#interesting the use of the virgin Mary gives more credence to the idea her name was for religious reasons and not for Henry's sister | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gdelgiproducer · 4 years ago

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Speculation about an unusual birth

(Because “‘tis the season” and all that.)

In today’s episode of “Never Ask a Knowledgeable Atheist What He Thinks Really Happened”...

If the story of the birth of Jesus Christ has any truth to it, and if he really was the result of Mary getting pregnant without Joseph’s help, then it stands to reason that somebody had to be the daddy. Being an atheist, I rule out the presence of God, so the question is obvious: is there another candidate? Funnily enough, non-Christian sources from the second century do record an alternate father for the figure we call Jesus.

Now, granted, those sources were looking to counteract the already-popular “virgin birth” story, and they were often virulently anti-Christian, so they went for the most shameful possible alternatives in that day and age: stating that Mary was either assaulted by, or had an adulterous affair with, a soldier named Pantera, and that Jesus was the result.

This was so persistent that it leaked into the Talmud and medieval Jewish writings. Some sources, such as the Toledoth Yeshu, garbled this story a little, combining Pantera with Joseph and giving Mary another husband altogether who abandoned her after the baby daddy’s deception led to conception, but everybody ultimately comes down on 1) there was another father, and 2) his name was Pantera.

Christian Response

Christian apologists have had answers for this story almost since it began. Many otherwise reliable scholars argue that pantera is a pun on the Greek word parthenos (“virgin”) and not a real name; in other words, detractors were making fun of the idea of Jesus being the “son of a virgin” by called him the “son of a panther,” or a lusty animal. But it has zero historical or linguistic basis. As far back as 1906, Adolf Diessmann showed conclusively that the name “Pantera” is a real name, not unusual, and further that it was favored by Roman soldiers, who used it fairly commonly.

Other much earlier sources, Church Fathers apparently unaware of the parthenos pun hypothesis, decided that rather than ignore Pantera, whose story was evidently already very widespread, they’d hide him somewhere in Jesus’ genealogy and claim anti-Christian sources were mistaken. Epiphanius claimed that Joseph’s father’s surname was Pantera, which -- by his own admission -- would preserve the “virgin birth” he himself believed in and still make “Jesus, son of Pantera” technically accurate by that day’s standards. Someone else claimed Mary’s grandfather bore the name of “Pantera.” While either is certainly possible (the discovery of an ossuary with the name “Pentheros” in a Jewish first century tomb in Jerusalem by Clermont-Ganneau in 1891 has given us additional evidence that the name was in use in Palestine by Jews at the time), this smacks more -- at least to this reader -- of two attempts to make a square peg fit a round hole.

At the end of the day, we are left with “Jesus, son of Pantera.” This would be enough by itself, but we even have an existing candidate for exactly which soldier named “Pantera” laid the pipe. (And I say candidate only because the evidence is circumstantial at best; definitive proof does not exist.)

A Grave in Germany

In October 1859, during the construction of a railroad in Bingerbrück, Germany, tombstones for nine Roman soldiers were accidentally discovered. Among them was the memorial marker of one Tiberius Julius Abdes Pantera, a soldier of 40 years, former standard bearer for the First Cohort of Archers, who had died at the age of 62. (Presently, the marker resides at the Römerhalle museum in Bad Kreuznach, Germany.)

The Roman names speak for themselves -- both may have been given in recognition of serving in the army as he obtained Roman citizenship, with the particular significance of Tiberius being that Tiberius was the Caesar on the throne when Pantera was discharged, and so he’d have added the emperor’s name to his own when granted citizenship -- but “Abdes” is especially interesting. It seems to be the Latin form of an Aramaic name. (You know, the language Jesus and his fellow Jews spoke?) According to etymologists, Abdes comes from Ebed, which means “servant of God” in Aramaic.

I know what you’re thinking: “Why would a Roman have an Aramaic name?” Well, a lot of poor Jews and other impoverished men of Near Eastern cultures in that day, who for whatever reason could not find viable alternatives in their native place, would hire themselves out as mercenaries. Sometimes even to the hated Roman occupiers -- after all, if you hung around long enough, you got Roman citizenship and a pension in addition to your wages, which was no small reward in the days of the Empire.

