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The Cosmopolitan Expression of Josephus's Prophetic Perspective in the Jewish War

Published online by Cambridge University Press:  01 July 2004

Nicole Kelley
Nicole Kelley
Affiliation:
Florida State University
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Extract

Many controversial issues surround the life and work of the Jewish historian Flavius Josephus, but the question of his dual relationship to the Jewish community and the Roman imperial establishment has been especially contentious. Should Josephus be considered a loyal Jew, or was he a turncoat and a coward who abandoned his people for the sake of a luxurious life in the Flavian imperial court? Josephus's early and late works alike reveal that he had to answer this question himself. The numerous and celebrated apologetic elements of his writings testify to Josephus's need to defend his actions during the war. In J.W. 3.354, for example, he defends his decision to surrender at Jotapata in a prayer that alludes to his prophetic destiny: “I willingly surrender to the Romans and consent to live; but I take you to witness that I go, not as a traitor, but as your minister.” Josephus, then, uses his narratives to address criticisms of his actions. In addition, he explicitly describes his hostile reception by all parties after his surrender at Jotapata. In Life 416, he writes, “my life was frequently in danger, both from the Jews, who were eager to get me into their hands, to gratify their revenge, and from the Romans, who attributed every reverse to some treachery on my part, and were constantly and clamorously demanding of the emperor that he should punish me as their betrayer.” In other words, both the events in the narrative and the apologetic tone in which Josephus narrates such events indicate that Josephus was considered a traitor by both Jews and Romans in his own lifetime.

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Harvard Theological Review , Volume 97 , Issue 3 , July 2004 , pp. 257 - 274
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© 2004 Cambridge University Press

Many controversial issues surround the life and work of the Jewish historian Flavius Josephus, but the question of his dual relationship to the Jewish community and the Roman imperial establishment has been especially contentious. Should Josephus be considered a loyal Jew, or was he a turncoat and a coward who abandoned his people for the sake of a luxurious life in the Flavian imperial court? Josephus's early and late works alike reveal that he had to answer this question himself. The numerous and celebrated apologetic elements of his writings testify to Josephus's need to defend his actions during the war. In J.W. 3.354, for example, he defends his decision to surrender at Jotapata in a prayer that alludes to his prophetic destiny: “I willingly surrender to the Romans and consent to live; but I take you to witness that I go, not as a traitor, but as your minister.”1

Unless otherwise noted, Josephus's Life and Jewish War are cited according to the translation by H. St. J. Thackeray (LCL; Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1926–1928); some translations have been modified slightly.

Josephus, then, uses his narratives to address criticisms of his actions. In addition, he explicitly describes his hostile reception by all parties after his surrender at Jotapata. In Life 416, he writes, “my life was frequently in danger, both from the Jews, who were eager to get me into their hands, to gratify their revenge, and from the Romans, who attributed every reverse to some treachery on my part, and were constantly and clamorously demanding of the emperor that he should punish me as their betrayer.” In other words, both the events in the narrative and the apologetic tone in which Josephus narrates such events indicate that Josephus was considered a traitor by both Jews and Romans in his own lifetime.

The question of Josephus's treachery has likewise been taken up by modern scholars, who tend to deride or defend him according to their estimation of the historical value of his writings. Was he merely a voice of reason and moderation in the midst of a tumultuous political and military insurrection, they ask, or was he an imperial propagandist and shameless self-promoter?2

Per Bilde (“The Causes of the Jewish War According to Josephus,” JSJ 10 [1979] 180 n. 6) divides scholarly views of Josephus into two groups: the traditional negative view that Josephus was a traitor and a toady of the Flavians (represented by Graetz, Laqueur, and others); and the view that Josephus was a “realistic moderate” who wanted to defend the Jewish people (represented by Niese, Thackeray, Klausner, Zeitlin, and others). As is the case with practically every facet of scholarship on Josephus, the available bibliography on the subjects relevant to this essay is vast. While I hope to have touched on many of the more important works for this topic, I have not attempted an exhaustive coverage of the secondary literature.

Laqueur, Thackeray, and others can argue that Josephus's Jewish War was designed to do little more than flatter his Flavian patrons.3

See R. Laqueur, Der jüdische Historiker Flavius Josephus (Studia Historica 68; Rome: “L'Erma”di Bretschneider, 1920); and H. St. J. Thackeray, Josephus: The Man and the Historian (New York: Jewish Institute of Religion Press, 1929).

Based on Josephus's references to the circumstances surrounding his composition of this work, Thackeray concludes, “Josephus was commissioned by the conquerors to write the official history of the war for propagandist purposes.”4

Ibid., 27. Thackeray also writes (ibid., 47): “The glamour of imperial Rome and adulation of his patrons have overcoloured the picture, detracted from the historian's impartiality and on occasion raised serious doubts as to his veracity.” Although Thackeray is certainly aware of Josephus's multiple commitments, John M. G. Barclay (Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora from Alexander to Trajan (323 BCE–117 CE) [Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1996] 352) hints at the more nuanced understanding of Josephus's loyalties that is typical of more recent scholarship: “Thus Josephus's composition of the Bellum rested on a complex web of commitments: to the emperors who had treated him so favourably, to the Jewish nation whose reputation he wished to salvage and to the God whose purposes he struggled to comprehend.”

Even among those hesitant to concede the propagandistic value of the historian's works, there is widespread agreement that Josephus shaped or even fabricated his narratives to present himself in a positive light.

But Josephus also has his defenders. Tessa Rajak, for instance, suggests that “it is most reasonable to conclude that what Josephus wrote was a report on a tragic event, issued for those who were interested, not propaganda to suit the requirements of the Flavian emperor and the Roman administration.”5

Tessa Rajak, Josephus: The Historian and His Society (London: Duckworth, 1983) 184. Frank W. Walbank (Polybius, Rome and the Hellenistic World. Essays and Reflections [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002] 275) concurs in some respects with Rajak's assessment: “But, I would suggest, if one takes into account both the objective circumstances of the revolt and Josephus's religious convictions, the charge of treason against him does not result in a straightforward verdict.”

While Rajak certainly admits that Josephus's writings serve apologetic and propagandistic purposes, she is more willing than most to give his historiography the benefit of the doubt.6

As a case in point, consider Rajak's assessment (Josephus, 215) of Josephus's account of Vespasian's rise to power, which begins in J.W. 4.491: “Josephus's version of these political machinations is more pro-Flavian than any other which survives. But its twists and details are due as much to the author's source as to any deliberate argument on his part…. The effect has come through his dependence at such points on source material of a pure Flavian character, and that material was probably the imperial records.”

