Identity and Resistance

Identity and Resistance:

The Varieties of Competing Models in Early Judaism^{^[1]}

Loren L. Johns

Much of the literature of Second Temple Judaism depicts violent conflict—conflict in the form of contemporary, historical battles against ruling imperial powers and in the form of the final eschatological battle that will bring to an end the present evil era and inaugurate the unending reign of God. Both involve varying conceptions of human and divine violence. In this essay, I intend to focus on what one can find in this literature about the ethical propriety of human violence in these conflicts and to reconsider the main categories used by contemporary scholars in characterizing the various models present in the literature.[2]

One cannot assume any linear or monolithic development in the ethical theology of Early Judaism from the Maccabean Revolt to the First Jewish Revolt. Various conceptions or models of resistance emerged in response to the Hellenizing efforts of Antiochus IV Epiphanes in Judea—conceptions and models that continued to develop through the Roman period down to the First Jewish Revolt. How did these conceptions or models of resistance reflect differing opinions concerning the efficacy and ethical propriety of human violence in resisting Greco-Roman cultural, political, and military power and influence? The primary texts I will examine in response to this question are 1, 2, and 4 Maccabees, Daniel, The Assumption of Moses, the Apocalypse of John, and the War Scroll (1QM) from Qumran.

Humanity’s capacity to derive biblical precedent for the legitimation of violence has been adequately demonstrated over centuries by all adherents of three of the Abrahamic monotheistic religions. At the same time, both the Bible itself and subsequent history have born witness to ways in which the biblical witness has served to delegitimate human violence.^{^[3]}

As I have noted elsewhere, religion is dangerous business.^{^[4]} Arguably, more people have been murdered in the name of religion than for any other reason in the history of humanity. Religion has inspired humanity’s most profound acts of benevolence and its most horrifying acts of violence. One particular issue in the second century BCE proved particularly significant in this debate and spurred theological reflection on the subject of human participation in violent conflict. That issue was the intensified Hellenization that took place under Antiochus IV Ephiphanes.^{^[5]} It is here, therefore, that our investigation begins.

1. Antiochus IV Epiphanes and the Books of the Maccabees

The Hellenizing program of Antiochus IV led to a watershed in the history of Early Judaism. The effects of internal debates in response to that program were far-reaching and did much to define the character of Early Judaism for the next 250 years. The origins of the Qumran Community—and indeed, the relation of the Qumran Community to the broader Essene community—remain a matter of debate. Be that as it may, the majority of historical reconstructions of those origins see the Hellenizing program of Antiochus IV and the Maccabean Revolt as significant for the formation of the Essenes or of the Qumran Community, or both.^{^[6]}

Almost immediately, then, literature was produced that characterized the struggles of the 170s and 160s BCE and its ensuing effects as the final eschatological battle between good and evil. Daniel is usually dated in the 160s and the work of Jason of Cyrene was probably completed by 160. The epitome of Jason’s work, 2 Maccabees, was completed some years later, and 1 Maccabees was likely completed before the end of the reign of John Hyrcanus in 104.^{^[7]}

First Maccabees is not among those writings that characterized the struggle of the 170s and 160s BCE and its ensuing effects as the final eschatological battle between good and evil. Nevertheless, it recounts some of the responses within Early Judaism to the Hellenizing efforts of Antiochus. And it does have a very specific message or ideology concerning how the faithful are to maintain their identity as God’s people: they must resist the evil Gentiles and the unfaithful Jews in league with them!

The book begins, perceptively enough, by placing the Hellenizing efforts of the Seleucid dynasty in the context of the triumph of Alexander the Great over the Mediterranean world. When Antiochus IV Epiphanes accelerated his program of Hellenization within Israel, responses among the faithful varied. Some counseled cooperation with the Seleucids and compromise with the cultural and religious demands of the occupiers. They eagerly approached the Hellenistic rulers and “made a covenant” with them (1 Macc 1:11, 43b; Dan 9:27). They joined the Hellenizers, even though Antiochus had desecrated the Temple (cf. Dan 9:27; 11:31; 12:11; 1 Macc 1:20-28; Josephus Ant., 12.237).^{^[8]} They built a gymnasium in Jerusalem and removed the marks of circumcision (1 Macc 1:14-15). The assessment of the author of 1 Maccabees regarding those who took this response to the Hellenizing pressures of Antiochus is clear enough: they “abandoned the holy covenant … and sold themselves to do evil” (1 Macc 1:15) and were guilty of “apostasy” (avpostasi,a; 1 Macc 2:15).

