Suing for Peace at Any Cost? Reading the Parable of the Two Kings (Luke 14.31–2) in Times of War

Abstract

The paper re-examines the parable of the king pondering about engaging in war with a more powerful enemy (Luke 14.31–2), focusing on questions commonly asked in antiquity and still relevant today with respect to war and suing for peace. These regard the cause of the war and the reasons for fighting, the tension between bravery and wisdom, the circumstances that may contribute to the defeat of a superior army and the costs of peace making. I explore this parable in the context of other Lukan passages touching on the topic of war and peace. I challenge the assumption that Luke was a pacifist, and I argue that the parable cannot provide answers to contemporary questions about the ethics of peace and war.

1 Introduction

This paper emerged from a personal struggle with the war against Ukraine, the awe inspired by the heroic resistance of Ukrainians, and their fight for what we take for granted, the simple right to live a normal life in a free country. In September 2022, while analysts were debating whether President Zelensky should sue for peace at any cost, the Gospel of the Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time about the king pondering over the chances of going to war against a much more powerful enemy struck me as particularly timely and worth exploring.¹

It is a rather common view that Jesus was a pacifist, and his position is spelt out plainly in the Gospels, therefore, Christians should be peacemakers and pacifists.² Given the pacifism of the Jesus movement, one could plead at best for non-violent resistance.³ This would also mean that any kind of war is intrinsically wrong, and peace should be acquired at any cost. This was more or less the position of major ecclesial personalities and bodies.⁴ The war has also revived the debate on whether the ethics of just war should be replaced by one of just peace.⁵

Yet is such a blanket understanding of war and peace obvious? Is there an unequivocal message of peace and non-violence in the Gospels? Can we go beyond the Gospels to learn what Jesus himself thought? Can we argue that peace at any cost is always better, regardless of one's reasons for participating in war and despite the costs of an imposed peace? Obviously, this is not the place to discuss these questions extensively. In this contribution, I can only propose to look at one of the few texts, if not the only one, speaking explicitly about war and peace making, the Parable of the Two Kings.

The parable has been usually interpreted in its literary context as an instruction to the disciples and (since early Christian readings⁶), allegorically, as referring to spiritual warfare. But it has also been used to argue that Jesus promoted non-violence and non-resistance, censuring the Zealots’ fight against Roman rule. Thus, Josephine Massyngbaerde Ford has seen in the parable Jesus’ response to Jewish revolutionaries’ ‘overconfidence in the providence of God vis-à-vis the power of Rome’, confronting them with the analogy of the king lacking sufficient resources who ‘should make peace with the enemy while that enemy is still a great way off’. She suggested that

Jesus’ analogies here are not offered purely for moral and spiritual counsel, but rather in the light of the political situation before and after the great war. If this is correct, it brings out an interesting feature of Jesus’ political stance vis-à-vis the Roman war: he recommended nonresistance, to make peace with the enemy, the superior power, while it is far off. Did Jesus warn his people to make peace with Rome before it would be too late?⁷

In what follows, I will re-examine this parable, focusing on questions usually asked in antiquity and still relevant today with respect to war and suing for peace: about the causes of the war and the reasons for fighting, about bravery and wisdom, and the costs of peace making. I will show that our story is surprisingly silent about issues commonly raised in ancient texts dealing with war and argue that it cannot provide answers to contemporary questions about the ethics of peace and war. I will explore this parable in the context of other Lukan passages touching on the topic of war and peace, challenging the assumption that Luke was a pacifist.⁸

2 Rereading the Parable of the Two Kings

2.1 Context and Meaning

Luke 14 deals with a number of loosely associated topics, grouped around the theme of the banquet and that of discipleship as renunciation. Disciples are expected to relinquish status, family and possessions and welcome suffering and persecution. It is in this context that we find the twin parables of the tower-builder (vv. 28–30) and of the king going to war (vv. 31–2).⁹ The parables seem to address a comparable situation and behaviour from the perspective of two different characters – a man of relatively lower status planning a peaceful endeavour (building)¹⁰ and a king contemplating whether to engage in warfare.