I mention all of this not because I wish to take a position on the “traitor or loyalist?” question or weigh in on the issue of Josephus's trustworthiness, but in order to make the following point: However one understands Josephus's motives and their effect on the reliability of his works, it is important to bear in mind that Josephus regarded himself as both a spokesman for the Jewish community7

According to Per Bilde (Flavius Josephus between Jerusalem and Rome: His Life, his Works, and their Importance [JSPSS 2; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1988] 191), J.W. 1.18, for example, indicates that “Josephus sees himself as a continuer of the prophetic Jewish ‘writing of history.’ … During his own time of crisis, so decisive for the Jewish people, Josephus acts as a prophetic interpreter of the scriptures and the time. Towards Rome he uses his works as an attempt to alleviate the circumstances of his people, whereas towards his own countrymen he prophesied an interpretation of the crisis and thus a way out of it.”

and a historian writing under the auspices of the Flavian dynasty. By all accounts, these two hats were often quite a challenge for Josephus to wear at one and the same time. As Thackeray puts it, “The author found himself in a difficult position in trying to reconcile his position as Jewish patriot and counselor of peace with Rome.”8

Thackeray, Josephus, 49.

The tensions produced by Josephus's dual identity were a powerful force in shaping his narratives as they have come down to us.

I suggest that we ought to look more closely at how this dual identity works itself out in the speeches at Jotapata and Masada in the Jewish War. To that end, the first part of this essay gives a brief sketch of the prophetic perspective of Josephus's writings, while the remainder of the essay explores how Josephus translates his prophetic ideas about reward and punishment into Greek philosophical notions such as

and

in the Masada and Jotapata speeches. I argue that by using such philosophical concepts as vehicles for the expression of his Jeremianic point about reward and punishment, Josephus does more than draw attention to the wickedness of the Sicarii or highlight his own righteousness. First and foremost, the speeches at Jotapata and Masada are designed to express Josephus's prophetic view of the war in a manner that could be understood by Jews and non-Jews alike. Instead of searching for either Greco-Roman or Jewish precedents for the ideas expressed in these speeches, as some other interpreters have done, this essay makes the seemingly obvious (yet somehow overlooked) point that Josephus's orations ought to be understood as a cosmopolitan expression of ideas that were equally at home—and intentionally so—in Jewish and Greco-Roman philosophical thought.

The Prophetic Perspective of the Jewish War

In order to understand the viewpoint Josephus is trying to express in the speeches at Jotapata and Masada, we must first consider one prominent theological and political tendency of the Jewish War: Josephus's conviction that in the course of the Roman war against the Jewish insurgents, God is on the side of the Romans. He attributes this divine support of Rome to three closely related factors: God is using the Romans to punish the Jews for their sins; the Romans are being divinely rewarded for their reverential attitude toward the Jerusalem Temple; and Fortune (

) is on the side of the Romans.

Other interpreters have noted that Josephus draws on the biblical prophetic tradition, most notably Jeremiah,9

Joseph Blenkinsopp (“Prophecy and Priesthood in Josephus,” JJS 25 [1974] 239–62), David Daube (“Typology in Josephus,” JJS 31 [1980] 18–36), Shaye Cohen (“Josephus, Jeremiah, and Polybius,” History and Theory 21 [1982] 366–81), and Rebecca Gray (Prophetic Figures in Late Second Temple Jewish Palestine: The Evidence from Josephus [New York: Oxford, 1993] 72–74) have studied the connections between Jeremiah and Josephus in great detail. Steve Mason (“Josephus, Daniel, and the Flavian House,” in Josephus and the History of the Greco-Roman Period: Essays in Memory of Morton Smith [ed. Fausto Parente and Joseph Sievers; Leiden: Brill, 1994] 161–91) has studied Josephus's appropriation of the prophet Daniel.

in arguing that the war against Rome was a divine punishment for the sins of the Jews. As he observes in J.W. 7.453, “God in his providence inflicts punishment on the wicked.” Just as Jeremiah predicted that God would use the Babylonians to wage war against the unrepentant Jews, Josephus—who “saw the Romans as the present day Babylonians of Jeremiah's prophecies”10

Cohen, “Josephus, Jeremiah, and Polybius,” 371.

—tells his readers that God is using the Romans as his agents to punish the Jews. Josephus states this explicitly in J.W. 6.110: “God it is then, God Himself, who with the Romans is bringing the fire to purge His temple and exterminating a city so laden with pollutions.” The unrepentant Jews deserved such punishment because they had committed a multitude of sins, two of which are particularly emphasized by Josephus. First, they waged war against Rome, which according to Josephus's prophetic voice is a sacrilege in itself.11

Ibid., 372. For example, in J.W. 5.400 Josephus writes: “For it is, I suppose, the duty of the occupants of holy ground to leave everything to the judgment of God and to scorn the aid of human hands, can they but conciliate the Judge above. But as for you, what have you done that is blessed by the lawgiver, what deed that he has cursed have you left undone?”

As Josephus proclaims to the people of Jerusalem, “You are warring not against the Romans only, but also against God” (J.W. 5.378). Second, they profaned God's temple: “The temple has become the receptacle for all, and native hands have polluted those divine precincts, which even Romans reverenced from afar, forgoing many customs of their own in deference to your law. And after all this do you expect [God], thus outraged, to be your ally?” (J.W. 5.402–3). A short while later he concludes: “My belief, therefore, is that the Deity has fled from the holy places and taken His stand on the side of those with whom you are now at war” (J.W. 5.412). Because the Jews have sinned by profaning the temple and instigating a sacrilegious rebellion, they deserve divine punishment. As is frequently noted, Josephus is at pains to demonstrate that only a small minority of the Jews was responsible for the rebellion against Rome. Nevertheless, his account of the war makes it clear that all the Jewish people suffered as a result of the rebels' impious actions.

From Josephus's prophetic perspective, then, the Jews clearly deserved to be punished for sins committed during the course of the rebellion against Rome. By contrast, at the same time that Josephus suggests that the Jews are being punished for their impiety toward the temple and their sacrilegious rebellion, he makes the point that the Romans' remarkable reverence for the Jerusalem temple has earned them divine favor. Whereas the Jewish insurgents have themselves corrupted the dwelling place of their God, the Romans have made a special point to respect it.12

Cohen (“Josephus, Jeremiah, and Polybius,” 371) suggests that the crimes of the revolutionaries, which Josephus mentions throughout the course of the J.W. (see, e.g., 4.154, 312–44, 557–63), resemble those listed in Jeremiah 7. Rajak (Josephus, 81) and Gray (Prophetic Figures, 178 n. 3) may be right, however, in stating that Josephus's accusations are “unspecific” and “general.”

He says of the Roman soldiers: “Of the soldiers, indeed, there was not one who did not regard the temple with awe and reverence” (J.W. 6.123). It is well known that Josephus consistently portrays Titus as one who—more than anyone else, Jew or Roman—did everything in his power to prevent the Temple's destruction.13

On Josephus's portrayal of Titus, see Zvi Yavetz, “Reflections on Titus and Josephus,” GRBS 16 (1975) 411–32; and Rajak, Josephus, 206–12.