This Hellenizing foreign influence was felt in a variety of ways and it was not obvious to many how one should respond. Language was one issue. While seemingly innocuous at one level, each language has its own thought structure and even one who works hard at rendering concepts faithfully in translation finds it nearly impossible to render some things faithfully enough to evoke the same meaning.^{^[9]} Cultural innovations represented another broad challenge. It is impossible and anachronistic to separate culture from religion in this respect. Something as benign in our day as eating or exercising patterns suddenly became significant religious and social identity issues in the context of second-century Early Judaism—and rightly so.

The first response of many of the Jews who could not go along with the pragmatic solution of compromise was simply to lament (cf. 1 Macc 1:24b-28, 36-40). Israel had had reason to lament before and it had the spiritual and scriptural resources needed to engage in that process again. But in the midst of their mourning and lamentation came an even sharper challenge: In an effort to establish unity among his subjects, Antiochus required Israel to abandon her faith. Specifically, the Jews were required to:

1. adopt foreign cultural practices;

2. abandon all observance of feasts and holy days, including the Sabbath;

3. abandon all sacrifice and offering at the Temple;

4. discontinue circumcision, that central rite that defined the Jewish male’s identity as a son of Abraham;

5. abandon the practice of purity, that crucial distinction between what is holy and what is profane, maintained in ritual observance;

6. adopt another religion and actively participate in the worship of other gods through sacrifice and other means; and

7. destroy any and all Jewish Scriptures (“the books of the Law”).^{^[10]}

Those found to be secretly preserving written copies of the Law were given the death penalty (1 Macc 1:57). The Temple was transformed into a Temple to Zeus (or Baal-Shamem)^{^[11]} and the Jews were forced to participate in a festival in honor of Dionysus. In short, the Jews were required to forget the Law and to abandon their religion. This was not a matter of persuasion or encouragement or even pressure. This was law with the force of the death penalty behind it: anyone who defied it was to be executed.

Antiochus followed up with a thorough-going and systematic effort to enforce this initiative and to establish new patterns of religious devotion in Israel. Scores of inspectors were dispatched to ensure compliance. The result was chaos and violence. Many resisted—some violently and some in secret defiance. Even over the issue of “unclean food” many of the Jews resisted … and faced the death penalty.^{^[12]} “They chose to die rather than to be defiled by food or to profane the holy covenant; and they did die. Very great wrath came upon Israel” (1 Macc 1:63-64).^{^[13]}

In his first chapter, the author of 1 Maccabees sets up the historical context in which his heroes, the Maccabees, took action. Beginning with the father, Mattathias, then proceeding through the narratives of three successive brothers, the book clearly shows its pro-Maccabean bias. Without arguing for it as such, the book declares the superiority of the “resistance” option. As Lester Grabbe has put it, “The persuasive strength of the book lies in its apparent ingenuousness: it seems straightforward and honest. But this is a part of its rhetoric of persuasion. A simple narrative … allows the writer’s own perspective to prevail without intrusion on the reader’s consciousness. The book is very pro-Maccabean.”^{^[14]}

Much has been made about the differences of perspective between 1 Maccabees and 2 Maccabees: the former may seem to be a more straightforward history of events, but as Evans has noted, the straightforwardness of that history is disingenuous at best. The author of 2 Maccabees shows interest in the theological and religious issues involved. The author of 1 Maccabees praises the Hasmonean family as a whole, while the author of 2 Maccabees focuses on the role of Judas.

The habit of some to ignore or underplay the religious “tendency” of 1 Maccabees may be due in part to a lack of precision regarding the political and religious options regarding resistance to foreign influence. The author of 1 Maccabees is highly tendentious in his criticism of Antiochus IV and of the entire Hellenistic challenge. Specifically, the author applauds resistance to the Hellenizing challenge, supporting one particular approach to resistance—the option of active, violent resistance. Regardless of the connections (or lack of connections) between the “zeal of Phineas” (cf. Num 25:1-15) exhibited by Mattathias in 1 Macc 2:26 (cf. also 1 Macc 2:50, 54; 2 Macc 4:2; 4 Macc 18:12) and the possible existence of a “Zealot” party in the years between the Maccabean revolt and the Jewish revolt against Rome, it is clear that the option of active, violent resistance inspired by Phineas and executed by the Maccabees was the right and faithful option in the mind of the author of 1 Maccabees.^{^[15]}

There is no question about the author’s religious viewpoint: Mattathias’s murder of a fellow Jew at Modein is expressly linked with his “zeal for the Law” as well as with the example of Phinehas in his own murderous zeal for the Law (1 Macc 1:24, 26). Furthermore, such actions are expressly linked with upholding the covenant (1 Macc 1:27; 2:50). The last testament of Mattathias in 1 Macc 2:49-68 is a rousing rehearsal of Israel’s history precisely in support of the connection between courage, zeal for the law, and violence. It concludes with praise for Judas Maccabeas: “leader of an army, and he will fight a war of the people” (a;rcwn stratia/j kai. polemh,sei po,lemon law/n, 1 Macc 2:66). The testament ends with a call to arms that twice more connects observance of the Law to revenge against the Gentiles (1 Macc 2:67-68).

