The Status Quaestionis on Ransom Language in Mark 10:45

Most scholars argue that Jesus's portrayal of the serving Son of Man in Mark 10:43–45 comes from Deutero-Isaiah's suffering servant.Footnote ¹³ For instance, Joel Marcus lists a number of parallels between Isa 53:11–12 LXX and Mark 10:43–45.Footnote ¹⁴ First, Mark's Jesus states that the Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve (διακον σαι), which parallels Deutero-Isaiah's portrayal of God's righteous one serving many (δουλεύοντα πολλο ς, 53:11). Further, Jesus states that the Son of Man gives his life (δο ναι τὴν ψυχὴν αὐτο ), just as in Deutero-Isaiah the righteous one's life is delivered to death (παρεδόθη εἰς θάνατον ἡ ψυχὴ αὐτο ).Footnote ¹⁵ Finally, like the Son of Man who gives his life “as a ransom for many,” so, too, the righteous one of Isa 53:12 bears “the sin of many” and is “handed over on account of their sins.” The general importance of Isaiah for Mark's presentation of Jesus's life strengthens the possibility that Mark alludes to Isaiah at this point.Footnote ¹⁶

Nonetheless, those who are skeptical of Isa 53’s supposed influence on Mark 10:43–45 argue that the verbal correspondences between Isaiah and Mark appear underwhelming: Isa 53:11–12 shares a number of words with Mark 10:44–45—(παρα)δίδωμι, δουλεύω/δο λος, πολύς, and ψυχή, all of which are rather common.Footnote ¹⁷ While these agreements at the linguistic level might signify an allusion to Isa 53:11–12, the collective volume of the echo created by these commonplace words might not have been loud enough for Mark's readers to hear, even if Mark had intended them to do so.Footnote ¹⁸ Most importantly, Isa 53:11–12 lacks the ransom language (λύτρον) which Mark uses.

Attempting to address this latter issue, Werner Grimm and Peter Stuhlmacher have argued that Mark's ransom language comes from Isa 43:3–4, a passage in which God promises that he will give Egypt as Israel's ransom ( ἄλλαγμα) and “a person in place of you, and peoples for your life.” While the concept of exchange exists here, there is little in the way of verbal parallels. The only words this passage shares with Mark 10:45, δίδωμι and πολύς, again occur frequently; although the MT contains the noun , which can be translated as “ransom,” the LXX translation of Isa 43:3–4 lacks λύτρον language.Footnote ¹⁹

While Mark may allude to Isa 53:11–12, I agree with Adela Yarbro Collins, who argues that this allusion does not fully illuminate Mark's use of λύτρον.Footnote ²⁰ Consequently, she appeals to inscriptional evidence from Asia Minor to determine “how, in the Roman imperial period, Christians familiar with Hellenistic cultic traditions would have understood the saying,”Footnote ²¹ documenting two inscriptions that commemorate transactions in which people give gifts within a cultic setting in order to remedy guilt. She points to a mid–second century CE inscription which states, “Alexander, son of Thalouse, with Julius and his sister paid to the god Men of Diodotos a ransom (λύτρον) for things known and not known. Year 233.”Footnote ²² Similarly, the second inscription reads: “A female slave of the village of the Keryzeis [is dedicated] to [Men] Gallikos Asklepias as a ransom (λύτρον) for Diogenes.”Footnote ²³ On the basis of these inscriptions, she argues that “the term λύτρον (‘ransom’) in Mark 10:45 is a synonym of ἱλαστήριον (‘expiation’ or ‘propitiation’),” concluding, therefore, that “Jesus’ death is interpreted here as a metaphorical ritual act of expiation for the offenses of many.”Footnote ²⁴ This inscriptional evidence provides an important background for understanding the meaning of λύτρον in the Greco-Roman world. But, while cultic traditions and language may be in the background, the foreground of Mark 10:45 focuses on Jesus's contrast between the rulership of the Son of Man and the rulership of gentile leaders. Consequently, the cultic significance of λύτρον language needs to be connected explicitly to this broader narrative discussion of rulership and servanthood in Mark 10.