For example, Titus says to the Jewish rebels: “It is not I who force you to pollute these precincts. Exchange the arena of conflict for another and not a Roman shall approach or insult your holy places; nay, I will preserve the temple for you, even against your will” (J.W. 6.128). Many other examples of Titus's care for the temple underline Josephus's contention that the Romans' piety toward the temple has earned them divine favor.14

See for example J.W. 6.228, 232–41, 249–53, 256–66. However, note Menahem Stern's caution (“Josephus and the Roman Empire,” in Josephus, Judaism, and Christianity [ed. Louis H. Feldman and Gohei Hata; Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1987] 74) that “Josephus's warm, sympathetic attitude towards Titus is not always identical with that towards the Roman Empire.”

Thus far, Josephus's two explanations for the war—as divine punishment of the Jews and a reward for Roman piety—fit seamlessly into his Jeremianic framework and would almost certainly have been understood in this light by those in his intended audience who were familiar with the prophetic tradition of Israel.

15

Although the material discussed up to this point seems characteristically Jeremianic, Cohen has argued that Josephus may be drawing on Polybius as a source for such ideas. For example, Cohen suggests (“Josephus, Jeremiah, and Polybius,” 377) that Josephus's view that the desecration of temples is “the epitome of asebeia” is taken from Polybius. Moreover, “his portrait of the Romans, especially of Titus, is within the Polybian tradition” (ibid., 379) insofar as Josephus states “that the foreign conqueror deserves victory” (ibid., 380). If Cohen is right, his argument underscores the larger point I am attempting to make about the intentional “double-sidedness” of Josephus's views.

At this point we need to consider a third explanation offered by Josephus for God's support of the Romans, one that seems more suited to those readers who might not have been so familiar with the biblical prophetic tradition: namely, that Fortune (

) is the side of the Romans.

16

Gray (Prophetic Figures, 40–41, 180 n. 22) rightly observes that while modern commentators realize that this juxtaposition creates tension because “fortune functions in an inexorable way, whereas the sin-and-punishment scheme presupposes that repentance is possible and would change God's plans,” Josephus himself does not regard the two as incompatible. For instance, in J.W. 6.399 he writes about “the power of God over unholy men and the fortune of the Romans.” Cohen (“Josephus, Jeremiah, and Polybius,” 372–73) and Gray (Prophetic Figures, 39) have noted that the concept of

is connected with his Jeremianic point about punishment of the wicked, but it is drawn from the works of the “pro-Roman” author Polybius rather than the biblical prophetic tradition. Even if one disagrees with Cohen's assessment of Josephus's use of Polybius, it remains the case that Josephus uses

much like he uses the term

: to make his writings accessible to non-Jewish readers, in this case “those Romans who expressed belief in the invincible Fortuna Romana favouring the Roman Empire” (R. J. H. Shutt, “The Concept of God in the Works of Flavius Josephus,” JJS 31 [1981] 184). This is probably the case even though, as Gray argues (Prophetic Figures, 39), “Josephus uses the Polybian language of

to express a distinctively Jewish understanding of history and of the rise and fall of empires. According to this view [expressed in Dan 2:31–45, for example], it is the God of the Jews who establishes and deposes the great rulers of the world in sequence, decreeing the length of time that each shall rule.”

In J.W. 2.360, Agrippa refers to the Romans as “those to whom Fortune has transferred her favors,” and in J.W. 2.373, he states that “fortune … brings [Rome] more triumphs even than its arms.” Agrippa's speech surely reflects Josephus's own point of view;17

As Rajak notes (Josephus, 80), “it is the speeches ascribed to protagonists in the history which allow an ancient author to comment personally on events … the speeches are a vehicle for his thoughts.” Similarly, Bernard Thérond (“Discours au style indirect et discours au style direct dans La guerre des Juifs de Flavius Josèphe,” in Hellenica et Judaica: hommage à Valentin Nikiprowetzky [ed. A. Caquot, M. Hadas-Lebel, and J. Riaud; Leuven: Peeters, 1986] 150) sums up nicely the role of the speeches in expressing Josephus's theological views when he states: “Et il est vrai qu'Agrippa, Ananus, Titus, Éléazar sont les porte-parole des idées politiques et théologiques de Josèphe qui, tout au long de La guerre des Juifs, ne cesse de répéter, d'une manière plus ou moins explicite, que Dieu a abandonné les Juifs et qu'Il est maintenant du côté des Romains.” (I thank an anonymous reader at HTR for drawing my attention to Thérond's essay.) Others have been less willing to concede that Josephus's speeches are wholesale fabrications. While Thackeray (Josephus, 43–44) admits that “elaborate set speeches” such as Agrippa's should be classed as “oratorical displays, subserving the general propagandist purpose of the work” and that “Agrippa never delivered” the speech placed on his lips, he maintains that it may be based (at least in part) on “official records.”

in fact, this theological idea is most clearly expressed in a speech placed in the mouth of Josephus himself in book 5.18

Cohen (“Josephus, Jeremiah, and Polybius,” 375) has noted that although both speeches are designed to dissuade the Jews from armed resistance against Rome, there are important differences in the perspectives articulated by Agrippa and Josephus. Agrippa's speech does assert that God is on the side of Rome; it invokes “political and practical considerations,” such as the unlikelihood of success, as a deterrent. Josephus's speech, which comes after his divinely-given prophetic revelation in the cave at Jotapata, evinces a change in the historian's perspective brought about by the realization of his prophetic calling: the rebellion itself is sacrilegious; the war is God's punishment, carried out by Romans who act as his agents.

He suggests in J.W. 5.367–68 that the forefathers of the Jews were correct in recognizing that “Fortune, indeed, had from all quarters passed over to [the Romans],” and that “God was on the Roman side.” Cohen has argued persuasively that

in J.W. 3.354 refers to the “unconditional, absolute, and predetermined divine favor which graces this empire and now that.”

19

Ibid., 373.

As Gray puts it, “

almost signifies God in his role as establisher of empires…. Josephus refers to God and

almost interchangeably.”

20

Gray, Prophetic Figures, 40. It does seem that Josephus uses God and

interchangeably, although his notorious terminological imprecision makes this difficult to determine exactly.

Josephus, then, uses a term that would be familiar to non-Jewish audiences to convey his prophetic understanding of the divine favor that has been granted to Rome. In the next two sections of this essay, I will demonstrate that Josephus employs the term

in much the same way.

As we have just seen, Josephus repeatedly expresses his conviction that God is on the side of the Romans because he rewards the righteous and punishes the wicked.