In contrast to 1 Maccabees, the author of 4 Maccabees cites the zeal of Phinehas only in the final soliloquy, in which the mother recounts Israel’s history as a series of contrasts between those who take lives into their own hands (including Cain and Phinehas) and those who entrust their lives into the hands of God (including Abel [?], Isaac, Joseph, Hananiah, Azariah, Mishael, and Daniel. Then she appeals to Isaiah, David, Solomon, Ezekiel, and Moses in support of quietistic trust in God and of the resurrection, which makes nonviolent resistance to the point of death thinkable. She concludes with the implication that the Song of Moses supports the idea that life and the taking of life belongs to God alone (4 Macc 18:19).

2. “Active” Resistance, “Passive” Resistance, and Active Nonviolent Resistance

In an important article on the political perspective of the Revelation to John published in 1977, Adela Yarbro Collins considered the Hellenizing program and persecution of Antiochus IV.^{^[16]} She stated that behind the two primary options of accommodation and resistance were two different kinds of resistance: active resistance and passive resistance.^{^[17]} The ideology of the Maccabeans favored active resistance through armed rebellion. Yarbro Collins’ primary contribution in the article is to demonstrate that “passive resistance” actually has two subcategories or forms. One form of passive resistance is the “pure” passive resistance advocated by Daniel.^{^[18]} In this model the faithful do not participate in the final battle, but rather endure and wait. A second form of passive resistance is a kind of synergistic passive resistance. As with the so-called “pure” passive model, the faithful do not participate directly in the final battle in a physical manner. However, the martyrdom of the faithful actually plays a synergistic role in the final battle. She cites the Assumption of Moses as an example of this second type of passive resistance in which the faithful play a passive, though synergistic role.

In contrast to the accommodationist approach, all three of the resistance models were characterized by a readiness to die. The Maccabees were ready to die in their armed resistance to the foreigners. The (pure) passive resisters were ready to die whether God saved them or not (see, e.g., Dan 3:16). And the synergistic passive resisters were ready to die as a contribution to the final battle of God with evil. When Pilate placed a golden eagle over the great gate of the Temple in the first century CE, the Jews protested boldly, though nonviolently. A crowd took to the streets of Caesarea and exposed their necks in defiance, showing that they were prepared to die rather than to tolerate such a blasphemy in violation of the Law. They even offered the necks of their wives and children to the sword.^{^[19]}

Yarbro Collins calls this kind of resistance “open,” but “passive,” since it was not violent. But this seems to be an odd and obfuscating use of terms, since rushing out into the streets to bare one’s neck in defiant resistance to Pilate’s decree is hardly “passive,” even if it is nonviolent. In the Assumption of Moses, the martyrdom of Taxo and his seven sons seems to play a role in the appearance of the kingdom. This kind of synergistic “passive” resistance actually can contribute to the coming of the kingdom, even through one’s own death. Similarly, the remarkably courageous stories of martyrdom in 2 and 4 Maccabees can hardly be called examples of “passive resistance.”

Yarbro Collins is not alone in using such terminology. Loveday C. A. Alexander has used the same categories:

Martyrdom may be described as “passive resistance” … apocalyptic perhaps as “theoretical resistance”; but there is no trace in these Diaspora texts of any active resistance to the domination of the world empires. For that we have to turn to the land of Israel and to the literature of the Maccabean period, which produced not only martyrs (2, 4 Macc) but also freedom fighters willing and able to take up arms in the cause of independence (1, 2 Macc).^{^[20]}

Steven D. Fraade uses similar terms when he writes, “[f]or those who rejected the Hellenizing reforms forced upon them from within and without, there were essentially two alternatives: armed revolt against the Hellenizers and Syrian forces (emphasized in 1 Maccabees), or passive resistance and martyrdom in the face of their edicts (emphasized in 2 Maccabees).”^{^[21]} Here again we see “armed revolt” as an implied equivalent to “active resistance” and martyrdom as an implied equivalent to “passive resistance.” Fraade goes on to say that “both responses presumed that divine intervention would be required to bring the events to their redemptive consummation; the question was the required human role in a sacred history that was rapidly approaching its long-anticipated climax.”^{^[22]}

Fraade is right to emphasize that both responses expected and depended upon divine intervention, but he is not clear about what, exactly, is in question regarding the human role. Is it a matter of whether a human role is envisioned? Presumably not. Is it a question of whether that human role is “active” or “passive”? Here I would say, “No.” The question, rather, is whether the human role consists of accommodation or resistance, and if the latter is the case, then whether that resistance is to be violent or nonviolent. The message of Daniel, at least, is that the “active” (cf. Dan 11:32) resistance of the faithful is to be nonviolent.