Lending credence to this theory that Pantera wasn’t strictly Roman, according to his epitaph, he came from Sidon, on the coast of Phoenicia just west of Galilee (where, you’ll recall, Jesus is reported to have lived most of his life). More than that, based on the known movements of the First Cohort of Archers, they transferred from Palestine to Dalmatia in 6 AD, and to the Rhine in 9 AD. So Pantera was not only in Palestine at the right time for Jesus to be conceived, but he wasn’t Roman by birth; he enlisted locally, from an area close enough geographically that it’s even more possible he and Mary could have met.

Tiberius ruled from 14 AD to 37 AD. Pantera’s 40 years of service would therefore have started between 27 BC and 4 BC. As Pantera would probably have been about 18 when he enlisted, it means he was likely born between 45 BC and 22 BC. He could have been as young as 15 at the probable time of Jesus’ conception, which is worth noting because, from what we know of Jewish society back then, a boy would have been learning his trade by age 10, engaged at 13 (girls would typically be 12), and married by 14 (girls, 13); precocious and unconscionable by today’s standards, no doubt, but nonetheless the reality.

So... even absent definitive evidence, we have a viable candidate for the baby daddy -- right place, right time, right name, right age for things not to be icky, the kind of background where he and Mary could conceivably have met. But what about the stories of assault and illegitimacy?

Possible Explanations

Well, let’s look at what we know about Jewish culture at the time and speculate a little based on that:

This was a patriarchal culture where, as Fiddler on the Roof puts it, marriage was decided by the papas.

Sex outside of marriage was frowned upon. Shit, women were called whores just for getting divorced. (An echo of this exists even in Jesus’ own Sermon on the Mount, where divorce for any reason other than marital unfaithfulness is considered blameworthy.)

When tax collectors were being excoriated as traitorous collaborators by their fellow countrymen, imagine how much worse you’d get it if you slept with a Jew who went on to become a soldier in the Roman army. Why, the man himself, regardless of any lover or wife, might be disowned, a practice whereby parents considered their child dead and observed the traditional seven days of mourning.

Continuing on that seeming tangent from the last bullet point, if a man died without having children, Mosaic law held that his brother was responsible for marrying his widowed sister-in-law and continuing the family line in his brother’s name. So if a disowned son “died” without having children, well... maybe his brother had to pay for that choice.

Based on that, and sprinkling in a little long-standing Catholic tradition which portrays Joseph as an old widower (bearing in mind that many people in Jesus’ day didn’t live past 40, so even approaching one’s late thirties was considered “old”), I think I have an interesting idea about what went down.

All of it is speculation. Every single bit of it. But isn’t it funny how it basically aligns with recorded tradition, even in the Bible and apocrypha, when you strip out the supernatural elements? (Okay, that’s a little strong, but, I mean, it’s not a huge stretch. It lines up.)

My Interesting Idea

Meet Miriam. a young teen by today’s standards. Like any other young teen at any time in recorded history, she’s a force of nature, with hormones and with emotions so powerful they shock even her. (Healthy teenage development can look pretty irrational. A minor annoyance can turn into an emotional earthquake that knocks everyone in the house off balance. Not much has changed.)

Meet Ebed. Maybe he and Miriam have known each other their entire lives; maybe he’s new in town and just cute enough to catch her eye. He has ambition. He feels he isn’t destined to stay in some obscure backwater, and he wants to make something of himself. More than that, he’s hungry. But odd jobs aren’t cutting it. If he puts his foot forward to betroth Miriam, her father will laugh in his face. In their time and place, marriages are arranged, and he has nothing to offer.

If anything, Miriam’s father is more interested in his older brother, Yosef, a widower. Being a tekton (often translated as “carpenter,” but more accurately a stonemason or architect) making decent money from Herod and Rome reconstructing Palestine in their image, he’d be a sound choice for her future. So she wants the brother, big deal -- what say does she have in the matter? It’s the same family. She’ll see him all the time!