In fact, the title “Son of Man” derives from Dan 7:13–14, which envisages the Son of Man coming with the clouds and being given dominion, glory, and kingship so that all people should serve him.Footnote ²⁵ This title, then, has clear kingly connotations, and therefore supports my contention that the ransom saying needs to be situated within rulership discourses.Footnote ²⁶ Confirmation that Mark has Dan 7:13–14 in mind in Mark 10:35–45 might be found not only in the use of the title “Son of Man,” but also in the shared terminology of authority (Dan 7:14: ἐξουσία; Mark 10:42: κατεξουσιάζω), glory (δόξα, Dan 7:14; Mark 10:37), and service (Dan 7:14: λατρεύω; Mark: διακονέω, διάκονος, δο λος). If Mark intends to allude to Dan 7 here, though, he reverses Danielic expectations: Mark's Jesus “says that the Son of Man came to serve rather than to be served, which is the opposite of the impression that one gets from Daniel 7.”Footnote ²⁷ The Son of Man does not require the service of others; rather, he offers his own service. Consequently, Mark redefines or clarifies what role the Danielic Son of Man plays in human history and does so by contrasting the Son of Man to gentile rulers.

In this regard, David Seeley also argues that the narrative foreground should guide readers in interpreting the ransom saying. Stressing the importance of Jesus's words about gentile rulers in 10:42 for the interpretation of 10:43–45, he locates the passage within the context of “Hellenistic and classical ideas concerning the true ruler.”Footnote ²⁸ Seeley discusses texts, ranging from Plato to Dio Chrysostom, that portray the ruler working for the good of his subjects, only two of which contain the same language of service (δουλεύω/διακονέω) that Mark uses.Footnote ²⁹ First, he cites Plato, who states: “Now it is necessary that every man should hold, regarding people in general, that the one who has not served (ὁ μὴ δουλεύσας) will never become a praiseworthy master (δεσπότης), and that the right way to gain honor is to serve well rather than to rule well” (Leg. 762E).Footnote ³⁰ Similarly, Dio Chrysostom avers that the sun is perhaps the finest illustration of kingship in that it “endures a servitude (δουλείαν) most exacting” (Or. 3.75). Just as the sun's service to those under it in no way diminishes its splendor, so too the good king demonstrates his glory through service to those underneath him. Seeley argues that this idea of rulers serving their subjects is common within broader Greco-Roman political theory: “The Greek and Hellenistic world had a long tradition of painting the ruler in the colors of servitude.”Footnote ³¹

Given the fact that Mark places the ransom saying within a discussion of gentile rulers, Seeley is right to situate Mark 10:45 within Hellenistic kingship discourses. But, as he acknowledges, his treatment of these discourses fails to connect them to Jesus's claim that the Son of Man gives his life as a λύτρον for the many. Further, he argues that the ransom saying “veers from a martyrological, exemplary approach to service (which was probably influenced by Cynic traditions), and turns instead in a substitutionary direction.”Footnote ³² Consequently, Seeley concludes that Mark is indebted not to Hellenistic rulership discourses at this point, but to the influence of the apostle Paul, who taught that Christ's death served as a ransom (Rom 3:24; 8:23; 1 Cor 1:30). Yet there is no reason why Mark could not hold both exemplary and substitutionary understandings of Christ's death. Paul's writings, for instance, give evidence of both a substitutionary understanding, as his use of redemption language suggests, and an exemplary understanding (e.g., Phil 2:5–8; 1 Cor 11:1; 1 Thess 1:6) of Jesus's death. As the work of Joel Marcus suggests, Seeley may well be correct to argue that Mark knew Paul's views, but his recourse to Paul's writings to explain Mark's use of λύτρον at this point in the narrative is unsatisfying.Footnote ³³ If one were able to demonstrate a connection between rulership discourses and ransom language, there would be no reason to posit Paul's somewhat intrusive influence at this point. In the remainder of this article, I will discuss evidence of the “missing link” between rulership discourses and Mark 10:45.

