good death… for the venerable and holy laws’. This incident, according to Eisenman, is the prototype for the establishment of later Zealot mentality. The principle finds its fullest expression in 2 Maccabees 7, where seven brothers submit to death by torture rather than transgress the Law:
Said one brother, ‘… you may discharge us from this present life, but the king of the world will raise us up, since it is for his laws that we die, to live again for ever.’
Another said, ‘It was heaven that gave me these limbs; for the sake of his laws I disdain them; from him I hope to receive them again.’
The next said to his tormentors, ‘Ours is the better choice, to meet death at men’s hands, yet relying on God’s promise that we shall be raised up by him; whereas for you… there can be no resurrection, no new life.’
Here then, in the pre-Christian book of Maccabees, is the principle of bodily resurrection that will figure so prominently in later Christian theology. It is available, however, as the third of the above speeches makes clear, only to the righteous, to those ‘zealous for the Law’.
But there is another point of relevance in the passage devoted to the death of the seven brothers. Just before the last of them is to be executed, his mother is brought in to see him. She has been urged to plead with him to submit and thereby save himself. Instead, she says to him that ‘in the day of mercy I may receive you back in your brothers’ company’ (2 Mace. 7:29). At the end of time, those who die together will be resurrected together. Thus Eleazar, in his exhortation to the garrison of Masada, urges them to die ‘in company with our wives and children. That is what the Law ordains.’ Not the Law of the ‘Sadducee’ establishment or of later Judaism — only the Law of the so-called ‘Zealots’. Had the women and children in the fortress been left alive, they would not have been exterminated by the victorious Romans. But they would have been separated from their menfolk and from each other. And many of them would have been enslaved, raped, consigned to Roman army brothels and thereby defiled, bereft of their ritual purity according to the Law. At Masada, separation and defilement were feared more than death, since death, for the ‘Righteous’, would have been only temporary. Here then, among the ferocious defenders of Masada, is a principle of bodily resurrection virtually identical to that of later Christianity.
The garrison who defended Masada can hardly be reconciled with traditional images of placid, peace-loving Essenes — who, according to adherents of the consensus, made up the community at Qumran. And indeed, as we have noted, adherents of the consensus continue to insist that no connection can possibly have existed between the Qumran community and the garrison at Masada, despite the discovery at Masada of texts identical to some of those found at Qumran — found at Qumran and, in at least two instances, found nowhere else — and despite the use by the defenders of Masada of precisely the same calendar as that used by the Qumran material: a unique solar calendar, in contrast to the lunar calendar of the official ‘Sadducee’ establishment and of later rabbinical Judaism.
Once again, there can be discerned the configuration of what Eisenman has described: a broad messianic nationalistic movement in which a number of supposed factions, if there was ever any distinction between them, effectively merged. Eisenman’s explanation accommodates and accounts for what has previously seemed a welter of contradictions and anomalies. It makes sense, too, of the mission on which Paul is dispatched by James and the hierarchy of the so-called ‘early Church’ — the ‘Nazorean’ enclave — in Jerusalem. In biblical times, it must be remembered, ‘Israel’ was not just a territory, not just a particular tract of land. Even more important, ‘Israel’ denoted a people, a tribe, a ‘host’. When Paul and other ‘evangelists’ are sent forth by the hierarchy in Jerusalem, their purpose is to make converts to the Law — that is, to ‘Israel’. What would this have meant in practical terms, if not the recruitment of an army? Since Old Testament times, and especially since the ‘Babylonian Captivity’, the ‘tribe of Israel’ had been scattered across the Mediterranean world and beyond, on into Persia — where, at the time of Simeon bar Kochba’s rising in ad 132, there was still enough sympathy to elicit at least a promise of support. Were not the emissaries of the Jerusalem hierarchy sent to tap this potentially immense source of manpower — to ‘call to the colours’ the dispersed people of ‘Israel’ to drive the Roman invaders from their native soil and liberate their homeland? And Paul, in preaching a wholly new religion rather than mustering recruits, was, in effect, depoliticising, demilitarising and emasculating the movement.7 This would, of course, have been a far more serious matter than merely lapsing from dogma or certain ritual observances. It would have been, in fact, a form of treason. For the Law, as it figures in the Dead Sea Scrolls, is not wholly confined to dogma and ritual observances. Running throughout the Qumran texts, as a sacred duty, there is clearly a thrust to build a legitimate messianic persona, whether royal, or priestly, or both. By implication, this would involve the re-establishment of the ancient monarchy and priesthood, to drive out the invader, to reclaim and purify the Holy Land for the people chosen by God to inhabit it. In the words of the ‘War Scroll’: ‘The dominion of the [invaders] shall come to an end… the sons of righteousness shall shine over all the ends of the earth.’8