The author of 4 Maccabees sees the courageous resistance of the martyrs as a matter of warfare. The author invokes the language and mythology of holy war to advocate for a certain kind of active nonviolent resistance. They are to “fight zealously” in active resistance to the tyrants.^{^[23]} In fact, they nullify violence through their own nonviolent suffering.^{^[24]} As Warren Heard puts it:

In most of the passages commenting on the effect of the martyrs’ deaths, the martyrs themselves are the agents of victory. Thus, the contribution of the martyrs is the cardinal contribution in the war effort …. Without them victory would have been impossible. In the author’s opinion the martyrs single-handedly defeat Antiochus and his evil forces. They accomplish his downfall by clinging to their Law, not compromising and giving clear testimony to their faith. Righteousness is the lethal weapon in their struggle. They fight by persevering in their righteousness and patiently enduring torture and martyrdom; these are the martyrs’ only weapons.^{^[25]}

The language of warfare occurs throughout 4 Maccabees as the author applies the mythology and categories of holy war to the nonviolent resistance of martyrdom. The mother says, “My sons, noble is the contest to which you are called to bear witness for the nation. Fight zealously for our ancestral law.”^{^[26]} Later the author editorializes, “Truly the contest in which they were engaged was divine,”^{^[27]} implying that it was a “holy war.” The author praises the mother, calling her a warrior of God in the cause of religion (div euvse,beian qeou/ stratiw/ti, 4 Macc 16:14).

When Yarbro Collins applies these models to the book of Revelation, she concludes that the book advocates a “passive” type of resistance. The story in Revelation 12 “does not advocate or reinforce a program of active resistance or even self-defense, but awakens trust in the power of heaven to protect and rescue …. No major role is taken by the elect in the final stage of the eschatological conflict; rather the adversaries are defeated by the risen Christ and other heavenly beings.”^{^[28]} Within its historical context, and given the categories with which Yarbro Collins is working, Revelation “advocates passive resistance of the second type” in that the martyrdom it lauds plays a positive synergistic, though still “passive,” role in the eschatological battle.

But John the seer took up the tradition of holy war in Second Temple Judaism as a way of encouraging active resistance to the idolatries of the Roman Empire, an active resistance characterized by martyrdom – not the martyrdom that results from literal warfare, but rather the martyrdom that results from faithful, nonviolent witness. Such a purpose required John to appeal to certain well-established traditions on the one hand, while simultaneously engaging in thoroughgoing redefinitions on the other hand.^{^[29]} It entailed the redefinition of “holy war” or “Yahweh war” itself, from a literal battle between righteous and unrighteous armies on earth, to a semi-literal but nonviolent “battle” between good and evil waged in the streets of the Roman Empire through the everyday demands of political and religious allegiances. It required a redefinition of “victory” itself – to which John’s Apocalypse amply witnesses – from victory as physical conquering through violence to spiritual conquering through faithful witness, sealed through martyrdom. It required a redefinition of power, from military and civil power whose pinnacle was the state-sanctioned death penalty, to “consistent resistance” to evil, whose pinnacle, ironically, was the consistent resistance that was sealed in the death penalty. Thus the very meaning, or value, of death itself was redefined.

The basic ethical stance called for by the author of the Apocalypse was that of u`pomonh,. Commentators of Revelation have too often read into u`pomonh, a quietistic—indeed, passive—ethical vision. However, the word has a more active sense. In his treatment of u`pomonh, in the Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, Friedrich Hauch writes

as u`pomonh, later came to hold a prominent place in the list of Greek virtues, so there predominates in u`pome,nein the concept of the courageous endurance which manfully defies evil. Unlike patience, it thus has an active content. It includes active and energetic resistance to hostile power, though with no assertion of the success of this resistance.^{^[30]}

In keeping with Hauch’s comments, Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza has aptly translated u`pomonh, as “consistent resistance” instead of “patient endurance.”^{^[31]} M. Eugene Boring agrees:

The quality of Christian action it expresses is not passive resignation; it is an active holding firm “for the sake of my name” (2:3, 13; 3:8), having courage in the face of interrogation by the Roman officials …. In settings other than oppression and persecution, “patient endurance” as the essence of Christian responsibility in the world can be misunderstood as all too passive.^{^[32]}

Yarbro Collins’ attempt to probe distinctions among the various “passive” responses to the Hellenistic program is helpful and should be lauded. However, her consistent application of “active” to models of violent resistance and “passive” to models of nonviolent resistance is problematic. Her use of words like “bold” and “open” to characterize some expressions of “passive” resistance does little to mitigate the situation. What the literature bears witness to is the presence of an active, though nonviolent, form of resistance.