The two parables are out of place as they break the line of thought between vv. 26–7 and 33.¹¹ By advising caution, they are at odds with the zeal involved in abandoning everything to follow Jesus.¹² Attempts to establish connections are rather strained, but obviously, once the parables are integrated into the context, they are applied to the following of Jesus.¹³ It is difficult to say whether the parables come indeed from Jesus (as most commentators assume),¹⁴ and, if so, whether they originally had a different meaning, but this is not my main concern.¹⁵

The two parables start with a rhetorical question (τίς ἐξ ὑμῶν/ ἤ τίς)¹⁶ that seems to imply a negative response. The stories share the motif of careful consideration: both characters sit down first to do their maths and consider the consequences of their potential incapacity to complete the task (ɛἰ ἔχɛι, 14.28 vs. ɛἰ δυνατός, 14.31, μὴ ἰσχύοντος, 14.29 vs. μή [δυνατός], 14.32).¹⁷ However, the parables are silent on the result of the deliberation, and we are not told whether the main characters will act on their intention.¹⁸ Thus, theoretically, both engaging the enemy and requesting a peace deal and surrendering are possible.¹⁹ Nonetheless, the emphasis on the greater power of the enemy seems to tip the decision in favour of surrender.

The issue in the twin parables seems to be prudence: one should engage in a venture only after carefully considering the odds of success to avoid a negative outcome.²⁰ The consequences of the potential failure are different. The tower-builder could face mockery. The costs for the king of (not) going to war are left to the imagination of the reader: defeat in battle would lead to the subjugation and spoliation of the country, the obligation to pay tribute, the shaming of the defeated king and military, the loss of human lives – of soldiers, civilians and possibly the king.²¹

2.2 Possible Parallels?

The parable has been paralleled with a number of biblical and parabiblical texts and moral-philosophical reflections.

2.2.1 Deuteronomy 20

The parable could evoke Deut 20.10–12 establishing the rules for making peace with a city willing to surrender.²² However, except for the sending of an embassy to discuss (the terms of) peace, the parable has little to do with Deut 20, which envisages a war of aggression devised as holy war. To be sure, Philo and Josephus will take pains to tone down the belligerence of the chapter, arguing that the Israelites’ fight is legitimate and fair.²³ (I will return later to the importance of affirming the legitimacy of war.)

2.2.2 Kings (Not) Going to War in Jewish Scripture

In the Hebrew Bible/the LXX, kings are seldom characters of mashals,²⁴ but in a number of stories, kings are advised against going to war. Against the warning of Micah, Achab goes to war against the king of Aram and is killed (1 Kgs 22). Amaziah of Judah sends to Joash of Israel, challenging him to meet in combat (2 Chron 25.17); the latter warns him to give up his plan, as engaging in evil would cause his fall. Amaziah fails to heed the advice and will be defeated (25.20–4). King Ben-Hadad dispatches Hazael to Elisha, who foretells the terrible destruction Hazael, once king, will bring upon Israel (2 Kgs 8.9–23).²⁵ In some further stories, kings demand peace and/or pay tribute to more powerful kings. I shall return to these on the margin of Luke 14.32.

2.2.3 A Non-combatant King and an Assassin?

The parable is also paralleled in that of the assassin in the Gospel of Thomas.²⁶ This would plead for the removal of any obstacle standing in the way of entering the Kingdom, whether the world or bodily desires.²⁷ (Spiritual interpretations lessen the scandalous nature of the logion.) The two stories are connected by the theme of violence, the prior analysis of the capacity to carry out a violent act and the application to the condition of discipleship. However, there are several significant differences. The Lukan parable is not about the confrontation of two individuals, but of their armies. Our king, as we shall see, is not the aggressor. The outcome is still open, whereas in Thomas the decision to kill the megistanos is carried out.

