Holy Blood, Holy Grail

by Baigent, Michael

  According to all New Testament accounts Jesus was of the line of David and thus also a member of the Tribe of Judah. In Benjamite eyes this might have rendered him, at least in some sense, a usurper. Any such objection might have been surmounted, however, if he were married to a Benjamite woman. Such a marriage would have constituted an important dynastic alliance and one filled with political consequence. It would not only have provided Israel with a powerful priest-king, it would also have performed the symbolic function of returning Jerusalem to its original and rightful owners. Thus it would have served to encourage popular unity and support and consolidate whatever claim to the throne Jesus might have possessed.

  In the New Testament there is no indication of the Magdalen’s tribal affiliation. In subsequent legends, however, she is said to have been of royal lineage. And there are other traditions that state specifically that she was of the Tribe of Benjamin.

  At this point the outlines of a coherent historical scenario began to be discernible. And as far as we could see, it made sound political sense. Jesus would have been a priest-king of the line of David who possessed a legitimate claim to the throne. He would have consolidated his position by a symbolically important dynastic marriage. He would then have been poised to unify his country, mobilize the populace behind him, drive out the oppressors, depose their abject puppet, and restore the glory of the monarchy as it was under Solomon. Such a man would indeed have been "King of the Jews."

  THE CRUCIFIXION

  As Gandhi’s accomplishments bear witness, a spiritual leader, given sufficient popular support, can pose a threat to an existing regime. But a married man with a rightful claim to the throne and children through whom to establish a dynasty is a threat of a decidedly more serious nature. Is there any evidence in the Gospels that Jesus was in fact regarded by the Romans as such a threat?

  During his interview with Pilate Jesus is repeatedly called King of the Jews. In accordance with Pilate’s instructions an inscription of this title is also affixed to the cross. As Professor S. G. F. Brandon of Manchester University argues, the inscription affixed to the cross must be regarded as genuine—as much so as anything in the New Testament. In the first place, it figures, with virtually no variation, in all four Gospels. In the second place, it is too compromising, too embarrassing an episode for subsequent editors to have invented it.

  In the Gospel of Mark, Pilate, after interrogating Jesus, asks the assembled dignitaries, "What will ye then that I shall do unto him whom ye call the King of the Jews?" (Mark 15:12) This would seem to indicate that at least some Jews do actually refer to Jesus as their king. At the same time, however, in all four Gospels Pilate also accords Jesus that title. There is no reason to suppose that he does so ironically or derisively. In the Fourth Gospel he insists on it quite adamantly and seriously, despite a chorus of protests. In the three Synoptic Gospels, moreover, Jesus himself acknowledges his claim to the title. "And Pilate asked him, Art thou the King of the Jews? And he answering said unto him, Thou sayest it." (Mark 15:2) In the English translation this reply may sound ambivalent—perhaps deliberately so. In the original Greek, however, its import is quite unequivocal. It can only be interpreted as "Thou hast spoken correctly. " And thus the phrase is interpreted whenever it appears elsewhere in the Bible.

  The Gospels were composed during and after the revolt of A.D. 66-74, when Judaism had effectively ceased to exist as an organized social, political, and military force. What is more, the Gospels were composed for a Greco-Roman audience—for whom they had, of necessity, to be made acceptable. Rome had just fought a bitter and costly war against the Jews. In consequence it was perfectly natural to cast the Jews in the role of villains. In the wake of the Judean revolt, moreover, Jesus could not possibly be portrayed as a political figure—a figure in any way linked to the agitation that culminated in the war. Finally, the role of the Romans in Jesus’ trial and execution had to be whitewashed and presented as sympathetically as possible. Thus, Pilate is depicted in the Gospels as a decent, responsible, and tolerant man who consents only reluctantly to the Crucifixion.18 But despite these liberties taken with history, Rome’s true position in the affair can be discerned.

  According to the Gospels Jesus is initially condemned by the Sanhedrin—the Council of Jewish Elders—who then bring him to Pilate and beseech the procurator to pronounce against him. Historically this makes no sense at all. In the three Synoptic Gospels Jesus is arrested and condemned by the Sanhedrin on the night of the Passover. But by Judaic law the Sanhedrin was forbidden to meet over the Passover.19 In the Gospels Jesus’ arrest and trial occur at night. By Judaic law the Sanhedrin was forbidden to meet at night, in private houses, or anywhere outside the precincts of the temple. In the Gospels the Sanhedrin is apparently unauthorized to pass a death sentence—and this would ostensibly be the reason for bringing Jesus to Pilate. However, the Sanhedrin was authorized to pass death sentences—by stoning, if not by crucifixion. If the Sanhedrin had wished to dispose of Jesus, therefore, it could have sentenced him to death by stoning on its own authority. There would have been no need to bother Pilate at all.