I agree with Yarbro Collins that Daniel is the prototypical advocate of the nonviolent model of resistance.^{^[33]} But as John J. Collins has noted,^{^[34]} this nonviolent resistance is nevertheless an active nonviolent resistance, not a passive resistance. Daniel 11:32 declares that, in the face of the king’s challenge,

MT: wf[w wqzxy wyhla y[dy ~[w

Theodotion: lao.j ginw,skontej qeo.n auvtou/ katiscu,sousin kai. poih,sousin.

Old Greek: o` dh/moj o` ginw,skwn tau/ta katiscu,sousi kai. poih,sousi.

“The people who are loyal to their God shall stand firm and take action.”^{^[35]}

Again, this is hardly “passive.” The context here is that the king will attempt to “seduce” ([vr, “cause to act wickedly”) those who violate the covenant, but in resistance to such seduction, the faithful will stand firm and act or take action. Both qzx and katiscu,w are strong, active verbs. The former carries connotations of being strong, prevailing, and having courage. The latter is a synonym of nika,w and, much like qzx, connotes strength, overpowering, and overcoming. Furthermore, active nonviolent resistance is a more accurate and straightforward description of a model of resistance that calls the people to “act” (hf[). Thus, the kind of nonviolent resistance to evil that is advocated by Daniel is better called an active nonviolent resistance, based on confidence in the monergistic triumph of God in the final battle.^{^[36]}

In a forthcoming book on the New Testament theology of peace, Willard Swartley takes issue with the categories of “active” and “passive” that Yarbro Collins uses in her article. He writes:

I agree with Collins that Revelation depicts passive resistance of the second type, with the martyrs seeing their faithful endurance and death as participating in the eschatological coming of the kingdom. But more must be said: their role is not purely passive. It has a fervent active component in the prayers of the saints and in their worship and praise of God.^{^[37]}

Yarbro Collins is certainly right that John’s understanding of the final battle calls the saints to play a more synergistic, though nonviolent, role. To cite one example, the prayers of the saints have an active and effective function. They call for and even help to bring about the final victory of God (see Rev 5:8; 6:9-11; 8:3-4). Thus, these two types of “passive” resistance would better be referred to as two different types of active nonviolent resistance, a monergistic active nonviolent resistance and a synergistic active nonviolent resistance. Even the opening blessing on those who hear and who “keep” (thre,w) what is written in the words of prophecy in this book suggests that John expects his readers to play some kind of active role. While the role of the saints in the Apocalypse is clearly nonviolent, it is not a “passive” but “active” role. In fact, one of the difficulties the author is addressing is the problematic passiveness of the seven churches in the face of various compromises with Greco-Roman religion and culture that the author equates with idolatry.^{^[38]} Passivity in the face of spiritual crisis is part of the problem, not the answer.

Thankfully, there is some evidence that the tide is beginning to turn on the use of phrases like active resistance and passive resistance. Brian K. Blount has written recently that, in the Apocalypse, “the language of witness commends civil disobedience in the form of active, nonviolent resistance.”^{^[39]} However, Peter Flint, following David Aune, obscures the matter when he says that “the eschatological holy war tradition takes two forms: the passive model, in which the victory is won by God alone or with his heavenly armies; and the active model, in which the people of God physically participate in the warfare against their enemies (this is the model found in the War Rule).”^{^[40]} While Aune and Flint see the War Scroll as a relatively straightforward example of the “active” model of eschatological warfare, they see the Apocalypse of John as “more complex,” even “contradictory.” Complexity and contradiction are no doubt features of Revelation,^{^[41]} but such an assessment could also be caused by the inadequacy of the categories with which previous scholars have been working.

3. The War Scroll and the Apocalypse of John

In 1988 Richard Bauckham’s article on the Apocalypse of John as a “Christian War Scroll” appeared.^{^[42]} Although Bauckham does not directly engage Yarbro Collins on the adequacy of her categories of “active” and “passive” resistance, he does so indirectly. He says that the author is convinced of “the need for God’s people to engage in the conflict with evil by active resistance to the religio-political claims of Rome and pagan society.”^{^[43]} There is no hint in Revelation that John or his readers were tempted to take up arms against Rome. Nevertheless, John writes

to alert the readers to the fact that what is going on around them, in the social and political life of their own cities, is part of a conflict of cosmic proportions, the eschatological war of good and evil, the conflict of sovereignty between God and the devil, in which they are called to take sides, to take a firm stand, and by faithful witness to the truth to play their part in resisting the pagan state and pagan society. The message is not, ‘Do not resist!’, so much as, ‘Resist—but by witness and suffering, not by violence’. The active metaphor of warfare serves this purpose better than the language of passive resistance.^{^[44]}

This suggests at minimum that John writes to encourage his readers to be active in their resistance to Greco-Roman idolatry. He wants them to take up their positions in this cosmic war—not through violent rebellion against Rome, but through active nonviolent resistance to its idolatrous demands.