2.2.4 The Topos of the King Going to War

Comparing the New Testament and rabbinic parables, Marcel Poorthuis argues that Luke 14.31–2 is a nimshal of the virtual mashal of the king going to war.²⁸ The rabbinic, exegetical parables which use this virtual mashal²⁹, throw little light on our text. In all of them, the king stands for God. Many speak of a king planning to destroy a city. Unlike our similitude, none is meant to set an example for human behaviour.³⁰ Thus, if Luke 14.31–2 is to be included in this collection, it also differs significantly from all the other parables. It is the only one in which the king stands for the potential disciple; further, the king does not intend to wage war against another city.³¹

2.2.5 Wisdom in Building and War

The twin parables seem to echo Prov 24.3–6, which argues that wisdom is needed to build a house and to wage war.³² Yet a literary dependence on Proverbs is unlikely. There are a few verbal correspondences (οἰκοδομέω, πόλɛμος, βουλɛυ-), but Luke speaks of building a tower, not a house. The sayings are stock proverbial material, closer to the common contrast between peaceful enterprises (building) and destructive ones (war) (cf. Eccl 3.1–8; Jer 1.10). Luke, conversely, tells short stories with a different message. Wisdom is implicit and is not a certain key to success: prudence is needed to prevent failure.

Comparing peaceful ventures, like building, with making war is a literary motif. Onasander's general ‘should know that not only is a firm foundation necessary for houses and walls […], but that in war also it is only after one has prepared a firm beginning, and has laid a safe foundation, that he should take the field. For those whose cause is weak, when they take up the heavy burden of war, are quickly crushed by it and fail’.³³

2.2.6 A Historical Background?

Some have supposed that the parable echoed the war between Herod Antipas and Aretas IV, ending with the defeat of Herod, without addressing, however, the message the parable would have conveyed under such circumstances.³⁴ The parallel is not obvious.³⁵ The question of whether Jesus knew of Antipas’ failure and uttered the parable as a negative exemplum is a moot one. The parable seems rather a paradigmatic story about a king at war. Such a stock story could match any number of wars.³⁶

While the historicity of the speech of Agrippa II to Jewish authorities before the start of the Jewish War, evoked by Josephus, is doubtful, there are some correspondences between this speech and our parable.³⁷ The king attempts to dissuade the Jews from rebelling against Rome, as their fight against a military superpower is doomed to fail. Engaging the Romans would bring destruction upon their country, the holy city and the Temple.³⁸ The speech shares with the parable the view that one should abstain from fighting against a more powerful enemy, but lacks the details of the narrative.

2.2.7 Careful Consideration in Moral-Philosophical Contexts

Considering the requirements and consequences of an undertaking before engaging in it and assessing the capacity to carry it out to avoid failure and shame are also encountered in moral-philosophical reflection. An often evoked parallel³⁹ is Epictetus’ advice to those eager to take the path of philosophy but unable to cope with the difficulties, eventually failing disgracefully.⁴⁰ The principle of careful consideration is illustrated with an agonistic example (winning the Olympic games). Both paths require a radical change in lifestyle, determination, and thorough preparation.

Philo speaks allegorically of the war fought by wickedness and virtue for inhabiting the soul.⁴¹ Virtue, of a peaceful disposition, takes up the fight against evil nature only after ascertaining its own strength and ability to be victorious; she avoids engaging in the agon if her powers are weak, for it would be shameful for virtue to suffer defeat.⁴² Defeat, however, is not an option for virtue.⁴³

Overall, these oft-invoked parallels do not go beyond commonplaces (kings going to war, asking for peace) or literary topoi (wisdom required in peaceful and military ventures, the war between virtue and vice).

2.3 Questions that Need Clarification

The interpretation of the parable depends on a couple of contentious issues: the initiative for starting the war and implicitly its nature, and the way out from war through a peace deal or through unconditional surrender.