21

Harold W. Attridge, The Interpretation of Biblical History in the Antiquitates Judaicae of Flavius Josephus (Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1976). In the Antiquities, as Attridge has argued, God has a special relationship with Israel not because of a covenantal agreement, but because God has rewarded the special piety and righteousness of the Jewish people. As Attridge notes (ibid., 86), “The affirmation that God exercises providential care for the world is equivalent to saying that He effects proper retribution for good and evil within history. The belief in a special providence for Israel is subordinated to that general principle and is seen to be a particular instance of it.”

The narrative of the Jewish War is designed to show that those who were righteous and correctly understood God's purposes prospered, while those who did not were punished. Recognizing Josephus's adaptation of the prophetic view of history, which is articulated through his use of

and other complementary ideas drawn from Greco-Roman philosophy and historiography, is essential to understanding what Josephus wishes to accomplish in his account of the events at Masada and Jotapata.

22

The affinity between Josephus's thought and that of the Deuteronomistic Historian has been pointed out by John J. Collins (Between Athens and Jerusalem: Jewish Identity in the Hellenistic Diaspora [2d ed.; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1999] 62), among others. He states: “What is noteworthy [in the Antiquities] is the fusion of competitive historiography with a philosophical approach to the law. Yet the ‘moral lesson' with which he begins his Antiquities is the doctrine of retribution in history, which is squarely in the tradition of the Deuteronomistic historians of the Hebrew Bible.”

Masada: Punishment of the Wicked

Josephus's depiction of the Sicarii—the dagger-wielding bandits who commit mass suicide atop Masada

23

On the name “Sicarii,” see Ant. 20.186, where Josephus says that they were named after the weapons they carried: “daggers resembling the scimitars of the Persians in size, but curved and more like the weapons called by the Romans sicae.” Morton Smith's argument (“Zealots and Sicarii: Their Origins and Relations,” HTR 64 [1971] 1–19) that the Sicarii are not to be equated with Zealots or other revolutionary groups in Josephus's writings remains convincing. While the Fourth Philosophy and the Sicarii may have been closely connected, neither group should be identified with the Zealots.

—is very much in accord with his Jeremianic theological framework. In this section, I first review his overall portrayal of the Sicarii; then, I turn to his account of the climactic events at Masada and the speeches of Eleazar. I am concerned in particular to show how Josephus invests the concept of

with his own prophetic understanding of history, and, more generally, to question the tendency of scholars to trace Josephus's ideas—in this case, his ideas about suicide—to either Jewish or Greco-Roman sources.

Josephus and the Sicarii

Unlike the vast majority of Jews, who wanted no part in the war, the Sicarii were one of several revolutionary groups that advocated rebellion against Rome. This is clear from Josephus's emphasis on the continuity between the Sicarii and their predecessors, the so-called Fourth Philosophy (J.W. 7.254–55).24

As Richard Horsley notes (“The Sicarii: Ancient Jewish Terrorists,” Journal of Religion 59 [1979] 442), J.W. 7.254–55 reveals that there is continuity not only in the leadership of the two groups, but also in their ideology of resistance against Rome.

There Josephus writes that “the Sicarii clubbed together against those who consented to submit to Rome and in every way treated them as enemies, … protesting that such persons were no other than aliens, who so ignobly sacrificed the hard-won liberty of the Jews and admitted their preference for the Roman yoke.” Their hostility to Rome and the enslavement Rome demanded of its subjects is palpable in Josephus's description.25

If we assume that Josephus's characterization of the Fourth Philosophy holds for the Sicarii as well, we gain a better sense of their anti-Roman ideology. For example, in Ant. 18.23, Josephus says of the Fourth Philosophy: “They have a passion for liberty that is almost unconquerable, since they are convinced that God alone is their leader and master.”

The passage just cited demonstrates that although the Sicarii regarded Roman rule as illegitimate and demanded rebellion against Rome, their so-called revolutionary actions involve the killing of other Jews, rather than direct attacks against the Romans.26

Noted by Horsley (“The Sicarii,” 439, 445) in his description of Sicarii “terrorist tactics”: “In all cases the attacks by the Sicarii appear to be highly discriminate and always directed against fellow Jews, not against Roman soldiers or civilians…. Josephus gives not the slightest indication that the Sicarii ever attacked a Roman official or a Roman military object.”

For instance, in J.W. 2.254–56 Josephus tells us, “The festivals were their special seasons, when they would mingle with the crowd, carrying short daggers concealed under their clothing, with which they stabbed their enemies…. The first to be assassinated by them was Jonathan the high priest; after his death there were numerous daily murders.” It is noteworthy that the Sicarii choose the murder of a high priest as their inaugural act, for two reasons. On the one hand, Josephus regards the priesthood as part of the “official leadership” of the Jews, which resisted the war with Rome.27

Shaye J. D. Cohen, Josephus in Galilee and Rome: His Vita and Development as a Historian (Leiden: Brill, 1979) 240–41.

On the other hand, the priesthood is closely connected to the temple, which for Josephus serves as a kind of litmus test for piety in the Jewish War. The Sicarii demonstrate their gross impiety not only by murdering the high priest Jonathan, but also by kidnapping other officials associated with the temple (notably Eleazar, son of the high priest Ananias) and destroying their property.28

On this point see J.W. 2.426. They may also have participated in the murder of Ananias and Ezechias (J.W. 2.441–42).

Moreover, Josephus suggests that the Sicarii's support of the revolution was just a pretext for other criminal activities. In J.W. 7.254–58, he tells his readers that the Sicarii treated their Jewish compatriots with contempt on all fronts. They stole cattle and property and burned the houses of those Jews who wanted peace with Rome, but those who shared their views did not fare much better: “For the people did join with them in the revolt and take their part in the war with Rome, only, however, to suffer at their hands still worse atrocities.” The Sicarii, then, not only encouraged revolution against Rome, but also “set the example of this lawlessness and cruelty to their kinsmen” (J.W. 7.262). We can say, then, that the two groups the Sicarii opposed most—the Romans and those Jews who resisted the war against Rome—are precisely those whom Josephus seems to regard as acting in accordance with the will of God. The Sicarii do double duty as an example of true wickedness, because they are fighting God on two fronts.

The Sicarii and Suicide

During the course of the Great War, Eleazar ben Yair, the leader of the Sicarii, had gained control of the citadel of Masada. In 73 C.E., after the end of the war's major hostilities, the praetorian legate Flavius Silva began a siege of Masada. He ordered his soldiers to hurl torches at a makeshift wooden wall that had been hastily constructed by the Sicarii. The wall immediately caught fire, but the wind soon directed the flames back toward the Romans. As Josephus reports it: “Then suddenly the wind veered, as if by divine providence, to the south and, blowing with full force in the opposite direction, wafted and flung the flames against the wall, which now was completely ablaze. The Romans, thus blessed by God's aid, returned rejoicing to their camp” (J.W. 7.318). The historian makes it clear, then, that God's providential design was responsible for this turn of events in favor of the Romans. He goes on to say that Eleazar saw the wall consumed by flames and, “setting before his eyes what the Romans, if victorious, would inflict on them, their children and their wives, he deliberated on the death of all” (J.W. 7.321). In other words, the burning wall makes it clear to Eleazar that there can be no escape. He and his companions face either certain capture by the Romans, or death by their own hand.