The Self-Sacrifice of Rulers

Despite her own cultic interpretation, Yarbro Collins notes (acknowledging her dependence on Dieter Georgi) that Mark 10:45 “is strikingly similar” to a saying that Dio Cassius claims the Roman Emperor Otho (January–April 69 CE) made to his supporters during his civil war with Vitellius: “I shall free myself [i.e., commit suicide], that all people may learn from this that you chose for your emperor one who would not give you for himself, but rather himself for you (οὐχ ὑμ ς ὑπὲρ ἑαυτο ἀλλ᾽ ἑαυτὸν ὑπὲρ ὑμ ν δέδωκε)” (64.13). Dio presents Otho's refusal to continue to wage war against Vitellius in order to maintain his reign as a rather surprising move—after all, it is not often that emperors give thought to the lives that are lost in order to maintain their own power. Otho gives (δέδωκε) his life for his supporters, just as the Markan Son of Man came to give (δο ναι) his life for the many.

Dating to the late second century or early third century CE, Dio Cassius's comments are, admittedly, rather late when considering the Gospel of Mark. Already in the late first century CE, though, Plutarch also presents Otho's supporters begging him not to surrender, asking him to use their souls and bodies for himself as long as they have breath (ἀλλὰ χρ σθαι μέχρι ἂν ἐμπνέωσι καὶ ψυχα ς καὶ σώμασιν ὑπὲρ αὑτο , Oth. 15.3). Otho responds by claiming, “If I was worthy to be Roman emperor, I ought to give my life freely for my country” (δε με τ ς ἐμ ς ψυχ ς ὑπὲρ τ ς πατρίδος ἀφειδε ν, 15.4), and concludes that even were he to be victorious, it would not be worth as much as giving himself for peace and harmony (ἐπιδοὺς ἐμαυτὸν ὑπὲρ εἰρήνης καὶ ὁμονοίας, 15.6). Again, the language of giving (ἐπιδούς) parallels Mark 10:45.

Nonetheless, what keeps Yarbro Collins from connecting this episode to Mark 10:45 is the fact that these accounts lack the key word λύτρον.Footnote ³⁴ In partial response to this hesitancy, one might point to the evidence of Plutarch's contemporary, Tacitus, who likewise portrays Otho's suicide. In Tacitus's account, Otho protests the continuation of battle in the following words: “To expose such courageous and brave men as you to further dangers. . . I consider too great a price (pretium) for my life” (Ann. 2.46; cf. Martial Epigr. 6.32; Suetonius Oth. 10.1–2). Thus, according to Tacitus, Otho portrays the hypothetical deaths of others serving as the price paid to preserve his own life. Such deaths would function as a ransom for his own life. These historians present Otho not only refusing to sacrifice others for his own reign, but also committing suicide in order to prevent further war on his behalf. The loss of his one life preserves the lives of untold others. This exchange of the one life of the ruler for the many lives of his subjects, therefore, provides an illuminating parallel to Jesus's words in Mark 10:45.

Further, we find ransom language used of the self-sacrifice of rulers in a number of other sources. For instance, in the fourth century BCE, Euripides depicts Creon, the ruler of Thebes, forced to decide between saving his son Menoeceus and saving his city by sacrificing his son to placate Ares. He states:

Creon expresses his desire that he, an old man, might die in place of the young: his death would redeem both his city and, in effect, his son. Instead, Menoeceus offers himself to save the city.

Likewise, the poet Lucan, a contemporary of Mark, portrays the Roman senator Cato wishing that he could offer his own life on behalf of his fellow citizens. Addressing Brutus, Cato claims:

Cato portrays his own willingness to die as an imitation of the actions of the gens Decia, which was renowned for its willingness to die for Rome. Although lacking explicit ransom language, Livy portrays both the Roman consul Publius Decius and his son Decius, also a Roman consul, giving their lives to expiate the anger of the gods (piaculum omnis deorum irae, 8.9.10) in order to preserve fourth-century BCE Rome. As the younger Decius boasts, “It is the privilege of our family that we should be sacrificed (piacula) to avert the nation's perils” (10.28.13; cf. Cicero Fin. 2.61).Footnote ³⁵ Inspired by these sacrificial deaths, Cato wishes that his own death might serve as a ransom to deliver Rome from the divine punishment for the nation's evil actions. Of Cato, Lucan avers: “Such was the character, such the inflexible rule of austere Cato—to observe moderation and hold fast to the limit, to follow nature, to give his life for his country (patriaeque inpendere vitam), to believe that he was born to serve (servare) the whole world and not himself” (2.380–383). Consequently, Lucan's portrayal of Cato connects the cultic sense (note the use of piaculum in line 304) of ransom language (redimere) highlighted by Yarbro Collins to a ruler's desire to protect and serve his nation.