The basic thesis of Bauckham’s article is that along with many other pieces of literature from Early Judaism, some of which are now lost to us, both the War Scroll and the Apocalypse of John draw from a well-established tradition of eschatological “holy war” in Early Judaism.^{^[45]} Both compositions make use of the categories of monergism and synergism to express their respective understanding of the faithful community’s role in that war. However, central to Bauckham’s essay is his insistence that John “takes up and reinterprets specific traditions about the messianic war” in such a way as to transfer “its meaning to non-military means of triumph over evil.”^{^[46]}

Bauckham’s reading of the Apocalypse with regard to its ethic of participation in the Lamb’s eschatological battle is both clear and compelling. Many scholars have accepted his basic thesis—namely, that John has taken up and reinterpreted specific traditions about the messianic war in such a way as to apply the metaphor of warfare to witness and martyrdom, while precluding the participation of the faithful in any literal eschatological war. That said, Bauckham’s use of the War Scroll as a foil against which to elucidate the ethics of the Apocalypse is somewhat problematic. He recognizes at least two of the problems himself.

1. First is the difference in genre: even if the War Scroll is apocalyptic in the more general sense of the term, it is not technically an apocalypse. What it is has been a matter of debate. Many consider it a “rule,” based in part on the common restoration of $rs (“rule”) in 1.1.^{^[47]} Jean Duhaime calls the composition a “tactical treatise.”^{^[48]} Geza Vermes, however, states that it “should not be mistaken for a manual of military warfare pure and simple. It is a theological writing … [that] symbolizes the eternal struggle between the spirits of Light and Darkness.”^{^[49]} In Lester Grabbe’s words, “The data may at times be those of a military manual, but the message is a theological one.”^{^[50]} That is, if the War Scroll can legitimately be called a “military manual,” it must by definition be a different kind of military manual, certainly not one with a secular, nonreligious purpose.

2. Second, Bauckham assumes a tradition of militant messianism in Early Judaism. The evidence for such a tradition, however, is rather slim. Bauckham writes that he hopes to show “that John shows detailed knowledge of a kind of military messianism which must have been common in some Jewish circles of his time, of which we have only hints, for the most part, but for which 1QM provides our best evidence.”^{^[51]} Bauckham admits that the best evidence for the expectation of a messiah who would lead the troops of Israel in a holy war against its enemies comes from the Middle Ages, since “in the Jewish apocalypses of the earlier period [it is] almost absent.”^{^[52]} In fact, “in apocalyptic proper … [the monergistic] tradition predominates.”^{^[53]}

3. Third, although calling the Apocalypse a “Christian War Scroll” is provocative, it is problematic in that it could give several wrong impressions: (a) there is a tendency among Christian scholars to simplistically compare so-called “Christian” literature, teachings, and people with so-called “Jewish” literature, teachings, and people. Given the history of Jewish-Christian relations, such overly reified and simplistic comparisons are fraught with pitfalls that are too often ignored by or even invisible to Christian scholars.^{^[54]} Moreover, (b) even the terms Christian and Jewish are clearly anachronistic in the first century, as most scholars now recognize.^{^[55]} Bauckham knows better than to make this mistake himself, but the phrase lends itself to such a misunderstanding. Finally, (c) Baukham’s terminology could be taken to imply that the Apocalypse of John is essentially like the War Scroll preserved at Qumran, except for its “Christian” character. That is, the basic purpose, genre, and function of the Apocalypse is similar to that of the War Scroll, save its Christian and therefore theologically different character. Here again, Bauckham is too careful to be guilty of such a mistake himself; nevertheless, his provocative title lends itself to such a misunderstanding.

Any legitimate use of the phrase “Christian War Scroll” as a descriptor of John’s Apocalypse must be based on a clear definition of what one means by each of the terms and by the phrase as a whole. There are significant differences between the Apocalypse and the Qumran War Scroll in both genre and purpose. Fortunately, Bauckham is fairly clear about what he does and does not mean to claim in such a comparison. He uses the comparison “to draw attention to the emphasis on human participation in the eschatological holy war.”^{^[56]} Thus, Bauckham’s article is best understood as an elucidation of the ways in which the Apocalypse of John can be read as a Christian War Scroll in terms of human participation in the eschatological holy war.

4. Lastly, the evidence does not suggest that the Apocalypse was written as some kind of response to the War Scroll. One could just as well claim that the Apocalypse of John can be read as a “Christian 4 Maccabees” in terms of human participation in holy war, with the recognition that 4 Maccabees does not share with the Apocalypse or the War Scroll their strong eschatological tone.

