Decoding Mark’s Messianic Secret with Georg Simmel

Abstract

This article examines the messianic secret in the Gospel of Mark, considering the paradigm shift within New Testament Studies, according to which the New Testament is to be regarded as part of Second Temple Judaism’s textual corpus, while viewing it against the backdrop of the First Jewish-Roman war. It draws on Georg Simmel’s Sociology of Secrecy, which remains a cornerstone text for theorizing secrecy, and ties in with Gerd Theißen’s thirty-year-old socio-epistemic attempt at an overall interpretation of the messianic secret in the Gospel of Mark. This article shows that a (messianic) secret must be explosive, as it certainly was in the context of Josephus’s war report, and seeks to reconstruct it for the Markan text in a historically plausible way, incorporating particularly Simmel’s distinction between relative and absolute secret. An introduction (sec. 1) is followed by methodological considerations (sec. 2) and a presentation of the historical events with particular focus on the topic of secrecy (sec. 3); together, these form the basis for a systematic analysis of the Markan secret (sec. 4). The investigation is rounded off with a summary and conclusion (sec. 5).

Introduction ¹

The news in September 2024 that thousands of pagers and walkie-talkies belonging to suspected Hezbollah leaders had exploded simultaneously came as a bolt from the blue, not only because of the sophistication of the covert operation, which was attributed to Israeli intelligence, but also because of the casualties it caused, not to mention the unpredictable consequences it had for the balance of power in the Middle East. This event made it abundantly clear that secrecy has a constitutive place in warfare and the military.

Secrecy has a constitutive place too in cultural products that reflect reality or grapple with it, such as the performing arts or literature. This is also true for the Gospel of Mark, and even more so since, almost 125 years ago, William Wrede identified the secret as a central theme of the oldest Gospel in his groundbreaking book The Messianic Secret (1901, trans. 1971). Wrede’s thesis was—as is well known—almost unanimously rejected, but regardless of this, the topic remained of interest and led to research in this field that extends to the present. While the dominant approaches to the topic in the 20th century were the tradition- and redaction-historical, theological, and pragmatic ones (e.g., Beck 2010), in the 21st century they are the sociological and religious-historical (e.g., Yarbro Collins 2022; Wick 2023: 263–337), especially the narratological (e.g., Malbon 2015; Du Toit 2017; Van Oyen 2019), moreover the rhetorical (e.g., Steele 2012), genre-critical (e.g., Wright 2020), cultural-anthropological (e.g., Watson 2010), ² and political ones (e.g., Theißen 1995; Liew 2016). Among the exegetes listed, however, only Gerd Theißen has attempted to interpret the messianic secret of Mark explicitly in a political-military context, namely against the backdrop of the First Jewish-Roman War, and he did so by employing Sociology of Knowledge.

Much has happened since the publication of Theißen’s article thirty years ago, while paradigm shifts in the discipline have taken place. Worth mentioning here is the extensive and wide-ranging discussion of the ‘Parting of the Ways’, which has shown that Christianity can hardly have developed from Judaism as an independent religion as early as the 1st century (e.g., Boyarin 1999; Dunn 2019; Schröter et al. 2021; Tiwald and Öhler 2024). Consequently, New Testament texts are now increasingly understood as belonging to Second Temple Judaism, and in the context of this new interpretative framework, its texts and authors, including their narrative actors and themes, but also questions related to addressees, place, or dating, are receiving fresh attention. This has also left its traces on Markan research, and reading the oldest Gospel within Judaism is currently enjoying great interest. ³ Moreover, Theißen’s (1999) suggestion to read Mark as a counter-gospel to the rise of the Flavians proved to be groundbreaking, paving the way for a new branch of research within Markan scholarship which reads this Gospel against the backdrop of the First Jewish-Roman War.

I have also contributed to this branch of research with various publications, most notably with the comprehensive monograph Christus Militans (2016), in which I examined inter alia Mark’s genre (resistance literature), place of composition (Rome), and time of writing (after 71 CE) as well as an appropriate methodology (political-military), with particular reference to the First Jewish-Roman war, based on historical and military sources, above all Josephus’s war account.

In this article, I elaborate on Mark’s messianic secret, building on my preliminary work and considering the aforementioned paradigm shift, starting with Theißen’s attempt and taking into account the latest research literature on Mark, which reads the Gospel against the backdrop of the First Jewish-Roman War. In other words, I locate the secret—as Theißen does—in the political-military sphere, but in an updated fashion.

In the next section, immediately following this introduction, I reflect on methodology. In doing so, I acknowledge Theißen’s socio-epistemic approach, but show that, regarding the topic of secrecy, Georg Simmel’s Sociology of Secrecy represents the more sophisticated theoretical model, which offers a more suitable interpretative tool for systematic analysis. In the subsequent section, I recapitulate the historical situation of the Jews as described by Josephus and explain that here, too, a ‘messianic’ secret played a central role, albeit one that was diametrically opposed to the Jews’ quest for independence. In the succeeding section, after discussing the latest trends in Markan scholarship that reads the Gospel against the backdrop of the First Jewish-Roman War, I analyze the Markan text, understood as ‘within Judaism’ through Simmel’s lens, and reconstruct, in light of historical events, what the evangelist might have meant and intended with the messianic secret in the context of a military conflict. My exploration ends with a summary, explicating my contribution to Markan scholarship, and a closing conclusion.

Let us begin with the methodology, starting with a presentation and critical appraisal of Theißen’s socio-epistemic attempt, before moving on to Simmel’s Sociology of Secrecy and then to a presentation of the methodology I am employing here.

Methodology: From Sociology of Knowledge to Sociology of Secrecy

Theißen and Sociology of Knowledge

Theißen begins his remarks by stating that when a great and controversial statesman has died, some of his followers most likely will play politics with the secrets of the deceased. By invoking previously secret and unknown statements, intentions, and events from the life of the deceased, followers evidently fight for influence in the public realm. This reveals a pragmatic function of secrecy motifs, according to Theißen (1995: 225). Since a series of secrecy motifs can also be found in the Gospel of Mark, Theißen formulates his initial question as follows (1995: 225): ‘With the distribution of knowledge in early Christianity, was “politics” being done too?’ This question, which is based on the Sociology of Knowledge, sets the direction of Theißen’s method in what follows.

With regard to the community situation, Theißen relies on the one point on which, as he says (1995: 226), there is consensus in research, namely that the Christian groups in Syria or Rome behind the Gospel of Mark were in a difficult situation related to the Jewish-Roman war. They were caught between the two fronts of Jews and Gentiles, which is why they were threatened with persecution and martyrdom.

After these introductory thoughts, Theißen sets out in the first section to explain the findings of the secrecy motifs (1995: 226–28). In doing so, he follows the four secrecy motifs that have been distinguished since Wrede and Ulrich Luz: the person secret of Jesus (Persongeheimnis), the incomprehension of the disciples (Jüngerunverständnis), the secret teachings of Jesus (Geheimlehren Jesu), and the miracle secret (Wundergeheimnis). Theißen sees an objective relationship between the secrecy motifs in the fact that in each case a boundary is drawn between those who know the secret and those who do not know it, that is, between insider and outsider groups (1995: 228–29). But the distribution of knowledge between them is not clear, because in some cases, outgroups can gain secret knowledge, and in other cases, ingroups exclude themselves from understanding of the secret.

After analyzing the compositional relationship between the secrecy motifs, Theißen turns in the second section to three alternatives for their interpretation from the long history of research (1995: 230–31). First, he considers the prominent question of whether the secrecy motifs pertain to tradition or redaction. Second, whether they constitute a unified theory or a loose bundle of motifs. And third, whether they were intended as a remembrance of the historical Jesus or as a stimulus for community life. Theißen takes a position and sides with redaction, unity, and stimulus, opting for a paraenetic interpretation regarding the latter (1995: 231–33).

