This book offers a modern attempt to reconstruct the historical Jesus as he would logically have been within the historical setting of first century Judaea, in particular attempting to rationalise and contextualise the parts of the New Testament most incongruent with the traditional view, arguing that the depiction we are more familiar with was a re-invention by the Romans after the conversion of Paul. Instead of being a peace-loving, apolitical spiritual leader, Aslan describes Jesus as “a zealous revolutionary swept up, as all Jews of the era were, in the religious and political turmoil of first-century Palestine…[he] bears little resemblance to the image of the gentle shepherd cultivated by the early Christian community”.

One element that I think Aslan’s detractors rightly criticise is the title: given the specific meaning of the word ‘zealot’ in this historical context, using this word as the title risks misleading anyone who already has any knowledge of this area of ancient history, and will be taken entirely differently by those who don’t have that background. The zealots of the first century AD were a Jewish sect that wanted a Messiah to establish world Jewish theocracy. Even if Aslan seeks to associate Jesus with this group, either as a fellow traveller or as a fully fledged member, he still uses it interchangeably with the adjective ‘zealous’, seemingly with its everyday meaning. Ultimately I have mixed feelings about this: I see how Jesus’ political leanings would fit in with the zealots, but we never see Jesus directly challenge Roman authority or instigate an uprising. It’s also hard to imagine a true zealot challenging Jewish authorities and scriptural traditions as Jesus did, though other ‘Messiah’ figures were known to do this.

Aslan lays out a perfectly reasonable case for his version of the historical Jesus, but I cannot consider it the definitive view. Traces of the ‘change in narrative’ he theorises are, of course, evident in the inconsistencies of the New Testament itself — though Jesus is generally depicted as a peaceful, philosophical figure, he does have occasional bursts of violence (most notably confronting the money changers [John 2:13-16], telling his disciples, if they don’t have a sword, to “sell their cloak and purchase one” [Luke 22:35-36], and the “I have come not to bring peace but a sword” speech [Matthew 10:34ff.; Luke 12:50ff]). Naturally these moments seem jarring and out of character to most readers, who will be more familiar with Jesus, the night he is arrested, saying to Peter, who draws his sword to slice off the ear of the high priest’s slave, that “those who live by the sword will die by the sword” (Matthew 26:52). This is more concordant with the conventional view of Jesus, but the contradiction with the passages above is obvious. Nor is this reading unique to Aslan: Miguel de la Torre, a Southern Baptist Minister and Professor of Social Ethics at Iliff School of Theology, has also
rejected the view of Jesus as a pacifist, arguing with regard to the latter passage that Jesus’ comment is directed at those arresting him. By extension, the Roman Empire also “lives by the sword” and will “perish by the sword” once the Jews finally come into their kingdom. I can also recall a sermon I received as a teenager in which our school’s Vice Chaplain argued that Christ’s famous “turn the other cheek” philosophy was actually one of passive resistance to Roman authority (a view apparently
first argued by biblical scholar Walter Wink), which politicises his words even if it’s impossible to imbibe them with any violent inclination. Some people will undoubtedly be more comfortable with such an interpretation, and it does help contextualise some stranger actions (for instance, when the tax collectors come around and Jesus tells Peter to catch a fish with a coin inside, paying the tax in money which smelt of fish [Matthew 17:27]), but frustratingly, the Jesus of the Gospels will frequently allude to such ideas of resistance against Roman oppression without making a direct judgement on the means of resistance. The statement that he has come “not to bring peace but a sword” doesn’t actually tell us much without the context of what he actually intended to manifest; it doesn’t state what he actually intended to do with this sword, beyond preparing for some kind of violence or confrontation which may only be meant in self-defence, meaning that the validity of Aslan’s conclusions remains ambiguous. I also think he exaggerates the discrepancies between the New Testament and (his version of) history in some cases: he frames Jesus’ political opposition to the Romans as a new revelation, but to me this seems pretty clear from the Gospel narratives, even if they only show it as the Romans’ impression of what was going on and don’t show Jesus actively claiming divinity or kingship.

Given Aslan’s explanation that the non-violent vision of Jesus is a Roman reimagining, the critical reader must also interrogate the portrayal of the Jews, since the idea that they were blamed for Jesus’ death and framed as his main enemies to strengthen the depoliticised narrative is key to this thesis. The Gospels say that the Jews delivered Jesus to the Roman authorities because they considered him a blasphemer, because he called himself the son of God (John 10:33). However, they also condemned him for his statements that only spiritual salvation through accepting him as saviour was necessary to follow him, which could perhaps be consistent with the idea that the peaceful view of Jesus is a Roman re-write, but if all this is revisionism then what was the motive for Jesus’ arrest in the first place? If he was not really a peaceful figure and presented as a more conventional Messiah, why did he apparently draw such animosity from his fellow Jews? Perhaps the real gripe was that he failed to fulfil the prophecies of the Tanakh and other scriptures, as is generally their objection to this day. According to Aslan, the real Pontius Pilate was a cruel man who was hostile to troublesome Jews, particularly the ‘Messiahs’ who sought to challenge Roman authority — his primary job as Governor of Judaea, after all, was to keep the peace in this unusually troublesome province. The problem with this interpretation is that it absolves the Jews of their responsibility for Jesus’ fate by framing them as being at odds with Pilate, which is not consistent with their portrayal within Aslan’s argument. I suppose Jesus’ violent language might have bothered Pilate, but the lack of actual violence exhibited afforded some level of ambivalence, which arguably brings us full circle to the Jews being (primarily) the ones threatened by Jesus because of his messianic claims, and ultimately the ones to bring him to his demise.

One of the more obvious issues with this reading is how Jesus predicts his own demise: he says that the world hates him, that he and his followers will suffer and be rejected, and that he will eventually be killed. This is obviously incongruent with the traditional idea of the Jewish messiah who will defeat the Romans and conquer the world. He is clearly more of a spiritual leader than a military one: his kingdom is not of this world. This contradicts Aslan’s view of Jesus as an earthly renegade, but it reflects Jesus’ intentions as we see them in the Gospels better than anything else. There are aspects that seem contradictory in how Jesus depicts himself as both leader and outsider, ruler and servant, but those apparent contrasts (rather than contradictions) in the roles Jesus is capable of fulfilling are integral to his character. Jesus is simultaneously human and divine, powerful and submissive, dead and risen — the liminality of Jesus is crucial to his mystery, and there is no need to ‘correct’ it.

Finally, there is the question of Aslan’s own agenda. He explains his own (short-lived) conversion to Christianity as a young man, and is presently a Muslim, but I don’t think either of these things should factor into a historically-based reconstruction of Jesus’ life and views — at least, not if that argument is to hold any water. Having read this book I don’t see any glaring evidence of authorial bias, and here I don’t think it’s the right question to ask. If Aslan has ulterior motives, they are more likely to be to provoke than proselytise — perhaps there’s a political agenda, but not a religious one. Personally, although I don’t necessarily agree with his conclusions, I appreciate his efforts to approach the subject from a fact-based perspective, and I think he has done so in good faith. However, Aslan himself admits in his discussion of Christ’s resurrection that, despite the story’s historical implausibility, it’s affecting to see how Jesus’ own followers, who knew him in life, were willing to die defending it — not just defending a fundamental piece of cultural myth-making like the Mediaeval saints, but in defence of a man they themselves had known, a man made God. It’s possible that Aslan’s political approach to this material has led him to see the story of Jesus in an overly political light, and to overlook the spiritual power that has made his story so enduring.