The war of the Sons of Light against the Sons of Darkness is clearly conceived in 1QM as an eschatological war: a final cosmic confrontation of good and evil. The two sides of the battle are described in the opening lines of the scroll. On the side of the Sons of Darkness are the army of Belial, presumably made up of the troops of Edom, Moab, Ammon, Philistia, and of the Kittim of Ashur, who are “being helped by those who violate the covenant” (1QM 1.2). Thus the resistance of evil is equated to resistance of Israel’s neighbors—more specifically, to resistance of Israel’s historical enemies. This identification of Edom, Moab, Ammon, and Philistia in the second or first centuries BCE provides a clue that the War Scroll should be read mythologically. That is, whatever its historical context at the time of its writing, the conflict is thrown onto a cosmic, mythological screen.

The words of 1QM seem to belie the often-repeated description of the Essenes in Philo:

Among those men you will find no makers of arrows, or javelins, or swords, or helmets, or breastplates, or shields; no makers of arms or of military engines; no one, in short, attending to any employment whatever connected with war, or even to any of those occupations even in peace which are easily perverted to wicked purposes; for they are utterly ignorant of all traffic, and of all commercial dealings, and of all navigation, but they repudiate and keep aloof from everything which can possibly afford any inducement to covetousness.^{^[57]}

Josephus essentially agrees with Philo in his characterization of the Essenes as quietistic and peace-loving, although he does note that one Essene participated in the first revolt and assumed some military leadership.^{^[58]} Josephus also suggests that the Essenes were not pure pacifists in that they carried weapons on trips “for fear of thieves.”^{^[59]}

As Steve Mason has noted, Josephus’s lengthy introduction of the Essenes abruptly interrupts his account of Judas the Galilean, presumably to demonstrate that the rebel faction does not characterize the best or the center of Judaism:

Significantly, right where we might expect Josephus’ account of the Herodian princes’ governments, he inserts his lengthy account of the Essenes’ politically docile mode of life, in contrast to that of the rebel faction (2.118–166). This interlude is intended to divert the reader’s attention from the messy affairs of Judean politics, toward the philosophical heart and soul of Judaism.^{^[60]}

Among the better analyses of the witnesses of Philo and Josephus in light of the Scrolls themselves in the matter of non-retaliation is that of Gordon M. Zerbe.^{^[61]} Zerbe concludes that the Essenes placed a high valuation on non-retaliation, based on Lev 19:18 and 1 Sam 25:26-39. They interpreted Nah 1:2 as indicating that vengeance belongs to God alone (CD 9.5; cf. 1QS 10.18). Zerbe finds evidence for this in CD 9.2-10; 7.2-3; 8.5-6; 14.22; 1QS 7.8-9; and 10.20. The Qumran covenanters were not to take vengeance or to bear malice. The initiate was required to take a vow not to retaliate against anyone (1QS 10.17-18; 11.1-2). The initiate must also vow not to engage in legal dispute (byr) with outsiders until the Day of Vengeance (1QS 10.19 [// 4Q260 [4QS^f] 4.7-8]; cf. 1QS 9.16-17, 22-23; 1Q26 frg 1 line 8; but see also 1QH 10.14).^{^[62]} The dispute is God’s (cf. 1QM 4.12, where one of the banners is to read la byr: “[This is] God’s Dispute”).

On the other hand, the Qumran Community was fascinated with vengeance and encouraged and even required hatred of the Sons of Darkness (cf., e.g., 1QS 4.1; 9.16, 21-22; 1QH 4.24; 3.28; 6.10). Although the prohibition of retaliation was apparently warranted by their eschatological views, it is clear that the Qumran Community could not wait until their vengeance could be released in a satisfying way. 1QS 8.6-7 makes clear that the Community has a responsibility to wreak the vengeance of God in the eschaton. If this was the theological ethic of the majority of Essenes, it must have led to some cognitive dissonance as they nurtured a spirit of hatred against evil and against evildoers while maintaining a covenant of personal non-retaliation—and, at the same time, longing for the final day of judgment in which the Essenes would be let loose to avenge God’s justice upon all those Sons of Darkness! However, caution is warranted, since we do not have enough solid evidence to identify a monolithic attitude or ethic of the Essenes toward outsiders, let alone whether these were stable over the years or changed from century to century or from region to region.

As Otto Bauernfeind has noted, “In practice … it makes a great difference whether one takes to arms in the rank and file as in all other wars or whether it is expected that God or the Messiah will wage the war so directly that there is no place at all for the idea of human participation.”^{^[63]} The War Scroll is clear about this matter: the final eschatological battle will be a holy war in which the Sons of Light will participate, even if they refrain from retaliation in the meantime.