In the third and final section Theißen attempts a new overall interpretation of the secrecy motifs, based on two basic ideas (1995: 234): First, the content of a secret must be explosive, in the sense that it would incur sanctions if it became public, which is why every secret is a protective secret, and its disclosure would potentially be a threat. And second, there would have to be a correspondence between the textual world and the social world, so that the actors appearing in the textual world could be possible figures of identification for the reader (1995: 234).

After Theißen has applied his approach to the four secrecy motifs, he summarizes his findings as follows:

All four forms of the Markan secrecy motifs … indirectly present the situation of the Markan community in the form of a narrative of Jesus and his gradually revealed identity and endangerment. The community is allowed to ‘follow’ Jesus in the sense that it can initially remain ‘secret’ with a clear conscience. Their ‘deeds’ become known, but their actual identity is protected by the secret. In the long term, however, it is inevitable that Christians will publicly confess their identity and, like Jesus, risk martyrdom. … The motifs of secrecy thus have a pragmatic function for the community (1995: 244, translation mine).

One of the few who had paid attention to Theißen’s article on the secret in Mark was Adela Yarbro Collins, first in her essay ‘Messianic Secret and the Gospel of Mark’, which appeared four years later (1999, repr. 2022), and then in her commentary on Mark (2007). Here she acknowledged Theißen on the one hand for his sociological approach, which could lend unity to the topic, but at the same time she criticized it as too simplistic (2022: 115; 2007: 171). In her own analysis, she favoured a comparative history of religions approach over sociology (2022: 115; 2007: 171).

While I agree with Yarbro Collins’s assessment, I believe that Theißen’s approach deserves a more detailed appraisal. First, against the backdrop of the extensive research history, it makes sense and is worthy of support to opt for the view that the Markan secret is editorial, forms a unity, and represents a paraenetic stimulus. Second, the adoption of the four motifs also makes sense, but the secret is not limited to the religious, rather it extends also into the social, political, and military spheres. Third, useful too is the observation that secrecy is about the distribution of secret knowledge that must be explosive, which is why the secret has a protective function. Fourth, likewise helpful is the notion that the distribution of secret knowledge takes place between a group of insiders and a group of outsiders, with the boundary between the two being permeable. And fifth, there is a correspondence between the textual and the real world.

But what would a ‘more sophisticated sociological model’, in the words of Yarbro Collins, look like? Here it is worth casting a glance at religious studies, which has dealt with the theory of secrecy in greater depth. It quickly becomes apparent that the three most recent anthologies on the subject of secrecy, published by scholars of religion, uniformly rely on Simmel (1858–1918). One is the anthology edited by Hans G. Kippenberg and Guy G. Stroumsa, Secrecy and Concealment (1995), in which Theißen published his essay. The other is the anthology edited by Elliot R. Wolfson, Rending the Veil (1999), the volume in which Yarbro Collins first published her essay. And the most recent one is the anthology edited by Hugh B. Urban and Paul Christopher Johnson, The Routledge Handbook of Religion and Secrecy (2022). In their introduction, the editors make the summary statement that there is now ‘a large body of fine scholarship on religious secrecy’, contributed from numerous disciplines, such as sociology, anthropology, ethnography, and esotericism, alongside religious studies (2022: 7), a wide range that could easily be extended to include other relevant fields of research, such as political or military science. Reading this volume, it is noticeable that all of its authors draw on Simmel’s article ‘The Sociology of Secrecy and of Secret Societies’, published in 1906. ⁴ Since there is no equivalent in sociology, it is understandable that in their introduction the editors of this volume still regard this much-praised text by one of the co-founders of formal sociology as the ‘cornerstone text for theorizing secrecy’ (2022: 7). When it comes to the secret, then, there seems to be no way around Max Weber’s contemporary and friend, Simmel.

Simmel and Sociology of Secrecy

Interest and Definition

Anyone interested in Simmel’s theory of secrecy would be well advised, however, not to rely solely on his cornerstone text, but also on Brigitta Nedelmann’s essay ‘Geheimhaltung, Verheimlichung, Geheimnis’, published in the volume edited by Kippenberg and Stroumsa (1995; cf. Wick 2023: 30–33), in which she helpfully systematizes Simmel’s complex theory. She shows that Simmel’s interest in the secret was particularly inspired by his observation that, among other things, the secret brings about social positivity. Simmel was not being naive, as he was well aware of the difference between sensitive secrecy and malicious concealment (Nedelmann 1995: 15–16); but apart from the ethically potentially problematic aspects, it was important to him to show that the social positivity of secrecy manifests itself in social productivity, to such an extent that Simmel went so far as to claim that secrecy is ‘one of humanity’s greatest accomplishments’ (1906: 462).

The full significance of this sentence is not yet apparent in Simmel’s relatively general definition of the secret, manifesting itself ‘through negative or positive means of concealment’ (1906: 462), but it is all the more apparent when we look at social interactions. Before we get to the specifics, a word about universal aspects of the secret society that, according to Simmel, always apply.

Universal Aspects

First, secrecy is universal: ‘Secrecy is a universal sociological form …’, Simmel contends (1906: 463). Second, secrecy has the propensity to create a parallel world with its reciprocal influence: ‘Secrecy secures, so to speak, the possibility of a second world alongside of the obvious world, and the latter is most strenuously affected by the former’ (1906: 462). Third, there is a correlation between secrecy and despotism:

As a general proposition, the secret society emerges everywhere as correlate of despotism and of police control. It acts as protection alike of defense and of offense against the violent pressure of central powers. This is true, not alone in political relations, but in the same way within the church, the school, and the family (1906: 472).

Fourth, from this Urban and Johnson deduce the value of secrecy as an effective means not only of protection but also of resistance (2022: 5):

Secrecy has been as important to resistance movements and to the marginalized as to the enforcers. As a kind of ‘hidden transcript’, ⁵ secrecy can also serve as an effective ‘art of resistance’ or ‘weapon of the weak’ wielded by dissident, deviant, or disenfranchised social groups.

Actors

Let us turn to the particulars, focusing on political-military constellations. According to Simmel, every secret society consists of at least three actors, that is, at least one secret-bearer, one secret-receiver, and an excluded third party. The underlying situation is thus always triadic.

This constellation results in the typical triadic interaction model, that is, the secret-bearer shares a secret with the secret-receiver, which connects the two. The shared secret must be defended by the two against the outside third party, the more strongly the more explosive it is, which results in social activities both internally and externally. But as soon as the third party learns of the (explosive) secret and its exclusion, it activates its social counteractivities directed against the two secret-bearers.

The social counteractivities of the third party pose a constant danger for the two secret-bearers, because the excluded party can gain access to the desired secret by undermining the external activities of the two secret-bearers, or it can be gained through the initiative of a secret-bearer who decides to betray (Nedelmann 1995: 1).

Secret

As for the secret itself, Nedelmann provides a helpful distinction by showing that Simmel indirectly distinguished between the ‘relative secret’ and the ‘absolute secret’ (1995: 3–4). By absolute secret, Simmel means that which a secret-bearer chooses not to share with anyone. He or she renounces the prestige and power that go hand in hand with the knowledge of an important secret, and at most is content with social compensation for outsiders. According to Simmel, absolute secrets therefore hardly generate any social activities. The situation is quite different with relative secrets, where knowledge seeps out through the defended boundary to a lesser or greater extent.