  There are numerous other attempts by the authors of the Gospels to transfer guilt and responsibility from Rome. One such is Pilate’s apparent offer of a dispensation—his readiness to free a prisoner of the crowd’s choosing. According to the Gospels of Mark and Matthew, this was a "custom of the Passover festival." In fact it was no such thing.20 Modern authorities agree that no such policy ever existed on the part of the Romans, and that the offer to liberate either Jesus or Barabbas is sheer fiction. Pilate’s reluctance to condemn Jesus, and his grudging submission to the bullying pressure of the mob, would seem to be equally fictitious. In reality it would have been unthinkable for a Roman procurator—and especially a procurator as ruthless as Pilate—to bow to the pressure of a mob. Again, the purpose of such fictionalization is clear enough—to exonerate the Romans, to transfer blame to the Jews, and thereby to make Jesus acceptable to a Roman audience.

  It is possible, of course, that not all Jews were entirely innocent. Even if the Roman administration feared a priest-king with a claim to the throne, it could not embark overtly on acts of provocation— acts that might precipitate a full-scale rebellion. Certainly it would have been more expedient for Rome if the priest-king were ostensibly betrayed by his own people. It is thus conceivable that the Romans employed certain Sadducees as, say, agents provocateurs. But even if this were the case, the inescapable fact remains that Jesus was the victim of a Roman administration, a Roman court, a Roman sentence, Roman soldiery, and a Roman execution—an execution that, in form, was reserved exclusively for enemies of Rome. It was not for crimes against Judaism that Jesus was crucified, but for crimes against the empire.21

  WHO WAS BARABBAS?

  Is there any evidence in the Gospels that Jesus actually did have children?

  There is nothing explicit. But rabbis were expected, as a matter of course, to have children; and if Jesus was a rabbi, it would have been most unusual for him to remain childless. Indeed, it would have been unusual for him to remain childless whether he was a rabbi or not. Granted these arguments, in themselves, do not constitute any positive evidence. But there is evidence of a more concrete, more specific kind. It consists of the elusive individual who figures in the Gospels as Barabbas, or, to be more precise, as Jesus Barabbas—for it is by this name that he is identified in one early manuscript of the Gospel of Matthew. If nothing else, the coincidence is striking.

  Modern scholars are uncertain about the derivation and meaning of "Barabbas." "Jesus Barabbas" may be a corruption of "Jesus Berabbi." "Berabbi" was a title reserved for the highest and most esteemed rabbis and was placed after the rabbi’s given name.22 "Jesus Berabbi" might therefore refer to Jesus himself. Alternatively, "Jesus Barabbas" might originally have been "Jesus bar Rabbi"— "Jesus, son of the Rabbi." There is no record anywhere of Jesus’ own father having been a rabbi. But if Jesus had a son named after himself, tha
t son would indeed have been "Jesus bar Rabbi." There is one other possibility as well. "Jesus Barabbas" may derive from "Jesus bar Abba"; and since "Abba" is "father" in Hebrew, "Barabbas" would then mean "son of the father"—a fairly pointless designation unless the "father" is in some way special. If the "father" were actually the "Heavenly Father," then "Barabbas" might again refer to Jesus himself. On the other hand, if Jesus himself is the "father," "Barabbas" would again refer to his son.

  Whatever the meaning and derivation of the name, the figure of Barabbas is extremely curious. And the more one considers the incident concerning him, the more apparent it becomes that something irregular is going on and someone is attempting to conceal something. In the first place Barabbas’ name, like the Magdalen’s, seems to have been subjected to a deliberate and systematic blackening. Just as popular tradition depicts the Magdalen as a harlot, so it depicts Barabbas as a thief. But if Barabbas was any of the things his name suggests, he is hardly likely to have been a common thief. Why then blacken his name? Unless he was something else in reality—something the editors of the New Testament did not want posterity to know.