2.3.1 Starting a War of Aggression?

Some translations suggest that our king intends to start a war, rendering συμβαλɛῖν as going out to wage war.⁴⁴ But encountering in war or rather clashing would be more appropriate.⁴⁵ This, however, leaves open the question about the initiative. The second verb, which describes the encounter with the enemy, ὑπαντάω, may be neutral in itself,⁴⁶ but all three occurrences in Luke-Acts denote a tense and dangerous encounter with a potentially hostile character, ending in a conflict.⁴⁷

A careful reading shows that the matter under consideration is not starting an offensive. The other king is coming against our king (ἐρχομένῳ ἐπ᾽ αὐτόν).⁴⁸ The very dilemma the latter faces—to go out and clash with a more powerful enemy coming against him or to sue for peace while he is still far away—indicates that he has not initiated the campaign, and he does not control the events. He only has the choice to engage in combat or to surrender without fighting. The question about initiative is important because it usually determines the nature of a war. Having the initiative is mostly characteristic of wars of aggression. While the aggressor chooses to invade, the one who fights a defensive war is doing so by necessity and may have no other choice.⁴⁹

Should our king be the aggressor, it would make no sense to consider suing for peace from the start.⁵⁰ Therefore, as Jülicher remarked, he does not consider starting a war of conquest but goes out to defend his independence while the enemy is already marching up against him; it is only in that sense that the decision about war or peace depends on him.⁵¹

2.3.2 The Purpose of the Embassy: a Peace Deal or Unconditional Surrender?

Deliberations open the possibility of sending an embassy to ask for (the terms of) peace. NA²⁸ has ἐρωτᾷ τὰ πρὸς ɛἰρήνην⁵² that would mean inquiring about the terms of a peace deal.⁵³ However, ⁷⁵ reads ἐρωτᾷ ɛἰρήνην.⁵⁴ Quite similarly, the Vaticanus has ἐρωτᾷ ɛἰς ɛἰρήνην and ℵ* πρός ɛἰρήνην. In these (seemingly earlier) readings, the king ponders simply about asking for peace.⁵⁵

Alternatively, some have suggested that ἐρωτάω [τὰ] ɛἰς ɛἰρήνην, inquiring about (one's) peace, translates the Hebrew formulaic שׁאל לשׁלום. In military confrontations or in encounters between a powerful king and one with lesser military capability, this common greeting formula means unconditional surrender,⁵⁶ in particular when tribute or gifts are offered. Thus, following David's resounding victories, King Toi of Hamath sends his son, Joram, to greet David, lit. to inquire about [his] peace (ἐρωτῆσαι αὐτὸν τὰ ɛἰς ɛἰρήνην), to bless him and bring him precious gifts (2 Kgdms 8.10, cf. 1 Chron 18.10). Peace negotiations are not mentioned. Toi accepts David as his overlord without a fight. It is obvious that in such contexts ἐρωτῆσαι τὰ ɛἰς ɛἰρήνην, whether understood as greeting or explicitly asking for peace, has the same effect: it signifies an act of surrender and submission, meant to avert a war with a powerful enemy.⁵⁷

There is little in favour of Derrett's view that peace might be offered by the enemy, who would recognise the strengths of our king, notably divine assistance.⁵⁸ While, as we shall see, certain conditions may indeed help a smaller army to victory, this is precisely one of the issues our parable does not consider.⁵⁹

While for the translators of the LXX, the rendering of שׁאל לשׁלום with ἐρωτɛῖν τὰ ɛἰς ɛἰρήνην was obvious, it is unclear whether this was the meaning Luke meant to convey. The exact phrase does not occur elsewhere in the Gospel, but Luke 19.42 rebukes Jerusalem for failing to recognise τὰ πρὸς ɛἰρήνην. Since the passage refers to the destruction of Jerusalem (19.43–4), the expression implies circumstances that could have prevented the war, specifically, recognising Jesus and the time of divine visitation. (I will return to this text later.) Thus, reading Luke 14.32 with 19.42–4 in mind suggests that τὰ πρὸς ɛἰρήνην could refer to inquiring about the terms of peace (as unfavourable as they may be for our king). But the volatility of the manuscript tradition shows that copyists understood the purpose of the embassy differently. Anyway, whether the king asks for peace and surrenders unconditionally or asks for the terms of capitulation while being outnumbered, the effect is the same, and the logic of the parable seems to go against engaging in war. Luke seems to suggest that this would be a sensible decision in the face of an overpowering army.⁶⁰