Actions

According to Nedelmann, Simmel’s relative secret thus unfolds in three types of social action: ‘secrecy’ inwards, ‘concealment’ outwards, and ‘disclosure’ by third parties.

Action 1 – Secrecy

Keeping a secret, that is, ‘secrecy’, is an ‘appeal’ per se, and in Simmel’s view, this is ‘of purely social derivation, which is in principle quite independent of its casual content, but is naturally heightened in the degree in which the exclusively possessed secret is significant and comprehensive’ (1906: 464–65).

Accordingly, a secret shared and hidden from others creates a strong bond among those in the know and elevates them to an exceptional position. This bond, which can also include competition, results in ‘internal activities’, such as verbal (secret language) or non-verbal activities (gestures, codes), intra-communication or the development of certain ‘techniques’.

But the bonds and their cultural superstructure are, according to Simmel (1906: 465–66), always in danger due to the logical contrast to the appeal, as ‘[s]ecrecy also is sustained by the consciousness that it might be exploited, and therefore confers power to modify fortunes, to produce surprises, joys, and calamities, even if the latter be only misfortunes to ourselves’. The relationship between the secret-bearers is thus always characterized by this ‘inner tension or instability’, which is based on the paradox of attractiveness through exclusivity and the attractiveness caused by betrayal (Nedelmann 1995: 5–6).

Action 2 – Concealment

Since every secrecy tends to develop from a relationship between two parties into a relationship between three, the activity of ‘concealment’ arises, that is, the secret-bearers acting in alignment with a third party to exclude them from participating in the secret. The internal activities of secrecy are now joined by the ‘external activities’ of concealment, which Simmel called the ‘aggressive defense against the third party’. Its goal is to distinguish between the secret-bearers and the uninitiated third party and to erect a barrier between them.

Like internal activities, external ones also require ‘techniques’ such as omission and avoidance, lying and falsifying, or withholding and destroying. These can also apply to the people themselves who bear the secrets, camouflage as it were, such as hiding and disguising, masking and concealing, or distorting and mutilating.

Finally, concealment also includes ‘social compensation’, that is, activities in which, for example, a third-party is accorded special treatment out of a sense of guilt, such as thoughtfulness, tenderness, indulgence, or selflessness, which they would never have benefited from, had complete transparency prevailed (Nedelmann 1995: 6–7).

Action 3 – Disclosure

The interaction triad that is typical of secrecy is only complete when the third party excluded from it acts in alignment with the secret-bearers and makes the ‘revelation’ of the secret their goal. The development of such disclosure activities is linked to at least three prerequisites: The third party must know, first, that a secret exists at all; second, who the bearers of this secret are; and third, that he or she is not just anyone, but someone who is excluded from the secret.

The third-party will attempt to break through the barrier that the secret-bearers have erected between themselves and him or her by means of aggressive defence through ‘aggressive offense’. Like the former, the latter requires ‘techniques’, such as observing and intercepting internal communications, camouflage and infiltration or capture and incitement to defect. These investigation activities can be practiced on an amateurish level all the way up to a systematic exposure activity as a journalist, detective or secret service agent.

This makes it clear that the triadic interaction model is characterized not only by an internal instability, but also by an ‘external and thus double instability’ (Nedelmann 1995: 8–9).

Because the power struggle between aggressive defence and aggressive offense also tends to escalate into an arms race, Simmel sees a way to protect against the danger posed by the inherent double instability, in the professionalization as well as institutionalization of the actors involved. Effective defence and offense can only be achieved by strengthening, or, in Simmel’s words, the ‘socialization (Vergesellschaftung)’ of the loose groups (Nedelmann 1995: 9–11).

Relevance of Simmel’s Theoretical Model

Simmel’s sociology of secrecy is not only relevant but, in my opinion, also well suited to analyzing the Markan secret, which is why what follows is adapted for use in Mark’s analysis below. In comparison with Theißen, his central points once again:

1. The secret is universal and is not limited to the religious nor social; it extends into the political (with Theißen) and with that potentially also into the military, since, to quote the much-cited phrase of the famous military theorist Carl von Clausewitz, ‘war is politics by other means’ (2008 [1832]: 44, translation mine; beyond Theißen).

2. When it comes to the secret, it is important to distinguish between absolute and relative secrets (beyond Theißen).

3. The secret tends to create parallel worlds (including textual ones), which cannot exist independently of the manifest one and are thus connected to it (with Theißen) and moreover influence it (beyond Theißen).

4. The secret shows a correlation to despotism, which can result in war (with Theißen).

5. The secret thus serves as an instrument of self-protection (with Theißen), but also of resistance (beyond Theißen).

6. The secret society consists of three groups of actors and is thus triadic and not dyadic (beyond Theißen); moreover it is necessary to differentiate further within the groups according to situation, constellation, and dynamics (with Theißen).

7. The relative secret generates three types of actions (beyond Theißen) without which the secret cannot be understood. This shows that the identity of the secret-bearer is not the only essential thing, but also what the three actors do with their respective activities.

8. The leakage of secret information from the internal group to the external group is never barely exceptional, but integral (beyond Theißen).

9. The secret society is thus characterized by a dual tension and instability, of which betrayal is a constitutive part (beyond Theißen).

10. The power struggle, manifesting itself in the three types of actions and border crossings, results in socialization as a by-product (beyond Theißen).

Before applying Simmel’s theory to Mark’s text, let us briefly recall the historical circumstances of the Jews as (subjectively) described by Josephus, while selectively drawing on ancient military theorists. In the face of Roman oppression, the main quest of the Jews was for political autonomy in connection with a centuries-old promise of a messianic liberator. This prophetic promise was also important to Josephus, but much to the dismay of his fellow countrymen, he interpreted it in a secretive and completely undesirable manner (cf., e.g., Gelardini 2016: 583–883).

History: Struggle for Political Autonomy in Relation to a Messianic Savior

Prehistory

Under the Hasmoneans, the Jews had attained political autonomy for the second time in their history. Internal disputes, however, had weakened them, and the rising Rome was able to exploit this weakness. Pompey the Great subjugated them in 63 BCE on his triumphal march through the East. Rome granted the Jews partial autonomy, but the establishment of a client kingdom in the person of the Hellenophile non-Jew Herod the Great in 37 BCE was perceived by many Jews as alien. One of the main reasons for this was that it was difficult for them to accept the loss of the promised land to the emperor, to whom Judea belonged personally from Augustus on (cf., e.g., Cassius Dio, Hist. 53.12). The desire for independence first gained ground after Herod’s death in 4 BCE, when—while Herod’s sons, Archelaus and Antipas, fought a succession dispute in Rome—Judea broke away from Rome under the leadership of three royal-messianic pretenders, Judas, Simon and Athrongeus. Their ambitions were quickly dashed by the governor of Syria, Varus (Josephus, B.J. 1.31–670; 2.1–79).

As for the inheritance dispute, Augustus did indeed allocate the intended land to the three heirs—to Archelaus Judea with Samaria and Idumea, to Antipas Galilee and Perea, and to Philip the Gaulanitis—but contrary to Herod’s wish, not under a unifying kingship of Archelaus, to whom he instead only granted the title of ethnarch over the other two as tetrarchs. In combination with the inheritance dispute, this decision weakened the country’s internal cohesion in the long term, according to Josephus, and completely undermined it when Archelaus was banished for tyranny in 6 CE and his territory, including the capital Jerusalem and its temple, fell under Roman procuratorate. Taking advantage of the power vacuum, Jews in Archelaus’s region once again revolted against Rome, this time under the leadership of the founder of the Zealot party named Judas (Josephus, B.J. 2.80–166).