One day, Ebed -- whose name I’ll remind you means “servant of God” (those Christian mystics do say the Lord works in mysterious ways, don’t they) -- visits Miriam with his usual flattering words. She knows something’s up. He tells Miriam that he’s found a way out, a way to make his mark on the world, but while it can provide for the two of them, it will expose them to shame and disgrace forever, and there’s even less chance her father will think their betrothal is a good idea. Namely, he’s joining the First Cohort of Archers. Knowing what this will mean for their relationship, even though she has known no man in the biblical sense (which makes her reluctant at first), she ultimately accepts a “proper goodbye.” Unfortunately for Miriam, in her time, place, and circumstance anyway, she was left with a reminder of his love. And the minute she knows she’s pregnant, she runs off to hang with her cousin, who just got pregnant herself under equally unusual circumstances. Running to visit a cousin in the same shape? Sounds like someone who was scared, or needed advice or time to think about what to do.

(Note that all of the above, once you strip out the supernatural angle and added frippery, is exactly what’s in the Gospel of Luke: a servant of God visits Mary with words of flattery, “tells her she’ll have a child” [I mean, he even says the Holy Spirit will “come upon her,” and don’t criticize me for my dirty mind, men considered it a divine mandate to spread their seed based on the early chapters of Genesis, whether they were consciously setting out to do that or not], she is reluctant at first but ultimately accepting of this “news,” and she immediately goes to visit her mysteriously pregnant cousin. Honestly none of this is especially different from the Bible when you remove your rose-colored glasses.)

While Miriam is off with her cousin Elisheba, her father makes the choice he’d already set his mind upon anyway, especially in light of Ebed running off to join the Romans, being disowned, and permanently taking himself out of the game (as it were): she will be pledged to Yosef. Since Ebed is now “dead,” maybe he can use his word -- the final word -- to persuade Miriam that her marriage fulfills the Law, and her children with Yosef will be Ebed’s. It’s technically not true in the least, but men thank God in prayer every morning that they were not born women and a common saying is that the Law should sooner be burnt than placed in female hands, so she won’t know the difference anyway, and if she shoots her mouth off, no one will pay it any mind, as she’s a woman.

As for Yosef’s feelings on the subject, arranged betrothals are just the way things are done. He knows his brother loved Miriam, and he feels bad, but honoring him by marrying her is what tradition dictates. He’s getting older (at least by that day’s standards), he’s been around the block once; even if he never truly loves this woman, at least there will be someone to come home to.

Word arrives at Elisheba’s: “You are betrothed to Yosef. Get back here. It’s been three months.” Now, what does Miriam do in that situation? Deciding never to return wouldn’t just disgrace her; it would put Yosef in the middle of things and leave a black mark on his reputation. Whatever she feels about him, she knows he doesn’t deserve that. So naturally, with no other choice, she goes home.

Imagine Yosef’s reaction when she turns out to be with child (from, y’know, a “servant of God,” which tradition may later call the Holy Spirit to obscure things), and throws herself on his mercy. I’d say what the Gospel of Matthew (1:18-19) says happened next wouldn’t be exactly inaccurate: “His mother Mary was pledged to be married to Joseph, but before they came together, she was found to be pregnant [...] Joseph her husband was faithful to the law, and yet did not want to expose her to public disgrace...”

Morally torn, Yosef thinks to himself, “The Law calls for her to be stoned, but I’ve already lost one wife to Sheol. If all men call me cursed, that could hurt my chances if I ever put myself on the line for betrothal again. I could break the engagement quietly, but if I didn’t marry her, people would speculate. She might bear shame and disgrace anyway. This isn’t worth the mishegas, for either of us.”

And the angel in him, if you will, won out. Maybe he’d never be what Ebed was to her; maybe he could never ask her to love him. But the child would need a father, and she would need someone to care for her, even if only to cover her shame. Who knows? It could be a blessing in disguise.

In Miriam’s shoes, I’d be grateful. Maybe even have at least four other kids with him down the line (see Mark 6:3).

It’s all just speculation, but what if...?

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