Following this realization, Eleazar makes two eloquent and powerful speeches to those around him, exhorting them to choose death as a way out. In his first speech (J.W. 7.323–36), which is presented by Josephus in direct discourse,

29

Bernard Thérond (“Discours”) has argued persuasively about the significance of Josephus's use of direct and indirect discourse in the major speeches of the Jewish War. According to Thérond, Josephus often uses indirect discourse to convey the words of his enemies (p. 141); while it may appear to be in line with the practices of impartial historiography (p. 140), in fact, “utilisé dans un dessein polémique, il rabaisse les propos tenus” (p. 142). Direct discourse, on the other hand, is used to heighten the pathos of a situation (pp. 143–44) and to provoke admiration or sympathy on the part of the reader (p. 145). More important, direct discourse “permet de transformer une simple opinion personnelle en Vérité universelle” (ibid.).

Eleazar argues that “it is God who has granted us this favour, that we have it in our power to die nobly and in freedom…. Our fate at daybreak is certain capture, but there is still the free choice of a noble death with those we hold most dear” (J.W. 7.325–26). He admits, “We ought to have read God's purpose and to have recognized that the Jewish race, once beloved by [God], had been doomed to perdition. For had he continued to be gracious, or but lightly incensed, he would never have overlooked such wholesale destruction or have abandoned his most holy city to be burned and razed to the ground by our enemies” (J.W. 7.327–28). And he stresses that “we have been deprived, manifestly by God himself, of all hope of deliverance. For it was not of their own accord that those flames which were driving against the enemy turned back upon the wall constructed by us; no, all this betokens wrath at the many wrongs which we madly dared to inflict on our countrymen” (J.W. 7.331–32). Here we see that Eleazar has interpreted the shifting of the flames as more than just a physical obstacle preventing their escape. For Eleazar this is a sign from God that makes it clear that the mass suicide being contemplated by the Sicarii was divinely sanctioned. Josephus makes this point absolutely explicit in Eleazar's second speech (J.W. 7.341–88), when Eleazar states, “It is by God's will and of necessity (

) that we are to die” (J.W. 7.358).

Eleazar's first speech is paralleled by a discourse given by Josephus earlier in the narrative (J.W. 3.362–82).

30

For a detailed analysis of Eleazar's two speeches, see Otto Michel and Otto Bauernfeind, “Die beiden Eleazarreden in Jos. bell. 7, 323–6; 7, 341–88,” ZNTW 58 (1967) 267–72; W. Morel, “Eine Rede bei Josephus,” RhM 75 (1926) 106–15; and Menahem Luz, “Eleazar's Second Speech on Masada and its Literary Precedents,” RhM 126 (1983) 25–43.

Whereas Eleazar urges his comrades, who face death at the hands of the Romans, to kill themselves, Josephus urges the opposite course of action in an almost identical situation: his companions also face death at the hands of the Romans, but Josephus urges them not to take their own lives. Many others have noted that the parallel discourses of Josephus and Eleazar can be understood as two sides of an argument over the legitimacy of suicide, both of which derive from Plato's Phaedo.31

See, e.g., David J. Ladouceur, “Masada: A Consideration of the Literary Evidence,” GRBS 21 (1980) 251; and Morel, “Eine Rede bei Josephus.” As Morel has shown, Eleazar's second speech shows particularly close correspondences with Plato.

In the Phaedo, Socrates says: “It is not unreasonable to say that a man must not kill himself until god sends some

upon him” (62c). As David Ladouceur observes, in the first century C.E., this section of the Phaedo “served as a locus classicus both as a justification for and a condemnation of suicide.”

32

David J. Ladouceur, “Josephus and Masada,” 97.

Plato's text could be used for such opposing purposes because of the ambiguity of the Greek term

, which is usually translated as “necessity” or “compulsion.”

33

LSJ, s.v.

, “force, constraint, necessity.”

I think it can be argued that Josephus is playing on the interpretive possibilities of

in his appropriation of the Phaedo, in order to express his theological and political belief that in the course of the Jewish war, God rewards the righteous and punishes the wicked.

Some interpreters have proposed that these speeches should be analyzed in terms of the ancient debate about the legitimacy of suicide. What exactly is Josephus's view of suicide, they ask? Does Josephus have a favorable attitude toward the daring and noble mass suicide of the Sicarii, as Eleazar's speech suggests?34

See, e.g., Rajak, Josephus, 168–70; L. D. Hankoff, “The Theme of Suicide in the Works of Flavius Josephus,” CM 11 (1976) 15 –24; Louis H. Feldman, “Masada: A Critique of Recent Scholar-ship,” in Christianity, Judaism, and Other Greco-Roman Cults: Studies for Morton Smith at Sixty (ed. Jacob Neusner; 3 vols.; Leiden: Brill, 1975) 3:239–44; and Shaye J. D. Cohen, “Masada: Literary Tradition, Archaeological Remains, and the Credibility of Josephus,” JJS 33 (1982) 404.

If this is the case, why is Josephus's characterization of the Sicarii uniformly negative in other respects, and why does Josephus completely reject the possibility of suicide in his own speech at Jotapata? While the question of Josephus's attitude toward suicide in general is certainly interesting, it tends to obscure the point the historian is trying to make. The Masada speech does appear to be a logos that argues in favor of the legitimacy of suicide, but this is not its primary function within the narrative. Rather, the oration of Eleazar is designed to demonstrate that God punishes the wicked who act in opposition to his will. In other words, these discourses on collective suicide seem to be included in the Jewish War not because Josephus wishes to weigh in on a debate about self-killing, but because they give voice to his conviction that God rewards the righteous and punishes the wicked.

Indeed, Josephus seems to be using the idea of

to express this prophetic principle in the case of the Sicarii. Nowhere do we sense that Eleazar has misinterpreted the fire as a sign from God, and nowhere are we told that the suicides were motivated by anything but necessity. These deaths are not frivolous, not cowardly, not unwarranted. Josephus wants his readers to know that Eleazar correctly interprets the fire as an

sent by God. According to Josephus, God does want the Sicarii to die, just as Eleazar believes. Through Eleazar's own testimony Josephus establishes the mass suicide as an act of retribution: just as the Sicarii have repeatedly murdered their own countrymen, in their final moments they are forced to murder those closest to them. The collective suicide itself is a punishment for the sins of the Sicarii, as one might expect in a biblical prophetic perspective.