Judaea was united for the last time under the kingship of a Herodian, Agrippa I, who under Caligula in 34 CE inherited the territory of the deceased Philip and in 39 CE additionally the territories of the exiled Antipas. In 41 CE, Claudius then granted him the entire territory of his grandfather Herod as king, which, however, lasted only briefly, until his death in 44 CE. Since his son Agrippa II was still too young at the time, Judea again fell under Roman procuration. It was only after the death of his uncle Herod in 48 CE, to whom Claudius had given the kingdom of Chalkis, that Claudius transferred the same, enlarged to include the Gaulanitis, to his nephew Agrippa II, combined with the supervision of the Jerusalem temple. This did not make him the political king of all Jews, but their religious leader until the war. Agrippa II, the last of the Herodians involved, died in 92/93 CE (Josephus, B.J. 2.167–223).

While the country’s fortunes remained relatively calm under the first procurators sent by Claudius, unrest arose under Cumanus (45–52 CE) and increased under Felix (52–60 CE), not least due to the flare-up of ethnic tensions in the administrative city of Caesarea Maritima, from which, among others, a new group—the Sicarii—emerged. The critical situation worsened under the first two procurators sent by Nero, Porcius Festus (60–62 CE) and Lucceius Albinus (62–64 CE), and according to Josephus escalated completely under the third and last, the warmonger Gessius Florus (64–66 CE). Not only did he further fuel the ethnic tensions in Caesarea, but he also plundered the temple treasure, and in connection with his looting of the upper market, had innocent citizens illegally crucified. Protests on the part of the Jews met with no success, for neither the efforts of Agrippa II’s sister Berenice nor reports from the Jews to the governor of Syria, Cestius, who was in charge over Judea, bore fruit. Neither did the appeals to Agrippa II himself, who instead warned them against defecting and made it clear that he would side with the Romans if they did so (Josephus, B.J. 2.223–404).

When Agrippa advised the Jews to endure Florus a little longer, this was the last straw for the supporters of war, and they took matters into their own hands. At the forefront was Manaem, the son of a Zealot, with the Sicarii and Eleazar, the captain of the temple guard, who not only stopped the sacrifice of the emperor at the temple but also caused the murder of Roman soldiers in Jerusalem. To make matters worse, at the same time the Greek-born inhabitants of Caesarea attacked their Jewish neighbours and murdered all 20,000 of them. This unprecedented crime, committed under the very eyes of Florus, according to Josephus, led to the Jews taking revenge on their Greek neighbours throughout the country and beyond, whereupon the Greeks in turn responded with retaliation, so that the entire region was in turmoil, all the way to Alexandria (Josephus, B.J. 2.405–498).

First Campaign

It was the task of the governor of Syria to regain control of the unrest and to quell the revolt of the Jews. So Cestius set out from Antioch in 66 CE with some of his legions and allies and invaded Galilee, made his way to Casarea, and from there headed straight to Jerusalem. Once arrived, he besieged the capital, but after a while, for unfathomable reasons—according to Josephus—gave up and retreated to his camp on the Scopus. Encouraged by his unexpected withdrawal, the rebels pursued the retreating Romans, killing not only many of them, but also returning to Jerusalem with rich booty (Josephus, B.J. 2.499–555).

In Jerusalem, the insurgents brought those well-disposed toward the Romans over to their side and, in a meeting on the temple court, appointed further generals to defend the country against the returning Romans. It is here that Josephus, the priest and member of the Jerusalem elite, presents himself as appearing on the world stage for the first time. As the newly appointed general of Galilee, he was to prepare for battle in the strategically important part of the country where the Romans, marching from Syria, would first invade upon their return (Josephus, B.J. 2.556–568). The Jews thus seem to have been aware of the Romans’ tendency to want to correct their military mistakes (cf. Josephus, B.J. 3.98–101), something that the military theorist Onasander, writing at the same time, confirms (Strat. 36.3; cf. Vegetius, Mil. 3.25).

Second Campaign and Josephus’s Secret Prediction

The commander-in-chief of the Roman army at the time of Cestius’s defeat was Nero, and he would never dream of giving Cestius another chance. Instead, he offered the opportunity to his loyal follower Vespasian, whose knighthood and age made Nero confident—according to Josephus—that he could and would not undermine his claim to power. Vespasian set out immediately with his son Titus, and after the obligatory sacrifices before the campaign (cf. Onasander, Strat. 5.1), he arrived as the new governor in Syria to march from Antioch against Judaea in the year 67 CE, this time with twice as many soldiers and allies—Agrippa II included (Josephus, B.J. 3.1–8).

Meanwhile, especially at the two most strategically important locations in Judea, Ananos in Jerusalem and Josephus in Galilee prepared for the return of the Romans by drafting those capable of bearing arms and preparing them for battle as best they could, as well as reinforcing and repairing damaged fortifications and weapons. But both faced rivals whom the Romans were to consider the main culprits after the war, Ananos Simon ben Giora, and Josephus John of Gischala (Josephus, B.J. 2.569–654).

The news of Vespasian’s arrival had an effect even before he reached Galilee, allowing the pro-Roman factions to breathe a sigh of relief while throwing the war-willing into a state of shock. It soon became clear that the fortunes of war would not favour Josephus, since important forces and resources had been depleted in a futile rivalry against John of Gischala, so that even before Vespasian’s troops appeared in Galilee, all of Josephus’s soldiers had deserted. Left to his own devices, he had no choice but to flee, so he entrenched himself in the well-fortified and hard to access location of Jotapata. But even in Jotapata, Josephus was not safe from Vespasian’s long arm. After a defector had betrayed him to the Romans, Vespasian marched against Jotapata despite the adverse terrain. Under siege, Josephus seems to have put up a notable defence with the local combatants, but in the end, there was little they could do against the superior strength and experience of the Romans. The city fell, and Josephus was certain during his capture that he would soon be put to death because of his strategic command and military actions (Josephus, B.J. 3.9–339; cf. Josephus, Vita 30–414).

When Josephus’s worst fears seemed to be confirmed, namely when he learned that Vespasian was planning his imminent transfer to Nero, he did not opt for suicide, as would have been appropriate for a captured Jewish general in such a situation, but rather for survival in slavery, and that by means of his alleged mantic abilities. He thus asked Vespasian and Titus for a private audience, which he received, and Josephus renders the wording of this secret conversation as follows (Josephus, B.J. 3.340–398):

Vespasian having ordered all to withdraw except his son Titus and two of his friends, the prisoner thus addressed him: ‘You imagine, Vespasian, that in the person of Josephus you have taken a mere captive; but I come to you as a messenger of greater destinies. Had I not been sent on this errand by God, I knew the law of the Jews and how it becomes a general to die. To Nero do you send me? Why then? Think you that [Nero and] those who before your accession succeed him will continue? You will be Caesar, Vespasian, you will be emperor, you and your son here. ⁶ Bind me then yet more securely in chains and keep me for yourself; for you, Caesar, are master not of me only, but of land and sea and the whole human race. For myself, I ask to be punished by stricter custody, if I have dared to trifle with the words of God’.