This evidence demonstrates the willingness, at times hypothetical and at times real, upon the part of rulers to offer their lives in place of their subjects. Such examples appear in both Greek and Roman literature, showing that, despite the disparate historical contexts within which these authors write and despite the different political systems and theories which these authors espoused, the ideal of the self-sacrificing ruler was widespread in the Greco-Roman world. This ideal was especially prominent in the Roman imperial period where, as Adam Winn notes, the ruler needed to tread lightly in order not to offend the Roman “commitment to self-rule” and “rejection of monarchial tyranny.”Footnote ³⁶ Mark 10:45 fits within this depiction of true rulership.

Seneca's De clementia and Mark 10:45

It is perhaps surprising, therefore, that we find such a stark contrast to this larger discourse in the political philosophy of Seneca's De clementia, which contains a number of remarkable, and previously unnoted, parallels to Mark 10:42–45, including its λύτρον language. Seneca composed De clementia in 55 or 56 CE, shortly after the young Nero became emperor.Footnote ³⁷ As Susanna Braund demonstrates, the work is “a complex hybrid between different models: didactic kingship treatise addressed to a new ruler, panegyrical oration, and philosophical disquisition on one of the classic virtues of a ruler.”Footnote ³⁸ In it, Seneca likely had his eye on a number of different audiences, including both Nero and the ruling elite. Although he explicitly addresses Nero alone, Braund notes the way in which the work functions as “a justification of imperial rule to the elite of Rome, Italy, and the provinces.”Footnote ³⁹ Further, Robert A. Kaster has argued that from the beginning Seneca worked to distinguish Nero from his predecessor, Claudius, whom he lampooned quite mercilessly in Apocolocyntosis. He concludes, “On Clemency obviously participates in this attempt to ‘brand’ Nero as quite a different sort of emperor.”Footnote ⁴⁰ De clementia, then, does not merely instruct Nero; it also presents him as an alternative to previous types of rulers.

Throughout, Seneca stresses the importance of the ruler's cultivation of the virtue of clemency in dealing with his subjects.Footnote ⁴¹ In the midst of this treatise, though, he digresses in order to discuss the relationship between the emperor and the empire, arguing that the emperor is to the masses as the mind is to the body. He concludes, “The body is entirely at the service of the mind. And although the body is so much larger and more impressive while the mind remains hidden and insubstantial with its precise hiding-place unknown, all the same, the hands and feet and eyes do its business and this skin we see is its protection” (1.3.5). Likewise, Seneca declares, the ruler “is the link that holds the state together. He is the breath of life to all these many thousands who on their own would only be a heavy weight and easy prey if that mind of the empire were withdrawn” (ille est enim uinculum per quod res publica cohaeret, ille spiritus uitalis quem haec tot milia trahunt nihil ipsa per se futura nisi et praeda, si mens illa imperii subtrahatur, 1.4.1). Just prior to this statement, Seneca claims:

If the ruler is the mind and the state the body, it is no wonder that the many are willing to die for the one: “So it is their own safety that people love when for one individual they lead forth legions ten at a time into action, when they race forwards into the front line and expose their chests to wounds to prevent their commander's standard being defeated” (1.4.1). This willingness to sacrifice many lives for the emperor illustrates Seneca's claim that “the body is entirely at the service of the mind” (quemadmodum totum corpus animo deseruit, 1.3.5). Although this discussion appears to stray from Seneca's actual intention, he notes its importance for his claim that Nero should show clemency: “The fact is that if—as the argument so far suggests—you are the mind of the state and the state is your body (tu animus rei publicae [tuae] es, illa corpus tuum), you see, I think, how essential clemency is: you are showing mercy to yourself when you seem to be showing it to someone else” (1.5.1; see also 2.2.1). Thus, while Seneca's larger rhetorical strategy conforms to the broader discourse of the ruler serving the ruled, his digression reveals an underlying tension within it.

