The Acta Pilati in Context: the Communist Doctrine of Early Christianity
Posted: Wed Sep 04, 2024 9:01 am
Another perspective to consider: if the Acta were typically associated with the deeds of kings, and Jesus is presented as the King, then by recognizing Jesus as King, Pilate, in effect, becomes His first governor. Pilate’s acknowledgment of Jesus’ kingship in the Acta Pilati subtly repositions the Roman hierarchy: Pilate, as a Roman official, is now subordinating himself to a higher, divine authority. Similarly, in the Acta Pilati, when Tiberius is said to accept the authority of Jesus, he is in fact acknowledging a power that supersedes even the emperor. Tiberius, the head of the Roman world, effectively accepts his role as a subordinate "demiurge," recognizing that there is an authority higher than Caesar himself.
This shift in hierarchy, however, would have been deeply problematic for the Roman Imperial government. The concept of Caesar as the kosmokrator (ruler of the world) is turned on its head. If Jesus, as King, represents a new model for kingship—one based on mercy, humility, and sacrifice—then Christianity is, by implication, advocating for the end of traditional kingship. This revolutionary idea suggests that kings, including Caesar, are no longer the ultimate authorities; instead, they are called to emulate Jesus by surrendering their power and wealth.
Clement of Alexandria’s words reinforce this broader theological shift. When he says:
"And the confession made through speech is not universal but partial. The universal confession, however, is what he now speaks of, which is found in deeds and actions that are consistent with the faith in Him,"
Clement is arguing that true confession of faith is not just verbal but must be demonstrated through actions that align with Christ’s teachings. While Clement downplays the necessity of martyrdom, tracing this logic back to its roots reveals a more profound implication: Jesus was not merely a merciful king but a completely new kind of king—one who relinquishes authority, judgment, and wealth in favor of mercy and generosity.
This ties into the Carpocratian interpretation of Mark 10:17-31, as discussed in Quis Dives Salvatur ("give away all your possessions"/become naked). The Carpocratians took this teaching as a radical call to complete renunciation, and Clement, in his opposition, must have grappled with the dangerous political implications of such an interpretation. The debate is not only about personal asceticism; it’s about the political ramifications of Jesus’ kingship.
It’s not that Clement is necessarily against the idea of "becoming naked" in the figurative sense of renunciation. Rather, the broader implication of this teaching is staggering: if Jesus is the ultimate King above Caesar, then the emperor himself must become a martyr, the emperor must die to his worldly power and riches, the emperor must give up his wealth to the poor. The entire Roman hierarchy is threatened by this logic.
In this way, Christianity inevitably becomes a call for the overturning of the social order. If Jesus is the new model for kingship, then Caesar’s rule is undermined. The revolutionary potential of this idea could hardly have been lost on the early Christian thinkers and the Roman authorities alike.
This shift in hierarchy, however, would have been deeply problematic for the Roman Imperial government. The concept of Caesar as the kosmokrator (ruler of the world) is turned on its head. If Jesus, as King, represents a new model for kingship—one based on mercy, humility, and sacrifice—then Christianity is, by implication, advocating for the end of traditional kingship. This revolutionary idea suggests that kings, including Caesar, are no longer the ultimate authorities; instead, they are called to emulate Jesus by surrendering their power and wealth.
Clement of Alexandria’s words reinforce this broader theological shift. When he says:
"And the confession made through speech is not universal but partial. The universal confession, however, is what he now speaks of, which is found in deeds and actions that are consistent with the faith in Him,"
Clement is arguing that true confession of faith is not just verbal but must be demonstrated through actions that align with Christ’s teachings. While Clement downplays the necessity of martyrdom, tracing this logic back to its roots reveals a more profound implication: Jesus was not merely a merciful king but a completely new kind of king—one who relinquishes authority, judgment, and wealth in favor of mercy and generosity.
This ties into the Carpocratian interpretation of Mark 10:17-31, as discussed in Quis Dives Salvatur ("give away all your possessions"/become naked). The Carpocratians took this teaching as a radical call to complete renunciation, and Clement, in his opposition, must have grappled with the dangerous political implications of such an interpretation. The debate is not only about personal asceticism; it’s about the political ramifications of Jesus’ kingship.
It’s not that Clement is necessarily against the idea of "becoming naked" in the figurative sense of renunciation. Rather, the broader implication of this teaching is staggering: if Jesus is the ultimate King above Caesar, then the emperor himself must become a martyr, the emperor must die to his worldly power and riches, the emperor must give up his wealth to the poor. The entire Roman hierarchy is threatened by this logic.
In this way, Christianity inevitably becomes a call for the overturning of the social order. If Jesus is the new model for kingship, then Caesar’s rule is undermined. The revolutionary potential of this idea could hardly have been lost on the early Christian thinkers and the Roman authorities alike.