To this speech Vespasian, at the moment, seemed to attach little credit, supposing it to be a trick of Josephus to save his life. Gradually, however, he was led to believe it, for God was already rousing in him thoughts of empire and by other tokens foreshadowing the throne. (B.J. 3.399–404 [Thackeray, LCL 487])

An explosive message, indeed, and on top of that extremely dangerous for both sides. For Josephus, because he had just transferred a centuries-old messianic hope of the Jews onto two Romans (cf. sec. on Jerusalem below), and this at the price of uncertainty as to whether his life would be spared because of it and, if so, knowing that he would certainly be considered a traitor by the Jews for the rest of his life. And for Vespasian and Titus, because they had been appointed so that they would not become a danger to Nero, but with this message they emerged as his challengers—a life-threatening position as long as Nero was in power. It is therefore not surprising that the content of this conversation was kept secret until its manifestation a year later. ⁷ Nevertheless, Josephus’s account may have secretly inspired Vespasian and at the same time contributed to the adoption of that stratagem, which military theorists of antiquity considered particularly relevant, relative or even absolute secrecy. Thus Vegetius, for example, advises the general: ‘Discuss what must be done with many, but what you will do with only a very few and the most reliable, or even better, with yourself’ (Mil. 3.26.29 [Müller], translation mine).

Not surprisingly, further military successes were not long in coming. Soon all of Galilee was subdued, followed by pockets of resistance in Agrippa’s territory—the Gaulanitis—and thereafter Samaria. After thank-offerings to the gods and a short break at Caesarea, Vespasian proceeded to quickly subjugate the remaining parts of the country, Perea, Judea, Idumea, and by 68 CE the area surrounding Jerusalem. Vespasian’s rapid advance forced all the rebels in the country—John of Gischala included—to retreat to the well-fortified capital Jerusalem, where the Zealots got rid of Ananos, the general elected by the people, and then fought each other first in a two-front battle—Zealots against John of Gischala—and then, after Simon ben Giora had been admitted to the city, in a three-front battle. While Vespasian perceived the civil war in Jerusalem working in his favor and prepared for the attack on the capital in Caesarea, he received the news of Nero’s death, and soon after that of Galba, Otho, and of Vitellius’s assumption to power (Josephus, B.J. 3.409–4.587).

Acclamation

However, since Vespasian considered Vitellius unworthy of rule, his seizure of power aroused Vespasian’s displeasure, according to Josephus, and apparently also that of his officers, which is why they opted for a coup in the so-called Year of the Four Emperors in 69 CE and publicly proclaimed Vespasian as their (rival) emperor. Vespasian knew that accepting his acclamation would mean civil war. He therefore intended to get a hold on Egypt, Rome’s granary, to use as leverage against Vitellius. He immediately wrote to the governor of Egypt, Tiberius Alexander, who willingly—along with his two legions—swore allegiance to him. The good news—as Josephus presents it—spread like wildfire throughout the empire, whereupon further legions swore allegiance. Vespasian thanked the gods once again with sacrifices and then set out for Berytos in Syria (Josephus, B.J. 4.588–621).

After many legations had visited him there and congratulated him, and Vespasian had seen that the situation was developing in his favor, the thought occurred to him—according to Josephus—that this could not have happened without divine foresight. Thus, he recalled—among other omens—Josephus’s secret prediction and saw that the time had come to make its explosive content public for the first time in the presence of his friends and officers and to use the opportunity to free Josephus from his chains (Josephus, B.J. 4.622–629).

While he then sent his former officer and now governor of Syria, Mucianus, to Italy to fight against Vitellius, he himself went—together with Titus and Josephus—via Antioch to Alexandria. When he learned of Vitellius’s death there, and thus had the assurance that Rome was saved from his claim to power, he turned his attention back to the parts of Judaea that had not yet been subdued and sent his son Titus with a select force to conquer Jerusalem, whereupon the latter immediately set out for Caesarea (Josephus, B.J. 4.630–663).

Jerusalem

When Titus marched from Caesarea against Jerusalem with four legions and allies shortly thereafter, he found the entrenched rebel Jews still embroiled in a three-front war. This had weakened them considerably, and hunger in the city, which was overcrowded with pilgrims and rebels, did the rest, leaving them relatively easy prey for Titus.

Since the rebels could not be persuaded to give up, neither by threats nor by offers, which were conveyed not least by Josephus on multiple occasions, Titus and his troops set about overcoming the three city walls. Soon they had been taken, as had the Antonia and with it the temple. Thus Jerusalem—the seemingly impregnable city—was conquered in the second year of Vespasian’s reign (70 CE). Forever ended were the temple sacrifices, and on the ruins of the desecrated and burnt-down temple, his soldiers proclaimed Titus imperator (Josephus, B.J. 5.1–6.442).

Josephus, witnessing all this, seems to experience the downfall of his native city, the temple, where he had served as priest, his family and possessions as utterly bitter and traumatic. But the decline of the country had been foretold and had been announced in many omens. But what most incited the rebels—whom Josephus declares to be the perpetrators of the tragedy—to war was this:

But what more than all else incited them to the war was an ambiguous oracle, likewise found in their sacred scriptures, to the effect that at that time one from their country would become ruler of the world. This they understood to mean someone of their own race, and many of their wise men went astray in their interpretation of it. The oracle, however, in reality signified the sovereignty of Vespasian, who was proclaimed Emperor on Jewish soil. (B.J. 6.312–314 [Thackeray, LCL 210])

Here Josephus is addressing the messianic hope, with which many rebels had unsuccessfully identified themselves, as impressively exemplified in Simon ben Giora, who, when the circumvallation forced him to surrender, appeared with a purple cloak from below ground at the place where the temple had previously stood (Josephus, B.J. 7.29). Josephus’s wayward interpretation of the messianic hope must have sounded unbearable to Jewish ears, so it is understandable that from then on, he was considered a traitor by the Jews, deserving of damnatio memoriae.

Rome and Post-war Period

After the rebels identified as the main culprits, Simon ben Giora and John of Gischala, had been captured, Titus had the city razed and dismissed his army, leaving the tenth legion in charge of Judea, since some places in the country were still in the hands of rebels.

Afterwards, Titus—accompanied by Josephus—returned to Rome, laden with rich booty and numerous captives in tow. There, in 71 CE, together with his father, he celebrated the triumph granted to them by the senate. This was a war-ending ritual that, after the execution of the enemy general considered most guilty—in this case Simon ben Giora—ended with sacrifices at the site of the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus—or what was left of it after its burning—exactly where the second campaign against the Jews had begun (Josephus, B.J. 7.1–162, esp. 7.153–157).

By 73/74 CE, the remaining places occupied by insurgents had also been recaptured. But the Romans allegedly could not get hold of all the rebels; many had fled to North Africa, to Cyrene or Egypt, for example, which is why Vespasian had the Jewish temple at Heliopolis closed as a precaution (Josephus, B.J. 7.163–455).

After the loss of their land, their temple, and its treasures to the emperor, and after countless deaths, imprisonments, and enslavements, the postwar period likewise brought little joy to the Jews. In fact, Vespasian brought the sacred golden vessels of the Jerusalem temple into a temple district built by him in honour of the Roman goddess of peace—Pax—but the Torah scroll and the purple curtains of the temple into his palace. And to make matters worse, he also imposed a reparation payment on the Jews in the form of the Fiscus Judaicus to be used for the reconstruction of the aforementioned Capitoline main temple, which had burnt down during Vespasian’s civil war against Vitellius (Josephus, B.J. 7.158–162).

From a theological point of view, defeat and the loss of the temple were interpreted as a self-inflicted breach of the covenant, and the destruction of the temple, with the implicit withdrawal of God from the midst of his people, as the breaking of peace with God (cf., e.g., Josephus, B.J. 4.305–352). But how could peace be restored without a place of sacrifice? Post-war periods are times of interpretation, and Josephus also had to devote himself to such things (e.g., Josephus, B.J. 1.9–12). Could it really be that Vespasian was the fulfilment of the messianic hope, as Josephus claimed? Or was the defeat a misfortune that should be made up for by a second attempt, following the example of the Romans? The latter does not seem to have been utopian from the point of view of some Jewish groups, but rather hinted at, for example in Josephus’s introduction to his war report, where he tells of an older Aramaic version of if, probably addressed to the Babylonian Jews, among others, with the possible aim of quelling any remaining resistance (Josephus, B.J. 1.3, 6). His admonitions to show moderation were not heeded everywhere, as the further course of Jewish history shows.