Mark 10:42–45 contains a number of commonalities with this apparent digression in De clementia. Most significantly, Seneca counsels Nero to be unbothered by the fact that many die on his behalf. It is fitting that “many deaths ransom/redeem one life” (ac multis mortibus unam animam redimere), namely, the life of the emperor. As Braund states, “The immeasurability of the masses contrasts sharply with the singleness of the ruler's life.”Footnote ⁴² Seneca portrays the hypothetical deaths of many people redeeming Nero's one life, whereas Mark's Jesus portrays his one death functioning to redeem the lives of many.Footnote ⁴³ The parallels at the verbal level strengthen the correspondence of these two statements at the conceptual level. Although writing in Latin, Seneca's wording is remarkably similar to Mark's phrase δο ναι τὴν ψυχὴν αὐτο λύτρον ἀντὶ πολλ ν (10:45). Jerome's Latin rendering of Mark 10:45b (daret animam suam redemptionem pro multis) confirms that the Greek and Latin are basically equivalent. While multi/πολύς and anima/ψυχή are common to both passages, these words occur frequently. The collocation of these two terms together with a word for redeem/redemption (redemptio/λύτρον), however, is striking.

Additionally, Seneca argues that just as the entire body serves the mind (quemadmodum totum corpus animo deseruit, 1.3.5), so, too, do the many or the masses serve the ruler. Braund states, “the –seru- root here suggests that the nature of the relationship between body and mind, masses and ruler, is that of service or slavery.”Footnote ⁴⁴ Likewise, Seneca refers to the mind as a master (dominus) over the body parts (1.3.5). Although he uses neither of these terms explicitly with reference to the ruler and the masses, the implication seems clear: the masses serve (deseruit) the one master (dominus).Footnote ⁴⁵ This sentiment accords with Jesus's claim that gentile rulers lord it over their subjects (κατακυριεύουσιν αὐτ ν, 10:42). In contrast, Mark's Jesus states that “the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve” (ὁ υἱὸς το ἀνθρώπου οὐκ λθεν διακονηθ ναι ἀλλὰ διακον σαι, 10:45) and that the one who wishes to be firstFootnote ⁴⁶ should be a slave of all (ἔσται πάντων δο λος, 10:44).

In contrast to Seneca, then, who argues that it is fitting for many people to die in order to ransom the one king/ruler, Mark's Jesus states the opposite: it is proper that the Son of Man die as a ransom for the many. The Son of Man rules in order to serve the many, rather than having the many serve him. These verbal similarities between Mark 10:42–45 and Seneca's De clementia provide a previously unappreciated parallel to Mark's ransom language. Admittedly, we cannot know how familiar the wider Roman society was with Seneca's argument in De clementia,Footnote ⁴⁷ nor can we know whether Mark and his community knew of it.Footnote ⁴⁸ Nonetheless, Miriam T. Griffin argues, “since it is obvious that reassurance of the public was a large part of Seneca's aim, we must assume that the view of the Principate set out in De Clementia was basically acceptable to the reading public.”Footnote ⁴⁹ If Seneca hoped to provide a positive account of Nero's rulership, the way in which he portrays rulers and ruled must have been both commonly known and well received.Footnote ⁵⁰

Indeed, similar sentiments are found in other writers. For instance, the seventh-century BCE Spartan poet Tyrtaeus claims “it is noble for a good man to die, falling in the forefront of battle, fighting for his fatherland.”Footnote ⁵¹ The first-century BCE Roman poet Horace holds similar sentiments: “It is sweet and fitting to die for one's country” (Carm. 3.2.13).Footnote ⁵² More closely related to Seneca's remarks, Isocrates (ca. 436–338 BCE), in his Letter to Philip, the king of Macedonia, asserts:

Isocrates here chastises Philip for his previous behavior in military engagements that endangered his life and therefore the welfare of his subjects. Likewise, Aristotle, in distinguishing between a tyrant and a king, avers: “Kings are guarded by the citizens in arms, whereas tyrants have foreign guards, for kings rule in accordance with law and over willing subjects, but tyrants rule over unwilling subjects, owing to which kings take their guards from among the citizens but tyrants have them to guard against the citizens” (Pol. 3.9.4; cf. 5.8.7). For Aristotle, citizens are willing to guard kings because they know that kings, unlike tyrants, are solicitous of their wellbeing. These writers attest a common tradition that held that it was noble to die for one's country or one's ruler.