3 What is Missing from our Parable?

Reflecting on the discrepancy between the parables and their application, Jülicher made an important observation long ago that may open a different perspective in the interpretation of our parable. He showed that if the twin parables were indeed about giving up everything for the sake of discipleship, as v. 33 suggests, they should sound quite differently, endorsing sacrifice and commitment, not careful consideration. Thus they could read like:

Who among you who wanted to build a tower and his resources were insufficient, would not rather sell his house and farm, to avoid being ridiculed? And what king, who would have to defend his independence against a foreign invader, would not risk property and life to defeat the enemy in spite of his superiority? ⁶¹

In what follows, I will pursue this alternative path, to show that the parable of the king going to war leaves out of sight a number of important issues commonly considered when deciding to engage in a war. It may be unusual to propose an interpretation of a text based on what it could have addressed but does not. However, we need to ask these questions if we wish to consider whether a New Testament text, which deals with warfare and peace making, can have some relevance for an ethics of war and peace.⁶²

3.1 The Casus Belli and the Justness of the War

Most ancient recollections of wars comprise some reflection on the events that spark or justify an armed conflict. Addressing the causes of the war matters; shedding light on the reasons for fighting is decisive for the ethical evaluation of the war.

The Bible recounts wars which Israel fights to fulfil the divine promise of the land, defensive wars or holy wars. (The latter, cf. Deut 20.10–12, 16–17, are in fact wars of aggression.) The wars enemies wage against Israel are interpreted as manifestations of divine judgement. The Maccabean wars are envisaged as a holy combat meant to free Israel from an ungodly rule, to defend the Law and restore the holiness of the temple.

Greek and Roman writers define the conditions that justify starting a war, and historians usually identify the causes of particular wars.⁶³ Wars fought for rightful reasons, in particular defensive ones, are just and attract divine assistance (an issue to which I will return).

Our parable has nothing to say about the causes of the war. It appears though as an act of aggression, faced with surprising pragmatism. It is simply happening, and a decision needs to be taken. More importantly, the circumstances that would legitimise engaging the enemy – self-defence and the reasonable interests of the attacked kingdom – are not addressed either.

3.2 Circumstances that Could Contribute to Victory

The parable does not address a number of conditions that might allow engaging the enemy in spite of his numeric superiority. The point was well made by Derrett: ‘A king may well decide that, so far from suing for peace, he may take advantage of his foe's being in hostile territory, of a long siege, of the terrain, or his troops’ morale, and rout the invaders.’⁶⁴

Ancient authors are well aware of such circumstances, which may secure victory against the odds. These combine strategy and logistics, the human factor and divine assistance.⁶⁵ I am interested here in the two latter aspects.

One of the most important virtues in ancient recollections of wars, with a decisive role in victory, is courage.⁶⁶ Courage means acting rightly in the face of danger, for a right cause, for noble reasons, to preserve the welfare of the community and honour.⁶⁷ It involves a balance between fearlessness that would take unnecessary risks and excessive fearfulness.⁶⁸ Courage is linked to motivation. Thus, fighting for the most cherished values is crucial. Defending one's family and country rank highest, but religious ideals or public welfare are also important. These values boost courage and provide unrivalled strength, allowing the lesser army to achieve victory.⁶⁹