Section Conclusion

To summarize the essentials:

1. The revolt of the Jews was ignited by the lawlessness of the procurators sent by Nero in particular.

2. We see that the secret here arose in the context of despotism, as Simmel observed, that of Nero.

3. Since the Jews found no support in the Syrian governor nor in Agrippa II, they decided to revolt.

4. The aim of the revolt was to shake off the unbearable oppressor, a claim that was largely supported by messianic hopes.

5. However, the messianic pretenders were executed not only for identifying with the Messiah, but mainly for their reprehensible actions from a Roman point of view.

6. In the attempt to quell the Jewish revolt, Rome failed at the first attempt (Cestius); it took a second (Vespasian).

7. A temporary and relative ‘messianic’ secret entwined itself around the election of Vespasian as emperor, which was explosive because its untimely revelation would have been life-threatening for both Vespasian and Titus. A messianic secret—one can thus deduce—exists not only in the Gospel of Mark, but also in Josephus’s interpretation of this war.

8. Vespasian’s acceptance of the acclamation during the reign of Vitellius meant war, in which the ‘counter-emperor’ Vespasian triumphed.

9. The losers in the war against Rome were the Jews. Their defeat came with the destruction of their country and temple, implicitly revealing the breach of the peace with God. But a future without Pax deorum was unthinkable for the Romans, just as it was for the Jews.

10. The central question of the Jews after the war was thus not primarily whether a Jewish subgroup had been caught in the crossfire (beyond Theißen), but rather, for all Jews, how to regain peace or a new covenant with God, from which covenant blessings would derive, including military victories and political autonomy.

We can now turn to an analysis of the Markan secret, after first looking at current research that interprets the Gospel of Mark against the backdrop of the First Jewish-Roman War.

Mark: Read with Simmel and Within Judaism

Research History

Among those Markan exegetes who have interpreted the Gospel against the backdrop of the First Jewish-Roman War, Mark is generally located within Judaism and read mostly politically. However, as far as I can see, no one within this branch of research has yet dealt explicitly with the Markan secret. As young and as fast growing this branch of research is, certain trends and points of controversy can already be identified, and since the latter are of hermeneutical relevance, a brief look at two main points of dispute is in order before we proceed with the analysis.

Helpful research overviews have already been published, for example by me (2016: 1–22), Markus Lau (2019: 30–39), and Morten H. Jensen (2023: 58–87), which frees me to concentrate on only the most recent publications. While the topics of the author as editor or the location (e.g., Incigneri 2014; mostly Rome, and rarely Syria) are rather less challenged, the topics of dating (e.g., Zeichmann 2017; after the war), genre (historiography: Becker 2017; or vita: John 2022), and methodological approaches (memory-critical: Gelardini 2014; trauma-critical: Hogeterp 2020; political: Lau 2021; or empire-critical: Carter 2023) are increasingly being taken up. Of particular interest is the elaboration of parallelizations—empire criticism speaks here of mimicry—or contrasts within Mark to historical events as described by Josephus. This is often done in connection with considerations of pragmatics, especially the author’s intended message to his addressees.

Two main points of dispute began to emerge. The first is the exact nature of the Gospel text’s relationship to the historical events of the war. While for Margaret Froelich (2022: esp. 7) it is ‘direct’, for others—myself included (2016)—it is read ‘against the backdrop’ of the war. Eve-Marie Becker sees a connection in the form of isolated memories of historical events (2023: esp. 148), although for Sandra Huebenthal it can only be a matter of memories that the Markan text evokes in its recipients (2020: esp. 157–58). For Jensen (2023), who favours an a-historical or apocalyptic interpretation, the connection between text and history is completely absent.

Second, there are different views about what the evangelist intends to say with his account of Jesus’s life against the backdrop of the war. Is Jesus’s death a reflection of the traumatic defeat of the Jews, as Andreas Bedenbender argues (2019), or is the supposed descent of Jesus presented as a counter-model worthy of emulation by the losers in the post-war period, as Lau explains (2019)? Or is it rather the case that the author wants to convince the losers of Jesus’s victory, as Adam Winn sees it (2018)? Or, even more complex, of a ‘defeat’ and subsequent victory, as I have outlined it (Gelardini 2016)? Defeat and counter-model are reconstructed mainly with a view to Jesus’s passion, victory with a view to his defeat and resurrection followed by his announced victorious return in the text.

Regarding the first point of controversy, I assume—following Simmel and Theißen—that there is a relationship between text and history, and that the author is interpreting the situation during and after the war for his audience in a very specific way that contrasts with the Josephan or Roman view. Since the Markan text, in addition to suffering and death, also speaks of resurrection and victorious return, and does so repeatedly, regarding the second point I reaffirm the view that assumes that the evangelist makes statements not only about defeat but also about a possible subsequent victory. This considers the more complex historical circumstance entailing defeat as well as victory, which both Romans and Jews alike experienced in this war. Since Jesus’s resurrection and return are acts of the secret-bearer, they are just as important for understanding the messianic secret as his identity, as Simmel and history have shown. But what the author means by resurrection and Jesus’s return, he veils in a secret in his narrative, namely because they lie in the future and can thus not be narrated.

Based on my preliminary scholarship on Mark (cf. introduction) and the insights gained in the sections on method and history, let us now turn to a systematic and concise analysis of the secret in Mark through Simmel’s lens, with the aim not only of uncovering the secret in all its various aspects, but also of extracting a historically plausible meaning and purpose of the secret. ⁸ In each subsection this will be approached on two levels, that of the narrative and that of the post-war Jewish addressees.

Mark

General

If the Gospel was written in Rome after the First Jewish-Roman war, as is assumed here, the last messianic pretender of this conflict, Simon ben Giora, had just been executed, and the Jews had been robbed of all material means that might have sustained their messianic hopes.

They did, however, have one last resort, the creation of a (textual) parallel world. In it, it was possible to continue to nurture the hope of a messiah who would finally free the Jews from the Roman yoke. But their holding on to the infamous oracle (see sec. on Jerusalem above) must, for reasons of self-protection, be kept secret.

On the surface, the narrative offers little that is explosive; the life of the hero lies in the past, and besides, from the Roman point of view, he receives a just verdict. What is explosive in connection with numerous parallels to history as rendered by Josephus, however, is what the author transfers into the future, into the time of the addressees, which gives the text a subversive character. Let us begin with the actors.

Actors

A triad of actors can easily be identified in the narrative. ⁹ The bearer of the secret is Jesus; a divine confirmation of his sonship and thus his messianic identity is granted to him both at the beginning and in the middle of the narrative by God, the giver of the secret (Mk 1.11; 9.7).

The beings of the unseen world are also privy to the secret, that is, the Holy Spirit and angels, but also Elijah and Moses, on the one hand, and on the other, unclean spirits including their head Satan, on whom Jesus partially imposes silence (1.10–13, 23–26; 3.11–12; 5.1–13; 9.4, 7; 16.5–7).

The primary recipients of the secret in this narrative are the disciples (1.16–20; 2.14; 3.13–19). Jesus reveals his identity to them voluntarily and gradually. Before them, John the Baptist had been initiated, and that apparently by divine revelation (1.3, 7–8).