More broadly, numerous Greek and Roman writers use the same body analogy that Seneca employs to portray and justify the relationship between rulers and their subjects. Plato, for instance, argues:

Similarly, Aristotle defends his claim that citizens will willingly guard (and die for) their rulers on the basis of this body-soul analogy: “Inasmuch therefore as one would count the soul of an animal to be more a part of it than the body, so also the factors in states corresponding to the soul must be deemed to be parts of them more than those factors which contribute to necessary utility” (Pol. 4.3.13). Aristotle proceeds to identify the soul with the military, judicial, and political elites. Since these classes are indispensible to the proper running of the state, those classes that are nonessential should gladly offer their lives to preserve them.Footnote ⁵⁴ The first-century BCE Roman historian and politician Sallust makes a similar point, stating of the body and soul, “All our power, in contrast, is situated in both the mind and body; we use the mind to rule, the body rather to serve” (Sed nostra omnis vis in animo et corpore sita est; animi imperio, corporis servitio magis utimur, Bell. Cat. 1.2). Writing shortly after Sallust, Dionysius of Halicarnassus reiterates this belief, but connects it explicitly to rulers and ruled: “For the ignorant multitude will always require and never stop requiring intelligent leadership, while the senate, which is able to lead, will always require crowds willing to be ruled” (δεήσεται γὰρ ἀεὶ καὶ οὐδέποτε παύσεται δεόμενον τὸ μὲν ἀμαθὲς πλ θος ἔμφρονος ἡγεμονίας, τὸ δ᾽ ἡγε σθαι δυνάμενον βουλευτήριον τ ν ἄρχεσθαι βουλομένων ὄχλων, Ant. Rom. 6.85.1). As Michelle V. Lee concludes,

It appears, then, that De clementia provides us with an account of rulership that was widely disseminated in the Greco-Roman period in the hopes of justifying and supporting the emperor.Footnote ⁵⁶ A hierarchy akin to that of mind to body existing between the emperor and his subjects implies that the various body parts not only serve the mind, but also rightly sacrifice themselves on the mind's behalf. After all, the mind's existence is essential; body parts are (relatively) expendable.

Such examples, although lacking ransom language, demonstrate that Seneca's De clementia was not alone in advocating such political ideology. This discourse was, in the words of James C. Scott, part of “the dominant transcript” of ruler discourses in the first century CE. Footnote ⁵⁷ People were no doubt accustomed to the political theory that recommended that subjects die for their rulers. By accessing the public transcript of Greco-Roman rulership discourses, Mark's Jesus calls into question the behavior of gentile rulers. Part of the public transcript, as seen above, depicted the king ruling on behalf of his subjects. He was their servant. This portrayal was a necessary part of the public transcript, since the king needed to justify his power and privilege. As Scott argues, rulers propagated a self-portrait of how they desired to be viewed. Of this public transcript, he says:

In spite of the fact that this portrait was flattering, or rather, precisely because it was self-flattering, it could also become a problem for rulers. As Scott recognizes, a self-flattering portrait within the public transcript “is not without its political costs since such disguises can become a political resource for subordinates. Ruling groups can be called upon. . . to live up to their own idealized presentation of themselves to their subordinates.”Footnote ⁵⁹ The criticism of gentile rulers in Mark 10:42–45 occurs through its appeal to the public transcript.Footnote ⁶⁰ Mark's Jesus accesses the public transcript of Greco-Roman kingship discourses in order both to call into question the type of authority these rulers exercise and to contrast them with his own rule, which truly fulfills this flattering portrait of the servant king.Footnote ⁶¹ While those who rule the gentiles claim to serve them, they in fact rule and exercise authority over them in a way that contrasts with the rulership of the Son of Man, who came in order to die for the many.