The Maccabees who fight for the temple and their country display exceptional bravery (ἀνδραγαθία), military prowess and resilience in the face of a more powerful enemy.⁷⁰ In a crucial moment of the war, Judas and his ten thousand men face the far greater army of Lysias (1 Macc 4.28–35). Realizing the boldness (θάρσος) of Judas and his men, their resolve to die a noble death, and facing the high losses incurred by his army, Lysias withdraws to Antioch (4.35). He will prepare for a later invasion by enlisting mercenaries. But this window of opportunity will allow Judas and his troops to free and reconsecrate the temple. This campaign will also open the way to further victories against an even larger force (5.37–43). 2 Maccabees summarises: although they were ‘few in number, they seized the whole land, pursued the barbarian hordes, and regained possession of the temple […], liberated the city, and re-established the laws […]’, showing noble courage (ἀνδραγαθία) and high spirit (ɛὐψυχία) (2.20–2; also 1 Macc 14.18).⁷¹

Herodotus’ exempla of attacked rulers, who stand up against a much more powerful king, emphasise both the courage of those who defend their country and the negative outcome of wars of aggression. Tomyris, the queen of the Massagetae, confronts the mighty Cyrus and dispatches a messenger to dissuade him from invading her land.⁷² Cyrus will not abide by the established borders. He will engage the Massagetae, will even obtain a partial victory, but will eventually face a crushing defeat and death.⁷³ Cambyses will also fail when he sets off to seize Ethiopia. The Ethiopian king rejects his expansionist intents, arguing that Cambyses lacks just motives to start the war and fails to respect the borders.⁷⁴ Cambyses will incur serious losses, forcing him to give up the campaign against Ethiopia.⁷⁵

Plutarch's sayings of Spartan rulers repeatedly stress that lesser numbers are not decisive if men fight with courage, for the right reason—in self-defence, to fend off assaults of evil enemies, with appropriate motivation, with a sense of responsibility for their country.⁷⁶

Courage and fighting for a just cause are also associated with divine succour. ‘[I]t is neither numbers nor strength which wins victories in war’, Xenophon asserts, ‘but whichever of the two sides it be whose troops, by the blessing of the gods [σὺν τοῖς θɛοῖς], advance to the attack with stouter hearts’.⁷⁷ Fighting for the right reasons, in particular a defensive war, ensures exceptional courage through heavenly help. Onasander argues that:

it should be evident to all that one fights on the side of justice. For then the gods also, kindly disposed, become comrades in arms to the soldiers, and men are more eager to take their stand against the foe. For with the knowledge that they are not fighting an aggressive but a defensive war (οὐκ ἄρχουσιν ἀλλ’ ἀμύνονται), with consciences free from evil designs, they contribute a courage that is complete; while those who believe an unjust war is displeasing to heaven, because of this very opinion enter the war with fear, even if they are not about to face danger at the hands of the enemy.⁷⁸

Josephus makes a somewhat similar point in Herod's speech to the Jews who prepare to confront the Nabateans. They are said to fight for a just cause, they should punish the lawless, they enjoy a special religious status, and ‘those who have justice with them, have God with them, and where God is there too are both numbers and courage’.⁷⁹

As expected, faith and trust in divine assistance feature prominently in religious texts.⁸⁰ Israelites going out to war against a far larger army should not be afraid because God, their liberator from the Egyptian captivity, is with them (Deut 20.1). Relying on God, King Asa overcomes the far superior army of the Ethiopians and Libyans (2 Chron 16.18, cf. 14.6–13). Victory does not depend on large numbers, but strength comes from heaven (1 Macc 3.19).⁸¹ The passage contrasts the δύναμις of a large army to the ἰσχύς coming from heaven. Judas’ resounding victory over the more than six times larger army of Lysias is due not only to the courage of his warriors but to their faith in the saviour God (1 Macc 4.28–35).⁸² Judas prays before facing an overpowering army, evoking God helping David and Jonathan to defeat the Philistines. To those who believe, invisible troops, heavenly appearances may also come to rescue (2 Kgs [4 Kgdms] 6.15–16, and esp. 2 Macc 2.21; 3.34; 10.29). God is expected to fight together with those who love him (1 Macc 4.33).