16. Paul — Roman Agent or Informer?
With this grand design in mind, it is worth looking again at the confused and sketchy description of the events that occur towards the end of the Acts of the Apostles. Paul, it will be remembered, after a prolonged evangelistic mission abroad, has again been summoned to Jerusalem by James arid the irate hierarchy. Sensing trouble, his immediate supporters exhort him repeatedly, at each stage of his itinerary, not to go; but Paul, never a man to shrink from a confrontation, remains deaf to their appeals. Meeting with James and other members of the community’s leadership, he is again castigated for laxity in his observation of the Law. Acts does not record Paul’s response to these charges, but it would appear, from what follows, that he perjures himself, denying the accusations against him, which his own letters reveal to have been justified.lIn other words, he recognises the magnitude of his offence; and however fierce his integrity, however fanatic his loyalty to ‘his’ version of Jesus, he acknowledges that some sort of compromise is, this time, necessary. Thus, when asked to purify himself for seven days and thereby demonstrate the unjustness of the allegations against him, he readily consents to do so. Eisenman suggests that James may have been aware of the true situation and that Paul may well have been ‘set up’. Had he refused the ritual of purification, he would have declared himself openly in defiance of the Law. By acceding to the ritual, he became, even more than before, the ‘Liar’ of the ‘Habakkuk Commentary’. Whatever the course of action he chose, he would have damned himself- which may have been precisely what James intended.2
In any case, and despite his exculpatory self-purification, Paul continues to inspire enmity in those ‘zealous for the Law’ — who, a few days later, attack him in the Temple. ‘This’, they proclaim, ‘is the man who preaches to everyone everywhere… against th
e Law’ (Acts 21:28). The ensuing riot is no minor disturbance:
This roused the whole city: people came running from all sides; they seized Paul and dragged him out of the Temple, and the gates were closed behind them. They would have killed him if a report had not reached the tribune of the cohort that there was rioting all over Jerusalem. (Acts 21:30-31)
The cohort is called out — no fewer than six hundred men — and Paul, in the nick of time, is rescued, presumably to prevent civil upheaval on an even greater scale. Why else would the cohort bother to save the life of one heterodox Jew who’d incurred the wrath of his fellows? The sheer scale of the tumult attests to the kind of currency, influence and power the so-called ‘early Church’ must have exercised in Jerusalem at the time — among Jewsl Clearly, we are dealing with a movement within Judaism itself, which commands loyalty from much of the city’s populace.
Having rescued him from the incensed mob, the Romans arrest Paul — who, before he is marched off to prison, asks permission to make a self-exonerating speech. Inexplicably, the Romans acquiesce to his request, even though the speech serves only to further inflame the mob. Paul is then carried off for torture and interrogation. As was asked previously, interrogation about what? Why torture and interrogate a man who has offended his co-religionists on fine points of orthodoxy and ritual observance? There is only one explanation for the Romans taking such an interest — that Paul is suspected of being privy to information of a political and/or military nature.
The only serious political and/or military adversaries confronting the Romans were the adherents of the nationalistic movement — the ‘Zealots’ of popular tradition. And Paul, the evangelist of the ‘early Church’, was under threat from those ‘zealous for the Law’ – forty or more of them in number — who were plotting to kill him, vowing not to eat or drink until they had done so. Saved from this fate by his hitherto unmentioned nephew, he is bundled, under escort, out of Jerusalem to Caesarea, where he invokes his right as a Roman citizen to make a personal appeal to the emperor. While in Caesarea, he hobnobs in congenial and intimate fashion with the Roman procurator, Antonius Felix. Eisenman has emphasised that he is also intimate with the procurator’s brother-in-law, Herod Agrippa II, and with the king’s sister — later the mistress of Titus, the Roman commander who will destroy Jerusalem and eventually become emperor.3
These are not the only suspicious elements looming in the background of Paul’s biography. From the very beginning, his apparent wealth, his Roman citizenship and his easy familiarity with the presiding establishment have differentiated him from his fellows and from other members of the ‘early Church’. Obviously, he has influential connections with the ruling elite. How else could so young a man have become the high priest’s hatchet man? In his letter to the Romans (16:11), moreover, he speaks of a companion strikingly named ‘Herodion’ — a name obviously associated with the reigning dynasty, and most unlikely for a fellow evangelist. And Acts 13:1 refers to one of Paul’s companions in Antioch as ‘Manaen, who had been brought up with Herod the Tetrarch’. Here, again, there is evidence of high-level aristocratic affiliation.4
Startling though the suggestion may be, it does seem at least possible that Paul was some species of Roman ‘agent’. Eisenman was led to this conclusion by the scrolls themselves, then found the references in the New Testament to support it. And indeed, if one combines and superimposes the materials found at Qumran with those in Acts, together with obscure references in Paul’s letters, such a conclusion becomes a distinct possibility. But there is another possibility as well, possibly no less startling. Those last muddled and enigmatic events in Jerusalem, the nick-of-time intervention of the Romans, Paul’s heavily escorted departure from the city, his sojourn in luxury at Caesarea, his mysterious and utter disappearance from the stage of history — these things find a curious echo in our own era. One is reminded of beneficiaries of the ‘Witness Protection Program’ in the States. One is also reminded of the so-called ‘supergrass phenomenon’ in Northern Ireland. In both cases, a member of an illicit organisation — dedicated to organised crime or to paramilitary terrorism — is ‘turned’ by the authorities. He consents to give evidence and testify, in exchange for immunity, protection, relocation and money. Like Paul, he would incur the vengeful wrath of his colleagues. Like Paul, he would be placed under seemingly disproportionate military and/or police protection. Like Paul, he would be smuggled out under escort. Having co-operated with the authorities, he would then be given a ‘new identity’ and, together with his family, resettled somewhere theoretically out of reach of his vindictive comrades. So far as the world at large was concerned, he would, like Paul, disappear.