  Strictly speaking the Gospels themselves do not describe Barabbas as a thief. According to Mark and Luke he is a political prisoner, a rebel charged with murder and insurrection. In the Gospel of Matthew, however, Barabbas is described as a "notable prisoner." And in the Fourth Gospel Barabbas is said to be (in the Greek) a "lestai." (John 18:40) This can be translated as either "robber" or "bandit." In its historical context, however, it meant something quite different. Lestes was in fact the term habitually applied by the Romans to the Zealots23—the militant nationalistic revolutionaries who for some time had been fomenting social upheaval. Since Mark and Luke agree that Barabbas is guilty of insurrection, and since Matthew does not contradict this assertion, it is safe to conclude that Barabbas was a Zealot.

  But this is not the only information available on Barabbas. According to Luke he had been involved in a recent "disturbance," "sedition," or "riot" in the city. History makes no mention of any such turmoil in Jerusalem at the time. The Gospels, however, do. According to the Gospels there had been a civic disturbance in Jerusalem only a few days before—when Jesus and his followers overturned the tables of the moneylenders at the Temple. Was this the disturbance in which Barabbas was involved and for which he was imprisoned? It certainly seems likely. And in that case there is one obvious conclusion—that Barabbas was one of Jesus’ entourage.

  According to modern scholars the "custom" of releasing a prisoner on the Passover did not exist. But even if it did, the choice of Barabbas over Jesus would make no sense. If Barabbas were indeed a common criminal, guilty of murder, why would the people choose to have his life spared? And if he were indeed a Zealot or a revolutionary, it is hardly likely that Pilate would have released so potentially dangerous a character rather than a harmless visionary— who was quite prepared, ostensibly, to "render unto Caesar." Of all the discrepancies, inconsistencies, and improbabilities in the Gospels, the choice of Barabbas is among the most striking and most inexplicable. Something would clearly seem to lie behind so clumsy and confusing a fabrication.

  One modern writer has proposed an intriguing and plausible explanation. He suggests that Barabbas was the son of Jesus and that Jesus was a legitimate king.24 If this was the case, the choice of Barabbas would suddenly make sense. One must imagine an oppressed populace confronted with the imminent extermination of their spiritual and political ruler—the Messiah, whose advent had formerly promised so much. In such circumstances would not the dynasty be more important than the individual? Would not the preservation of the bloodline be paramount, taking precedence over everything else? Would not a people, faced with the dreadful choice, prefer to see their king sacrificed in order that his offspring and his line might survive? If the line survived, there would at least be hope for the future.

  It is certainly not impossible that Barabbas was Jesus’ son. Jesus is generally believed to have been born around 6 B.C. The Crucifixion occurred no later than A.D. 36, which would make Jesus, at most, forty-two years of age. But even if he was only thirty-three when he died, he might still have fathered a son. In accordance with the customs of the time, he might have married as early as sixteen or seventeen. Yet even if he did not marry until age twenty, he might still have had a son aged thirteen—who by Judaic custom would have been considered a man. And, of course, there may well have been other children too. Such children could have been conceived at any point up to within a day or so of the Crucifixion.

  THE CRUCIFIXION IN DETAIL

  Jesus could well have sired a number of children prior to the Crucifixion. If he survived the Crucifixion, however, the likelihood of offspring would be still further increased. Is there any evidence that Jesus did indeed survive the Crucifixion—or that the Crucifixion was in some way a fraud?

  Given the portrait of him in the Gospels, it is inexplicable that Jesus was crucified at all. According to the Gospels his enemies were the established Jewish interests in Jerusalem. But such enemies, if they in fact existed, could have stoned him to death of their own accord and on their own authority, without involving Rome in the matter. According to the Gospels Jesus had no particular quarrel with Rome and did not violate Roman law. And yet he was punished by the Romans in accordance with Roman law and Roman procedures. And he was punished by crucifixion—a penalty exclusively reserved for those guilty of crimes against the empire. If Jesus was indeed crucified, he cannot have been as apolitical as the Gospels depict him. On the contrary, he must, of necessity, have done something to provoke Roman—as opposed to Jewish—wrath.

  Whatever the trespasses for which Jesus was crucified, his apparent death on the cross is fraught with inconsistencies. There is, quite simply, no reason why his Crucifixion, as the Gospels depict it, should have been fatal. The contention that it was warrants closer scrutiny.