Josephus, then, is employing a philosophical discourse that draws on the idea of

, but he is using it to make a point about theodicy that is understandable and applicable in a broad sense. Eleazar's speech and the point it conveys—namely, that the wicked meet their appropriate end—can be said to derive from both Jewish and Greco-Roman philosophical traditions,

35

Indeed, as Chaim Milikowsky has noted (“Josephus between Rabbinic Culture and Hellenistic Historiography,” in Shem in the Tents of Japhet: Essays on the Encounter of Judaism and Hellenism [ed. James L. Kugel; Leiden: Brill, 2002] 176), “it is sometimes quite difficult to distinguish between a purely Hellenistic idea and a Jewish idea presented in Hellenistic garb.”

and in recent years much ink has been spilled in an attempt to determine which intellectual and theological heritage Josephus was really drawing on when he crafted this section of the Jewish War.36

The question is pervasive enough that most interpreters—sometimes even those who mention the episode only in passing—take a position on the matter. For example, the American literary critic Edmund Wilson suggested that Eleazar's speeches are “closer to Greek philosophy than to traditional Jewish teaching”; Louis H. Feldman (“Masada,” 225) summarizes Wilson's remarks about Masada in his The Dead Sea Scrolls 1947–1969 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1969). As Luz notes (“Eleazar's Second Speech,” 27), many scholars have observed the tension between “traditional Jewish precepts” and the arguments Josephus places on the lips of Eleazar in the second speech. While there may be parallels between Eleazar's speech and Jewish wisdom literature, the connections between the former and Plato are noteworthy.

David Ladouceur is a good example of the “Greco-Roman” side of the debate. He has argued that Josephus's portrait of Eleazar the philosopher is colored by his interest in Roman politics toward the end of Vespasian's reign. By painting a portrait of Eleazar as a suicidally-inclined philosopher, Josephus intended to associate the leader of the Sicarii with the Stoic martyr and suicide Cato, whose cult was politically opposed to the Roman emperors at that time. Ladouceur has argued that the substance of these speeches is “essentially philosophical and grounded not in Jewish teaching but in Greek philosophy.”37

David J. Ladouceur, “Masada: A Consideration of the Literary Evidence,” GRBS 21 (1980)250.

He goes even further when he states: “That some genuine Jewish stratum lies below to be detected rests on two assumptions: that Josephus had a reliable source for the speech of Eleazar, and that he preserved that information intact.”38

Ibid., 252.

On this reading, Eleazar's speech could only be “Jewish” if Josephus were reliant on a source for his recounting of it—which suggests that Josephus was not really all that Jewish himself. Hence Ladouceur argues that Eleazar's speech is primarily if not exclusively drawn from Greek philosophy. He also argues that the entire Masada episode ought to be understood through the lens of Greek tragedy rather than biblical notions of reward and punishment: “A classical audience accustomed to the methods of ‘tragic’ history would look upon the Masada account as an attempt to thrill readers by invoking feelings of pity and fear and to dramatize the vicissitudes of fortune, since civil murderers, by a proper retributive logic, are now forced to turn their destructive impulses inward.”39

Ladouceur, “Josephus and Masada,” 104.

Greeks and Romans would understand that the Sicarii are being divinely punished, because Josephus has provided literary cues that any educated reader would immediately recognize.40

Menahem Luz (“Eleazar's Second Speech,” 36) also argues in favor of Josephus's use of Greco-Roman philosophical traditions in his careful analysis of Eleazar's second speech: “We should not seek Jewish parallels for this theme [viz., that Eleazar describes life as a disaster and ascribes this view to

] … or even be perturbed by the fact that these arguments are placed in the mouth of a zealot and ascribed by him to the Laws. The reference to traditional and divine precepts (vii. 343) is part of the original Greek source.”

On the other end of the spectrum is the work of Helgo Lindner, who argues that in Eleazar's speeches, Josephus uses philosophical arguments in the process of Torah interpretation.41

Helgo Lindner, Die Geschichtsauffassung des Flavius Josephus im Bellum Judaicum. Gleichzeitig ein Beitrag zur Quellenfrage (Leiden: Brill, 1972) 39: “Und wir werden nicht fehlgehen, wenn wir hier die Torainterpretation finden, wie sie nach der Meinung des Josephus allein einem solchen Zelotenführer angesichts des Scheiterns seiner Erwartungen noch offensteht.”

Lindner is also criticized by Ladouceur for interpreting the Jotapata episode exclusively through the lens of the Septuagint: “While one cannot simply dismiss Lindner's interpretation of these passages through Septuagintal usage, such interpretation nevertheless does ignore close pagan parallels. It is at any rate questionable methodology to explicate only through the Septuagint words and phrases isolated from their context in the midst of an Atticizing text directed to a Graeco-Roman audience—all the more when that context is preparatory to a central theme of late Stoicism, suicide.”42

Ladouceur, “Masada: A Consideration of the Literary Evidence,” 249. Ladouceur elsewhere (“Josephus and Masada,” in Josephus, Judaism, and Christianity [ed. Louis H. Feldman and Gohei Hata; Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1987] 98) criticizes others for attempting to “dehellenize these speeches and so discover a perceptible Jewish substratum.” For Lindner's perspective, see Die Geschichtsauffassung, 25–39, 60.

Along with Lindner we may also list Otto Michel and Otto Bauernfeind, who regard the Jewish traits of Josephus's speeches as primary and the Hellenistic qualities as secondary: on their reading, Josephus has taken traditional Jewish material and reworked it in a Hellenizing fashion.43

Michel and Bauernfeind, “Die beiden Eleazarreden,” 268, 270; note also V. Nikiprowetzky, “La mort d'Éléazar fils de Jare,” in Hommages à André Dupont-Sommer (Paris: Adrien-Maison-neuve, 1971) 461–63; Adolf von Schlatter, Die Theologie des Judentums nach dem Bericht des Josefus (Gütersloh: C. Bertelsmann, 1932) 260; and I. Jacobs, “Eleazar Ben Yair's Sanction for Martyrdom,” JSJ 13 (1982) 183–86.

In contrast to the interpreters just mentioned, Shaye Cohen seems to offer a more evenly balanced interpretation of Josephus's loyalties to both Romans and Jews. On the one hand, he argues that Josephus accepts the prevailing favorable attitude of ancient Greek and Roman historians toward suicide: “He does not explicitly praise the Sicarii, but the general tone of the narrative is favourable to them.”44

Shaye J. D. Cohen, “Masada: Literary Tradition, Archaeological Remains, and the Credibility of Josephus,” JJS 33 (1982) 393.