Does Paul, then, belong in the company of history’s ‘secret agents’? Of history’s informers and ‘supergrasses’? These are some of the questions generated by Robert Eisenman’s research. But in any case, Paul’s arrival on the scene set a train of events in motion that was to prove irreversible. What began as a localised movement within the framework of existing Judaism, its influence extending no further than the Holy Land, was transformed into something of a scale and magnitude that no one at the time can have foreseen. The movement entrusted to the ‘early Church’ and the Qumran community was effectively hijacked and converted into something that could no longer accommodate its progenitors. There emerged a skein of thought which, heretical at its inception, was to evolve in the course of the next two centuries into an entirely new religion. What had been heresy within the framework of Judaism was now to become the orthodoxy of Christianity. Few accidents of history can have had more far-reaching consequences.
Postscript
The story of the scrolls is, needless to say, unfinished. The plot continues to unfold, taking new twists and turns. Much has happened since this book appeared in Great Britain in May 1991. By the autumn, things had built to a climax, and the scrolls were the subject of front page coverage, as well as editorials, in such newspapers as The New York Times. Even as the American edition of our book is being prepared for publication, other books and articles are appearing in print, conferences are being convened, media attention is intensifying, various protagonists are issuing new statements.
In May, the Israeli ‘Oversight Committee’ granted to Oxford University a complete set of photographs of all scroll material, and a centre for scroll research was established under the auspices of Gaza Vermes. Access, however, was still rigorously restricted, still denied to independent scholars. Interviewed on British television, Professor Norman Golb of the University of Chicago queried the purpose of such a centre. Was it, he asked, simply to be a centre of frustration?
On 5 September, the American press reported that two scholars at Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati, Professor Ben-Zion Wacholder and one of his doctoral students, Martin G. Abegg, had ‘broken the monopoly’ of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Using the concordance prepared by the international team in the 1950s, they had then employed a computer to reconstruct the texts themselves. The results, said to be 80 percent accurate, were published by the Biblical Archaeology Society under Hershel Shanks. The surviving members of the international team were predictably furious. Professor Cross inveighed against ‘piracy’. ‘What else would you call it,’ the deposed John Strugnall fulminated, ‘but stealing?’ On 7 September, however, an editorial in The New York Times endorsed Wacholder’s and Abegg’s action:
Some on the committee might be tempted to charge the Cincinnati scholars with piracy. On the contrary, Mr. Wacholder and Mr. Abegg are to be applauded for their work — and for sifting through layer upon layer of obfuscation. The committee, with its obsessive secrecy and cloak-and-dagger scholarship, long ago exhausted its credibility with scholars and laymen alike. The two Cincinnatians seem to know what the scroll committee forgot: that the scrolls and what they say about the common roots of Christianity and Rabbinic Judaism belong to civilisation, not to a few sequestered professors.
A more electrifying revelation was soon to follow. On 22 Se
ptember, the Huntingdon Library in California disclosed that it possessed a complete set of photographs of all unpublished scroll material. These had been entrusted to the library by Betty Bechtel of the Bechtel Corporation, who had commissioned them around 1961. Having learned of the photographs’ existence, members of the international team had demanded them back. The Huntingdon had responded with defiance. Not only did the library make its possession of the photographs public but it also announced its intention of making them accessible to any scholar who wished to see them. Microfilm copies were to be offered for as little as ten dollars. ‘When you free the scrolls,’ said William A. Moffett, the library’s director, ‘you free the scholars.’
Again, of course, members of the international team kicked up a rumpus, this time more petulant than before. Again, there were charges of ‘theft of scholarly work’. One independent professor replied, however, that most people ‘… will regard [the Hunting-ton] as Robin Hoods, stealing from the academically privileged to give to those hungry for… knowledge.’
Amir Drori, head of the Israeli Antiquities Authority, accused the Huntington of sundry legal transgressions — even though the photographs had been taken long before the scrolls passed into Israeli hands as spoils of war. Magen Broshi, director of the Shrine of the Book, spoke darkly of legal action. The Huntington stood its ground. ‘There’s either freedom of access or not. Our position is that there should be unfettered access.’ By that time, release of the photographs was already a fait accompli, and any attempt to reverse the process would have been futile. ‘It’s too late,’ the Huntington declared. ‘It’s done.’
On 25 September, the Israeli government gave way, carefully distancing itself from Drori’s and Broshi’s pronouncements. Drori and Broshi were said to have been ‘speaking as individuals, not as representatives of the Israeli government.’ Yuvel Ne’eman, Israel’s Minister of Science, issued a press statement asserting that
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