  The Roman practice of crucifixion adhered to very precise procedures. 25 After sentence a victim would be flogged—and consequently weakened by loss of blood. His outstretched arms would then be fastened—usually by thongs but sometimes by nails—to a heavy wooden beam placed horizontally across his neck and shoulders. Bearing this beam, he would then be led to the place of execution. Here, with the victim hanging from it, the beam would be raised and attached to a vertical post or stake.

  Hanging thus from his hands, it would be impossible for the victim to breathe—unless his feet were also fixed to the cross, thus enabling him to press down on them and relieve the pressure on his chest. But despite the agony, a man suspended with his feet fixed— and especially a fit and healthy man—would usually survive for at least a day or two. Indeed, the victim would often take as much as a week to die—from exhaustion, from thirst, or, if nails were used, from blood poisoning. This attenuated agony could be terminated more quickly by breaking the victim’s legs or knees—which, in the Gospels, Jesus’ executioners are about to do before they are forestalled. Breaking of the legs or knees was not an additional sadistic torment. On the contrary, it was an act of mercy—a coup de grâce that caused a very rapid death. With nothing to support him the pressure on the victim’s chest would become intolerable and he would quickly asphyxiate.

  There is a consensus among modern scholars that only the Fourth Gospel rests on an eyewitness account of the Crucifixion. According to the Fourth Gospel Jesus’ feet were affixed to the cross—thus relieving the pressure on his chest muscles—and his legs were not broken. He should therefore, in theory at least, have survived for a good two or three days. And yet he is on the cross for no more than a few hours before being pronounced dead. In the Gospel of Mark even Pilate is astonished by the rapidity with which death occurs (Mark 15:44).

  What can have constituted the cause of death? Not the spear in his side, for the Fourth Gospel maintains that Jesus was already dead when this wound was inflicted on him (John 19:33). There is only one explanation—exhaustion, fatigue, general debilitation, and the trau
ma of the scourging together caused it. But not even these factors should have proved fatal so soon. It is possible, of course, that they did—despite the laws of physiology, a man will sometimes die from a single relatively innocuous blow. But there would still seem to be something suspicious about the affair. According to the Fourth Gospel, Jesus’ executioners are on the verge of breaking his legs, thus accelerating his death. Why bother, if he was already moribund? There would, in short, be no point in breaking Jesus’ legs unless death were not in fact imminent.

  In the Gospels Jesus’ death occurs at a moment that is almost too convenient, too felicitously opportune. It occurs just in time to prevent his executioners’ breaking his legs. And by doing so it permits him to fulfill an Old Testament prophecy. Modern authorities agree that Jesus, quite unabashedly, modeled and perhaps even contrived his life in accordance with such prophecies, which heralded the coming of a Messiah. It was for this reason that an ass had to be procured from Bethany on which he could make his triumphal entry into Jerusalem. And the details of the Crucifixion seem likewise engineered to enact the prophecies of the Old Testament.26

  In short Jesus’ apparent and opportune "demise"—which in the nick of time saves him from certain death and enables him to fulfill a prophecy—is, to say the least, suspect. It is too perfect, too precise to be coincidence. It must either be a later interpolation or part of a carefully contrived plan. There is much additional evidence to suggest the latter.

  In the Fourth Gospel Jesus, hanging on the cross, declares that he thirsts. In reply to this complaint he is proffered a sponge allegedly soaked in vinegar—an incident that also occurs in the other Gospels. This sponge is generally interpreted as another act of sadistic derision. But was it really? Vinegar—or soured wine—is a temporary stimulant with effects not unlike smelling salts. It was often used at that time to resuscitate flagging slaves on galleys. For a wounded and exhausted man a sniff or taste of vinegar would produce a restorative effect, a momentary surge of energy. And yet in Jesus’ case the effect is just the contrary. No sooner does he inhale or taste the sponge than he pronounces his final words and "gives up the ghost." Such a reaction to vinegar is physiologically inexplicable. On the other hand, such a reaction would be perfectly compatible with a sponge soaked, not in vinegar, but in some type of soporific drug—a compound of opium and/or belladonna, for instance, commonly employed in the Middle East at the time. But why proffer a soporific drug? Unless the act of doing so, along with all the other components of the Crucifixion, were elements of a complex and ingenious stratagem—a stratagem designed to produce a semblance of death when the victim, in fact, was still alive. Such a stratagem would not only have saved Jesus’ life but also have realized the Old Testament prophecies of a Messiah.