As a Hellenistic historiographer, Josephus provides an account of the Sicarii that replicates the heroic assessment of collective suicide in the writings of Livy, Polybius, and Diodorus of Sicily, among others.45

Ibid., 387–92.

On the other hand, Cohen states that “from the Jewish point of view, the Sicarii deserved death,” and elsewhere that “the theology of the Sicarii leads to a renunciation of one of the core doctrines of Judaism, the eternal election of Israel.”46

Ibid., 399, 396.

He rightly observes that “Josephus wanted Eleazar, the leader of the Sicarii, to make a speech in which he would publicly confess that he and his followers, those who had fomented the war, had erred and were now receiving condign punishment from God for their sins.”47

47Ibid., 396.

As a Jewish historian, Josephus believes that the Sicarii are deserving of God's wrath. According to Cohen, then, Josephus as Jewish and Roman historian portrays the Sicarii as both wicked and noble at the same time. It is difficult to disagree with Cohen on these points, but his assessment does suggest that he—like Ladouceur, Lindner, and others—has a tendency to attribute some ideas to Josephus's Jewish heritage and other ideas to his Hellenistic historiographical orientation.

What are we to make of this search for either Greco-Roman or Jewish literary precedents behind the events and speeches at Masada? Must we choose one heritage over the other?48

It is fairly obvious, of course, that few scholars would deny 1) the influence of either Jewish or Greco-Roman philosophical ideas on Josephus or 2) the fact that Josephus weaves together these sets of ideas in his narratives. I say this to make it clear that, in my understanding, previous interpreters do not believe that we need to “choose” between Josephus's Jewish and Greco-Roman heritages. Rather, as I see it, the search for literary precedents has the unintended consequence of forcing people to assign Josephan ideas to either one literary canon or the other.

I suggest that the quest for such literary precedents causes an unintended but fundamental problem for our understanding of the Jewish War (or any of Josephus's writings, for that matter). In the case of Masada, it is clear that the logic of punishment of the wicked and reward of the righteous would have been perfectly understandable in either vocabulary. Not only is it unnecessary to choose one over the other; even posing such a choice obscures the effect Josephus wished to achieve by blurring the lines between “Jewish” and “Greco-Roman” thought. Josephus presents us with a cosmopolitan understanding of God's providential action in the world: this providence, with its consequent rewards and punishments, applies not only to Jews but to the larger world as well. Here we begin to see the effect of Josephus's self-understanding as both a spokesman for the Jewish community and an imperial historiographer: the rhetorical impact of the Masada speeches depends on the way his ideas fit seamlessly and simultaneously into both Jewish and Greco-Roman perspectives.

Josephus's cosmopolitanism, as expressed here in his narrative about Masada, is precisely why he is such a compelling and enigmatic historian. Josephus writes about a singular moment in the larger history of the Jewish people, but he tells his story from a broader perspective that includes not only Jews but the rest of his world—the Roman Empire—as well. Josephus tries to make sense of the fate of the Jewish people after the Great War of 66–73/74 by taking a larger view of God's providential action in the world. God punishes and rewards Gentile and Jew alike, depending on their conformity to his will; and in the case of the war, God's fortune clearly rests with the Romans. Josephus uses this interpretive mechanism for understanding not only the divine punishment of the Sicarii, but also his own fateful transfer of allegiance to the Romans at Jotapata. As Josephus sees things, his own actions and those of the Sicarii stand in direct opposition to one another.

Jotapata: Reward of the Righteous

In the narratives of Masada and Jotapata, Josephus offers us both sides of the prophetic coin in philosophic guise. While the Sicarii are punished by God for their role in the insurgency against Roman rule, Josephus receives divine assistance at Jotapata. Just as his extended narration of the events at Masada explains why the Sicarii deserved to be punished, the Jotapata episode likewise gives a rationale for Josephus's miraculous escape—one that emphasizes his role as prophet49

Josephus nowhere refers to himself as a

or makes specific claims about his own prophetic authority, since he seems to believe that this kind of prophecy ceased at the end of the biblical period (Gray, Prophetic Figures, 1–34; Cohen, “Josephus, Jeremiah, and Polybius,” 369; and Blenkinsopp, “Prophecy and Priesthood in Josephus,” 240 –46. He does, however, use prophetic terminology to describe himself (for specific examples see Gray, Prophetic Figures, 37), and he does construct many correspondences between his own circumstances and those of prophets and other heroes from the biblical past; on this point, see Daube, “Typology in Josephus,” 26–36.

and messenger of God's providential will.

Here it may be useful to provide a brief recounting of the story. Josephus and his companions, after fighting bravely against the Romans at Jotapata, find themselves surrounded by the opposing army. Josephus then remembers a series of dreams “in which God had foretold to him the impending fate of the Jews and the destinies of the Roman sovereigns” (J.W. 3.351). At that moment he suddenly understands the import of these dreams, and offers the following silent prayer to God: “Since it pleases you … who created the Jewish nation, to break your work, since fortune (

) has wholly passed to the Romans, and since you have chosen my spirit to announce the things that are to come, I willingly surrender to the Romans and consent to live; but I take you to witness that I go, not as a traitor (

), but as your minister (

) ” (J.W. 3.354).

Josephus then attempts to surrender, but the rest of the men in the cave threaten to kill him if he does (J.W. 3.360). We then read the following: “Josephus, fearing an assault, and holding that it would be a betrayal of God's commands, should he die before delivering his message, proceeded, in this emergency (

), to reason philosophically with them” (J.W. 3.361). Josephus gives a powerful oration in an attempt to deter them from killing him (and, it seems, themselves as well; see J.W. 3.384), but he cannot persuade them.

Josephus attributes what happens next to the providence of God (J.W. 3.387–88): “Trusting to God's protection, he put his life to the hazard, and said, ‘Since we are resolved to die, come, let us leave to the lot to decide the order in which we are to kill ourselves.’” At his suggestion, Josephus and the rest of his men draw lots. When most of his companions have perished, he finds himself a survivor, “by the providence of God” (3.391),50

As Daube points out (ibid., 30), the shorter reading “by the providence of God” (found in mss. P, A, and L) is to be preferred over the expanded “should one say by fortune or the providence of God?” See also Gray, Prophetic Figures, 51.

and he promptly hands himself over to the Romans.

How does the term

function in this episode? In J.W. 3.361 Josephus (in his role as narrator, not speaker) characterizes the occasion of his speech as an

. His use of the term makes sense here, because the rebels are surrounded by Roman troops with no hope of escape—an “emergency” situation indeed. Josephus repeats the term again after the conclusion of the oration in J.W. 3.385, to describe the collective desperation of the men who not only ignore Josephus's pleas against suicide but also attempt to kill him in their anger. Both uses of the term, which serve to frame Josephus's discourse against suicide, seem designed to emphasize the difficult circumstances in which he and his comrades have found themselves.