Jesus's Narratival Embodiment of Mark 10:45

Not only does Seneca's De clementia demonstrate a plausible connection between Mark's ransom language and Jesus's earlier remarks about the way in which gentile rulers exercise their authority (10:42),Footnote ⁶² it also illuminates Jesus's subsequent behavior. Immediately after criticizing gentile rulers, Mark portrays a blind man twice addressing Jesus as “son of David” (10:46–52). As Frank Matera insists, “Inasmuch as Bartimaeus has just called Jesus the Son of David (10:47–48), the implication by association is that Jesus comes as the Son of David and accompanying his arrival is the coming Kingdom of David.”Footnote ⁶³ The people surrounding Jesus attempt to silence this inconsequential man's entreaties for mercy (ἐλέησόν με), but Jesus hears the man's cries and restores his sight, thereby confirming his claim that he is a king who serves his subjects. If Mark identifies ἔλεος with the virtue of clementia, then Jesus's healing of Bartimaeus accords with Seneca's admonition toward clemency. He would then be portraying Jesus's healing ministry as Jesus's embodiment of the Roman virtue of clemency. If so, Mark agrees with Roman political theory on the centrality of this virtue for proper rulership, connecting it to Jesus, the son of David. Some scholars have pointed to Jesus's words in Mark 12:35–37, which seem to undermine efforts to identify Jesus with the Davidic Messiah.Footnote ⁶⁴ Nevertheless, as Joel Marcus acknowledges, earlier in the narrative “Jesus was hailed as ‘the Son of David’ by Bartimaeus (10:47–48) and as the restorer of ‘the dominion of our father David’ by the crowd at the triumphal entry (11:9–10), and in neither case did he reject the link with David.”Footnote ⁶⁵ Elsewhere, Marcus suggests that Mark remains ambivalent about the title “son of David” because of the military connotations it took on especially during the Jewish revolt.Footnote ⁶⁶ We see this portrayal of a militant Davidic Messiah in Psalm of Solomon 17, which depicts David's seed ruling over (βασιλε σαι) God's servant Israel (17.21) and vanquishing the gentiles (17.22–25). Bartimaeus's claim that Jesus is the son of David, coming as it does immediately after Jesus's claim that he came to serve and not to be served, helps to redefine the role of the son of David in terms of servanthood.

On the other hand, Seneca distinguishes carefully between clementia and misericordia, the latter of which is equivalent to the Greek word ἔλεος (cf. Jerome's translation of Mark 10:47–48).Footnote ⁶⁷ Seneca states: “At this point it is relevant to ask what pity (misericordia) is. Most people, after all, praise it as a virtue and call a man who shows pity a good man. But this, too, is a defect of the mind. Both of the defects that we should avoid are close to strictness and to clemency. . . under the guise of clemency (clementia) we fall into pity (misericordia),” the latter of which is something that all good men, especially rulers, will avoid (2.5.1). Here it seems that Seneca is indebted to the Stoic disdain for ἔλεος attested by Diogenes Laertius, who claims that Stoic wise men “do not show mercy” (ἐλεήμονάς. . . μὴ ε ναι)” (7.123 [author's translation]). If Mark was aware of this distinction, his portrayal of Jesus provides a sharp contrast to Seneca's advice in De clementia and therefore is critical of the philosophical and political discourse pertaining to mercy. Contrary to Seneca's political wisdom and portrayal of the virtuous Roman emperor, Jesus, the son of David, shows unbridled mercy.

Similarly, Jesus's arrest and crucifixion in Mark 15 portrays most powerfully this merciful, serving rulership. As Matera has demonstrated, the theme of Mark 15 “is the ‘Kingship of Jesus,’ a motif which Mark develops through the six-fold use of ‘King’ (15:2, 9, 12, 18, 26, 32) and the three mockery scenes.”Footnote ⁶⁸ The narrative of Mark has anticipated this motif in numerous ways, but it is only in Mark 15 that Jesus's kingship becomes fully explicit.Footnote ⁶⁹ Within this context of kingship, Mark portrays Jesus's condemnation before Pilate as serving as a ransom for one undeserving person, Barabbas, the insurrectionist whom Pilate releases in lieu of Jesus (15:6–15). Mark 15, therefore, portrays the narrative fulfillment of Jesus's words in Mark 10:45 that he would give his life as a ransom. Thus, the centurion's public confession in 15:39, “Truly, this man was the son of God” (ἀληθ ς ο τος ὁ ἄνθρωπος υἱὸς θεο ν), functions to epitomize the kingly significance of Jesus's crucifixion. This confession, set within a depiction of Jesus's crucifixion redolent of royal undertones, redefines for Mark's readers who a true son of God is—one who gives himself for others.Footnote ⁷⁰ As Marcus concludes, “Royal garments and crowns rightfully do belong to Jesus, who will show his kingship precisely by not saving himself but by dying on the cross.”Footnote ⁷¹