The excluded third parties are all others. First and foremost, the people and followers among them, including those whom Jesus heals or sets free, as well as the disciples of John (1.5, 21–34, 39–45; 2.1–17; 3.1–5, 7–10, 32; 4.1, 36; 5; 6.12–13, 29, 32–45, 53–56; 7.12–15, 24–37; 8.1–9, 22–26; 9.14–27; 10.1, 13–22, 46–52; 12.41–44; 14.3–9; 15.6–15, 21, 27–30, 32, 35–36, 40–47; 16.1–8). These also include Jesus’s family and those who knew him from earlier (3.20–21, 31–34; 6.1–6). The excluded also comprise all Pharisees, scribes, elders, and high priests. They know no less than the people, with the difference, however, that they do not suspect or want to suspect good behind the one who empowers Jesus (2.6–12, 16–28; 3.1–6, 22–30; 7.1–13; 8.10–13; 10.2–9; 11.15–18, 27–33; 12.1–34; 14.1–2, 10–11, 43–49, 53–65; 15.1–15, 31–32). Also excluded are the Herodians, including Herod Antipas, Herodias, and her daughter, with whom the aforementioned conspire (3.6; 6.14–29). And finally, they also include all Romans, along with their procurator in Judea, Pontius Pilate (15.1–15, 16–26, 36, 43–45).

Unlike the narrative actors, Jesus’s identity is revealed to the addressees in the first verse (1.1). They are also likely to be reminded that the latter two groups of opponents are the same ones who made life difficult for them in this war and its aftermath as well.

Secret

The narrative’s secret is Jesus’s messianic identity, the person secret as Theißen calls it, but not only that. It also includes the authoritative teachings and deeds that correspond to his identity. This secret is relative because it gradually seeps out of the inner group to the excluded third parties by means of the words and deeds, only to be betrayed at the end.

Jesus’s messianic authority becomes obvious only by his miracles, which may remind the addressees that Vespasian’s actoritas, as a member of only the equestrian order, also required confirmations, which he then allegedly attained through healing miracles in Alexandria (Suetonius, Vesp. 7.2; Tacitus, Hist. 4.81).

Inner Cultures

Within the narrative group of insiders, something like an internal culture emerges. Jesus gives some disciples additional names, they heal or pluck ears of corn on the Sabbath, fast or dine with sinners, and some do so with unclean hands (1.21–26; 2.15–28; 3.1–6, 16–17; 7.1–23).

The fact that Jesus favours a group of three or four disciples triggers rivalry among them (5.35–43; 9.2–13, 33–37; 10.35–44; 13.3–37; 14.32–42). Jesus’s efforts to rid them of competitive thinking, for example by teaching them to serve one another, to forgive, and to make peace, are not effective. Instead, the insider group show signs of inner weakness (9.50; 10.42–44; 11.25), which leads Judas to betray Jesus, handing him over to the temple elite, who then deliver him to the Romans to be sentenced to death (14.10–11, 17–21, 42–45).

The competition between the disciples may have reminded the addressees of their own internal discord (cf. 13.12), which had led to the present situation, such as that among the Hasmoneans, which had led to submission to the Romans, or that of the rebels, which was said to have caused defeat in this war.

Outer Cultures

In a sense, an external culture is also emerging in the narrative. While the invisible beings fear him, his family considers him insane, but the people are fond of him, which is why the spiritual elite envy him. In contrast, the Herodian and Roman authorities see him as a violator of the law. Furthermore, to communicate with Jesus’s opponents, Judas also arranges the infamous betrayer’s kiss as a sign of recognition (14.44–45).

The addressees are likely to be reminded that anyone who challenges an existing power will face resistance, and in the worst-case scenario this means war, defeat, and death. This was the case for the Romans as well as for all messianic pretenders and rebels.

Action 1 – Secrecy

To the disciples, the Markan Jesus reveals himself in stages, initially through healings and exorcisms—knowledge that they share with the outgroup (1.29–34, 39–42; 2.3–12; 3.1–6, 10–12; 5.1–20, 25–34; 6.5, 53–56; 7.25–37; 8.22–26; 9.14–29; 10.46–52).

He deepens this by means of miracles, which usually take place with the public excluded, or at best in a small group; Theißen calls it the miracle secret (4.35–41; 5.21–24, 35–43; 6.30–52; 3.1–6).

In addition, there is an authoritative teaching, including the announcement of suffering, death, resurrection and return, which is often given to outsiders in parables and which he interprets privately for his disciples. These interpretations are followed by what Theißen calls secret teachings (1.21–22, 27, 39; 2.1, 13; 4.1–34; 6.1–4; 7.14–23; 8.31–38; 9.1, 31; 10.1–12, 17–34; 11.12–14, 20–25; 12.35–44; 13; 14.28). That the disciples initially find it difficult to link the deeds to messiahship in this gradual self-revelation is understandable. Theißen calls it the disciples’ incomprehension (6.51–52; 8.16–21; 9.19).

This is overcome at last in the middle of the text, when Jesus’s messiahship is finally revealed to Peter at Caesarea Philippi, whereupon Jesus imposes a command of silence on the disciples (8:29–30). In the transfiguration he is revealed to the four of them, whereupon Jesus again imposes a command to silence, a temporary one until the resurrection (9.2–13). The disciples keep this secret until the end, although Peter denies being identified with him, while Judas resorts to betrayal (14.10–11, 17–21, 29–31, 42–45, 54, 66–72).

Assuming they were familiar with it, the addressees may be reminded, that Josephus’s prophecy of Vespasian’s impending ‘messianic’ reign also had to remain secret until its public acclamation at Caesarea Maritima.

Action 2 – Concealment

Acts of concealment can also be identified in the narrative—for example, when Jesus withdraws alone, or when he wants to remain undiscovered, or where he evades violent seizure by the Herodian authorities in Galilee and later in Jerusalem (1.35–38, 45; 3.7–9; 6.46; 7.24; 9.30; 14.27, 32–42, 50–52).

In addition, Jesus sends his disciples out in inconspicuous clothing and instructs them on what to say and do, adding guidance on secret acts (6.8–11; 11.1–7; 14.12–15).

Jesus’s warnings can be categorized under aggressive defensiveness, as his disciples should be on guard against the Pharisees and Herod, as well as the scribes and false Christs in the future (8.14–15; 12.38–40; 13.5–6, 21–22). This also involves exclusions on the part of the disciples, should they for instance, wish to control access to Jesus and his secret (9.38–41; 10.13–16; 10.46–52).

The addressees may be reminded that every aspect of secrecy was a central topic during this war, hiding as well as camouflaging or escape.

Action 3 – Disclosure

Through his healings and exorcisms (1.29–34, 39–42; 2.3–12; 3.1–6, 10–12; 5.1–20, 25–34; 6.5, 53–56; 7.25–37; 8.22–26; 9.14–27; 10.46–52), but rarely through miracles (6.30–44; 8.1–9), the Markan Jesus shows himself to outsiders as someone special, as a superhuman.

In combination with a powerful teaching that includes announcements of suffering (1.21–22, 27, 39; 2.1, 13; 4.1–9, 33–34; 6.1–4; 7.14–15; 8.31–38; 10:1–9, 17–22; 12.1–12, 18–40), he appears so extraordinary to outsiders that the news about him spreads throughout the country and beyond, despite prohibitions of silence and reinforced by commands to speak (1.27–28, 43–45; 5.19–20). From the events in Galilee onwards, Jesus no longer needs to introduce himself. He is seen by some as Elijah or John the Baptist redivivus, by others as one of the prophets, and by his opponents as ultimately possessed by Beelzebul, which is why they demand signs or information about the source of his authority, which they are not given (2.6–10; 3.22–29; 6.14–16; 8.10–13, 27–28; 11.27–33).