From 1975 to 1980, John J. Collins and Philip R. Davies carried on a quasi-conversation about dualism and eschatology in the Qumran War Scroll.^{^[64]} One of the points of contention between the two was the extent to which “the difference between the two books [Daniel and the War Scroll] in their basic conception of holy war … marks a highly important point of transition in the development of Jewish apocalyptic.”^{^[65]} Davies challenged Collins for having posited a linear development in “Jewish apocalyptic” that could be followed by means of Daniel and the War Scroll. In his 1979 reply to Davies, Collins clarified his position and expressly repudiated “the theory of a straight-line development of apocalyptic.”^{^[66]} Arguments about historical developments in theology are difficult enough without the knotty problems surrounding the composition history of the War Scroll, including deciding whether its first recension predates Daniel.^{^[67]} Furthermore, to posit such a development would require, for instance, that one decide whether 1QM 1, the column that most clearly betrays knowledge of Daniel, comes from the earliest or latest period in that composition’s history.^{^[68]}

There has been significant conversation about whether the war imagined in 1QM is a “utopian” projection or whether it describes an actual, usable manual.^{^[69]} Duhaime seems to reject the possibility of the real life-changing and world-creating power of “utopian” visions when he says that the War Scroll “could have been … a genuinely utopian product written for liturgical purposes or for personal meditation, and conveying the dreams and hopes of a community totally deprived of real power within the turmoil of events.”^{^[70]} Duhaime seems content with identifying the genre as “tactical treatise,” even if it is utopian in character. Similarly, Albert I. Baumgarten has recently suggested that tactical treatises need not be considered inimical to utopian literature, citing the example of the military plans of “cargo cults.”^{^[71]} (Cargo cults originated in Melanesia in the nineteenth century and are an example of non-Western millennial movements.)^{^[72]} And there is some evidence that in the complex history of composition, what may have begun as an actual tactical treatise used by the Maccabeans themselves became more dualistic and eschatological over time.^{^[73]}

In contrast to the hyper-realistic materialism that rejects any utopian vision as unrealistic, Brian K. Blount argues that language is potential. It creates choice and provides people with the opportunity to create meaning when performed.^{^[74]} Even a so-called utopian vision can transform society. The very categories used in the secondary literature on 1QM, for example, “authentic military textbook” vs. “utopian” or “unrealistic,” are highly problematic.^{^[75]} Much work needs to be done yet in examination of the “rhetoric” of the War Scroll. Such work must go beyond a narrow discussion of “genre” or “purpose” to investigate the “persuasive discourse” represented by the work and the interrelationship between the three.

4. Conclusion

In conclusion, not all literature for which identity as God’s people was central portrayed that identity primarily as a matter of resistance (e.g., 4QMMT, which nevertheless is keen to carve out a space for difference). And some books for which both resistance and identity were crucial concepts did not see the matter necessarily as an eschatological issue (e.g., 1 Maccabees).^{^[76]} I have argued that even with the so-called “pure” passive resistance model represented by Daniel, we actually have a clear call for an “active,” though nonviolent, resistance. Passivity should in most cases be associated with accommodationism—which rarely characterizes the literature of Early Judaism—rather than with resistance. This leaves us with various understandings of accommodationism, on the one hand, and various understandings or models of resistance on the other. The theology of active resistance witnessed to in 1 Maccabees is essentially non-eschatological and envisages human participation in resistance as marked by violence. The theology of active resistance witnessed to in the final form of the War Scroll envisages violent human participation in the eschatological battle. The theology of resistance witnessed to in Daniel and the Apocalypse is both eschatological and nonviolent with regard to the active human participation of the faithful. The primary difference, as Yarbro Collins has noted, is that Daniel does not view the active resistance of the faithful as “effective” in terms of contributing to the battle, whereas the Apocalypse—like the Assumption of Moses—does, insofar as it sees the victory of the faithful as participating in the eschatological victory. Worshiping the victorious Lamb provides a kind of realized eschatology to those who offer consistent resistance (u`pomonh,). Although Daniel and Revelation both have a strong eschatological emphasis, the believers in Revelation already celebrate Christ’s victory.

All of this suggests the existence of a rich and variegated debate or set of models in the literature of Second Temple Judaism regarding the ethical propriety of human participation in violent conflict. Understanding how this debate and these models developed in the emergence of early Christianity and rabbinic Judaism out of Second Temple Judaism would require a clearer understanding than we presently have of the roles played by the failed revolts against Rome in the first and second centuries CE, by the social location of Jewish communities both in Palestine and in the Diaspora, by the teachings of Jesus, and by the emerging self-definition of Judaism and Christianity over against each other. This is a broad research agenda and yet the importance of the subject matter involved—whether humans should participate in violence connected to religious pursuits and/or beliefs—indicates that it is a matter that not only deserves but requires our serious attention.