Why, then, does Josephus not use the term

within the context of his speech, as Eleazar does in J.W. 7.358? After all, given his biblical prophetic perspective on the situation, it would certainly have made sense for him to counter Eleazar's statement by arguing that “it is by God's will and of necessity (

) that we are to live.” Josephus cannot make this statement, however, because the

in this situation applies only to him, not to his comrades. In other words, it is God's will and an

that Josephus, but not those in the cave with him, should survive this brush with death. Since his companions, like the Sicarii, prefer death by their own hand to surrender, Josephus cannot hitch the wagon of his fate to theirs. He understands his prophetic calling as a kind of

which compels him to survive by hook or by crook. As Rebecca Gray observes, “Josephus presents his prophetic commissioning … as his primary motivation for not committing suicide, and … the rational and moral arguments he makes in his speech are subsidiary and in some sense not really intended to be persuasive.”

51

Ibid., 47.

Josephus must escape from the cave, because he has been called by God to deliver a message—a message about God's punishment of the Jews, the transfer of Fortune to the Romans, and the accession of Vespasian as emperor.52

Cohen, “Josephus, Jeremiah, and Polybius,” 370.

Specifically, he is charged with proclaiming the prophetic message that the rebellion is sacrilegious and an affront to God.53

Ibid., 375–76.

Of course, Josephus does escape, with the help of God's providence (3.391). This divine intervention is contingent upon Josephus's correct understanding of God's will as expressed in dreams and prophecies, and occurs just as Josephus is about to transfer his allegiance to Rome. The timing here is worth noticing. For Josephus, since God is on the side of the Romans, one who interprets God's oracles properly will follow suit and take sides with those who have found God's support. Josephus's deliverance is the result of his correct understanding and action—as soon as he realizes that he has been called by God to denounce the war as impious and sacrilegious, he is miraculously rescued. His rescue is fully deserved, and not at all fortuitous (much less traitorous, in his view).

While Josephus is miraculously delivered, Eleazar and the Sicarii are not. Instead, divine judgment is brought upon the rebels in the form of suicide. The suicide of the Sicarii may also be seen as a result of the providence of God: God intervened in order to signal to the group that they must kill themselves, in effect bringing about retributive justice. Though Eleazar believes that the demise of the Sicarii is evidence of the demise of the Jewish people in its entirety, Josephus knows that the Sicarii are representatives not of the Jewish people, but of those who are wicked in the eyes of God.

Conclusion: Cosmopolitanism and the Purpose of the Jewish War

Steve Mason has suggested that Josephus (see J.W. 1.1–3, 6–16) wrote to counter the charges of Roman historians that the war was “the predictable triumph of the Roman gods and Fortune.” He concludes that Josephus's purpose in writing the War was to show that Judeans are typically co-operative, because “they know that their God is in complete control of world history, and gives power even now to the Romans. The revolt was neither a characteristic expression of the Judean character nor a defeat of the Judean God.”54

Steve Mason, “‘Should any wish to enquire further’ (Ant. 1.25): The Aim and Audience of Josephus's Judean Antiquities/Life,” in Understanding Josephus: Seven Perspectives (ed. Steve Mason; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998) 73. Mason concludes that the War was intended to defend Jews from hostility and retaliatory acts after the end of the rebellion.

Our discussion of Josephus's use of cosmopolitan language in conveying his prophetic perspective confirms that Mason is correct in his assessment of Josephus's purposes.

At the beginning of this essay, I mentioned a few of the most prominent understandings of Josephus and his purposes in writing his account. On the one hand, our analysis has confirmed that, at least in the case of Jotapata, the War does serve as a kind of apology for Josephus's actions during the rebellion. Josephus explains his apparently traitorous shift in allegiance on the basis of his understanding of God's will, as conveyed through dreams and visions; he is not a traitor, he claims, but a prophet. Moreover, Josephus suggests that because he had a prophetic message to proclaim, he was compelled to survive at all costs, even if that meant siding with Rome. In examining Josephus's account of the Sicarii, we have also confirmed that the historian places the lion's share of the blame for the rebellion on a small minority of insurgents rather than on the Judean populace as a whole. Hence it is perfectly reasonable to argue that the War served as an apology not just for Josephus himself, but also for the people of Judea, who lived in fear of recrimination and retaliation after the end of the conflict.

Josephus, however, seems to have had more than apologetic or propagandistic objectives in mind when he composed his account.

55

I am not making an argument about the primacy of one motive, or purpose, for Josephus's composition of the Jewish War. I merely wish to point out that, however we characterize his motives or agenda, we should pay more attention to how Josephus carefully constructed his narratives to maximize their rhetorical impact on all segments of his intended audience.

Steve Mason interprets the War as an argument against Roman historians' characterization of the rebellion as a triumph of Fortuna Romana and the Roman gods. If this is correct, it surely is significant that Josephus, when narrating the events that most clearly articulate his prophetic perspective on the war, chooses to describe such occurrences in a vocabulary and style that would be appreciated by Romans who held a theological perspective so utterly different than his own. In particular, Josephus employs the concept of Fortune (

), but appropriates it for his own purposes by equating it with the will of the Jewish God. Moreover, his use of the concept of

allowed him to draw on Greek and Roman philosophical traditions, but he transforms its meaning in the process, so that it too becomes an instrument of the will of the Jewish God. These tactics allow Josephus to make a statement about the war that could be not only grasped but perhaps even embraced by Jews and Romans at the same time. To his way of thinking, Jews who valued the theological perspective of the prophets would understand that, while God had used Rome to punish the Judean populace, the situation was only temporary. Likewise, the Roman readers in Josephus's intended audience

56

Here I do not intend to take a position on whether Romans really would have read Josephus's writings; I am referring only to the fact that Josephus does intend his works to be read by Roman readers. There is, of course, an ongoing scholarly discussion about the audience (both real and implied) for Josephus's works; see, e.g., Mason, “‘Should any wish to enquire further.’”

could be expected to appreciate his appropriation of the ideas and language of several Greek and Roman literary traditions, all of which demonstrated that the rebellion was not only ill-advised but sacrilegious. The Jewish God had not been defeated when the insurgents were crushed by the Romans—far from it. On the contrary, the cosmopolitan historian uses his rhetorical arsenal to show that the Romans owed their victory not to their own gods or the whim of Fortune, but to the providential design of the Jewish God.

Footnotes

An earlier draft of this paper was presented in the “Social-Scientific Studies of the Second Temple Period” section at the 2003 annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature in Atlanta, Ga. I am grateful for the comments and constructive criticisms offered by members of the section, as well as suggestions made by the anonymous reviewers at HTR and my colleagues and students at Florida State University.