The secret of Jesus’s messianic identity is kept in the areas administered by the two Herodians, that of Antipas (Galilee and Perea) and that of Philip (Gaulanitis), but all is revealed at last in Judea, which is administered by the Romans, for even the blind man in Jericho knows that Jesus is the Son of David. Accordingly the woman anoints him like the messianic king, and his entry into the capital is celebrated as such by the people (10.46–42; 11.8–10; 14.3–9). This spatial and temporal distribution seems intentional, as if the primary challenge of the Markan Jesus was not directed to the Herodians in the north, but particularly to the Romans in the south, including the religious leaders of the capital.

As vassals of the Romans, the Herodian rulers and the priesthood are irritated by Jesus’s words and deeds, especially in Jerusalem, for example, when he cleanses the temple or confronts the temple authorities with the vineyard parable. As a result, they lie in wait for him, seeking to trap him in arguments so that they can arrest and then kill him in an act of aggressive offense (3.1–6; 10.1–9; 11.15–19; 12.1–17; 14.1–2). Their efforts remain unsuccessful until—it seems—Judas succumbs to the lure of betrayal and the promised benefits, which also confirms the external vulnerability of the secret.

The addressees may have been reminded that betrayal had also played a destructive role in this war, for example in the lives of Ananos in Jerusalem or Josephus in Galilee.

Elimination of the Relative Secret

The arrest in the narrative is followed by mock trials with false testimony before the Sanhedrin and Pilate, where Jesus reveals his identity and thus the relative secret, and moreover announces his return in power (14.46–49, 53–65, 62; 15.2, 26, 32, 39). His true identity seems to have been recognized by both Jewish and Roman accusers, but out of jealousy the priesthood treats him like a robber—which is how Josephus referred to rebels against Rome (cf., e.g., B.J. 1.11)—and accuses him of blasphemy (14.48, 64; 15.10, 26, 39).

After ridicule, beatings, flagellation, and mock triumph, the crucifixion follows (14.65; 15.15–41). In his death, the deceased breathes out the enabling spirit that took up residence in him at baptism (1.10; 15.37). The relative secret is now revealed and has seemingly been removed.

The mock triumph must have been a painful reminder to the addressees of the recently celebrated double triumph of the Flavians in Rome, with its numerous displays depicting the successful episodes during the war and the execution of Simon ben Giora.

Persistence of Absolute Secret

We have so far only spoken of the relative secret, but what about the absolute secret? Can a secret of this kind be discerned? Apart from the suffering and death, Jesus had—as was said—repeatedly told his disciples about his resurrection and return (8.38; 9.1, 10, 31–32; 10.34; 13.26; 14.28, 62; 16.8). An information that seems to have been beyond their imagination, as they did not understand it (9.10, 32), nor did the accusers and judges (14.64), nor did the women at the tomb (16.8). By not explaining it to any of the narrative actors, Mark’s Jesus cloaks in absolute secrecy what returning entails. And because it lies in their future, the text remains immune to censorship. Does it remain so for the addressees as well? This may be doubted; rather, it opens options for interpretation, including subversive ones (cf. Nero Redivivus legend).

At the end of the triumph, the author and his addressees may have witnessed the sacrifices that had just ended the war, offered before the ruins of Rome’s main temple. The Jews also needed a sacrifice, because the destruction of their temple presupposed God’s withdrawal and was an expression of covenant breaking as well as of divine abandonment. Josephus knew this, and Mark’s text also suggests it in the story of the tearing of the temple curtain and the announcement of its destruction in the context of war (13.2, 7; 15.38).

Jesus himself interprets his sacrificial death as a ransom for many (10.45). Is that why the text says that he has to die (8.31; 14.49)? But where should his sacrifice bring atonement, before the ruins of the Jerusalem temple? The cosmological concepts of the Jews open alternative possibilities for them, because they still have at their disposal a temple that is indestructible, namely the heavenly one. And it seems that the Markan text is suggesting what the Auctor ad Hebraeos was to elaborate in detail about five to ten years later, namely that Jesus carries his atoning blood into the heavenly temple by being seated at the right hand of God (12.36; 14.62). Thus, it is not the death of the sacrificial victim that brings atonement, but the carrying of his blood to the heavenly altar, as David M. Moffitt has convincingly argued (2022). Depending on the sacrifice, atonement can in turn bring about the renewal of the covenant. Is this why Mark’s Jesus calls his blood the blood of the covenant (14.24)?

Jesus’s sacrificial death, understood in this way, opens a new path to what Jews of the post-war period might have considered unattainable, namely peace with God. A reconciled relationship, however, opens a new path to the renewal of the covenant and with it to its blessings, which also include victory over the enemy (cf. 10.36). According to this logic, it is understandable that the Markan Jesus can repeatedly claim that he will return in great power and authority (esp. 13.26; cf. Blatz 2016), notably to Galilee (14.28; 16.7), which the Romans had invaded during both the first and the second campaigns against the Jews.

Regarding the time of the victorious return, the narrative remains covert. God alone knows, it is suggested, but it will happen soon, even during the lifetimes of some of the narrative actors, which implicitly means nothing less than during the lifetimes of the addressees (9.1; 13.28–37)! This is explosive content indeed, and shows that Simmel underestimated the force of the absolute secret.

We are now able to draw conclusions, and we will do so after a summary in the light of Markan research on the messianic secret.

Summary with Final Conclusion

It was said at the outset of this article that the secret, too, has its constitutive place in the political-military sphere. Building on my preliminary work on the Gospel of Mark, my aim has been to show that, against the background of the First Jewish-Roman war and through the lens of Josephus, the Markan secret can be interpreted in precisely this way, in a historically plausible manner.

My starting point has been the first attempt to do this, that of Theißen. As thirty years have passed since then, my attempt considers the paradigm shift within the discipline, which entails the reading of many New Testament texts within Judaism. It also considers the new branch of research within Markan scholarship that reads the Gospel against the backdrop of the First Jewish-Roman War. The methodology I followed was not Theißen’s Sociology of Knowledge, but Simmel’s Sociology of Secrecy, which covers the most comprehensive range of aspects relating to secrecy.

This was followed by an account of historical events as described by Josephus. That is, the failed quest of the Jews for political autonomy and with it the disappointment of their messianic hopes, combined with Josephus’s bold and secrecy-including view that this hope was fulfilled not in a Jew but in the rise of the Roman counter-emperor Vespasian.

With the help of Simmel’s comprehensive theory of secrecy, I finally analyzed Mark’s text systematically, confirming Simmel’s triadic action model, which allowed new aspects to be assigned to secrecy, such as inter alia betrayal. This, in turn, opened new avenues for parallels and contrasts with Josephus’s war report, with the distinction between relative and absolute secret proving particularly fruitful. Thus, regarding the Messiah, the evangelist does not seem to follow Josephus’s view, but rather by drifting into a parallel world maintains that the Jewish Messiah Jesus did not disappear with his earthly death, but will soon return in power. In post-war Rome, where Jews were universally hated because of this war (cf. 13.13; and, e.g., Josephus, B.J. 7.46), this must have been a dangerous view, in which the author initiates his addressees—in Simmel’s words—by means of an absolute and protective secret.

The challenge of power, however, leads—as has been shown—to (military) conflict, in which the author sees Jesus gaining the upper hand, for it seems that he believes in a surprising and miraculous intervention by God, similar to that described by Josephus in his futile attempts to mediate between Titus and the rebels at the walls of Jerusalem (B.J. 5.375–419; cf. Mt. 26.53), a secret intervention that—as the current one—comes as a bolt from the blue.