But even a military manual can start by asserting that the first duty of the cavalry commander is to fulfil the religious rites and pray, to be pleasing to the gods and gain their goodwill. Only afterwards should he look for recruits in sufficient numbers.⁸³

Certainly, there are records of confrontations that went wrong in spite of the heroic defence of a lesser army fighting for a just cause. Yet, these tragic last stands do not speak about despair but about preserving honour. In the Maccabean war, the campaign of Bacchides and Alcimus and their overpowering army will have a tragic outcome (1 Macc 9). Judas, still hoping that they may have the strength to fight, will not listen to those telling him that they are outnumbered, that they should save their lives and return with a larger force (9.8–9). Dying honourably and fighting courageously for their kindred is preferable to fleeing. There is a sort of fatalism in Judas’ response: if their time is near, they should die fighting courageously for their brothers and their glory (9.10). After a fierce battle with some gains, Judas dies and the remaining troops flee.

Before the battle of Thermopylae, Leonidas defiantly rejects Xerxes’ summoning to surrender the weapons.⁸⁴ Leonidas’ and his 300 hoplites’ heroic resistance against a ten times larger army could not halt the Persian invasion, but, in the long term, it probably contributed to later Greek victories, and it certainly became a source of awe and inspiration for millennia.⁸⁵ Seneca will evoke the example of Leonidas’ soldiers, ready to fight to their death, knowing that they have fought for their wives and children.⁸⁶

As a rule, boldness without prudence can, indeed, be harmful.⁸⁷ Prudence makes the difference between courage and senseless daring. But merely calculating the odds of success without a sense of courage, all the more while knowing the values that may be lost, would be inconceivable.

3.3 Honour and Shame

These examples of tragic heroism also evoke the issue of honour and shame, quite surprisingly, absent from our parable.⁸⁸ It is commonplace that in ancient Mediterranean societies preserving honour and avoiding disgrace was crucial, and this was particularly true for political and military leaders.⁸⁹

In military contexts, honour is associated with courage and heroism. Judas and his brothers are praised for having fought for Israel, defending and bringing glory to their people.⁹⁰ Before the confrontation with Lysias, Judas prays for the shaming of the enemy's army through defeat: God should fill them with cowardice and melt the boldness of their strength (1 Macc 4.31–32). Even the much more pious 2 Maccabees finds it important to highlight the philotimia of Judas and his brothers (2.20–22).⁹¹ Honour was a value worth dying for. In his last fight, Judas argues that dying in combat and preserving honour is preferable to the shame of a cowardly retreat (1 Macc 9.10). Surviving at any cost is not an option.

Polybius shows how funeral orations evoked and immortalised the fame ‘of those who performed noble deeds’, ‘who did good service to their country’, inspiring young men ‘to endure every suffering for the public welfare in the hope of winning the glory that attends on brave men’.⁹²

Onasander emphasises that a general who has made public his decision to start a war would face shame, should he back off, proving to be incapable of carrying out his intent:

it is most disgraceful and dangerous for a general, after he has given intimations of a beginning of war […] then to back out. For while everyone laughs at folly and rashness, we despise weakness, and the enemy […] even if they experience no harm, have good reason to hate the would-be invaders, as men who have not lacked the will, but lacked the ability to put a matter through.⁹³

This perspective resembles that of our parable, addressing the need to consider beforehand the implications of going to war and the importance of being able to go through with the endeavour. But as opposed to Luke, it stresses the shame of pulling back. Read against this background, the silence of our parable on honour and shame is all the more surprising, as shame is explicitly addressed in the previous parable, which speaks of a far more peaceful venture.

3.4 The Outcome of the War

The outcome of the war is discussed only from the perspective of a possible defeat, and surprisingly, most commentators embrace this perspective. The king does not seem to consider the cost of compromise and the potential harmful consequences of an unconditional surrender for himself, his state and his people. But surrender would expectedly lead to the loss of sovereignty, the obligation to pay tribute and other economic disadvantages, and disgrace.⁹⁴ It would also open the door to foreign cultural and religious colonisation. But even a peace deal offered by the adversary can be treacherous and be meant only to buy time for a subsequent attack (1 Macc 6.57–62).

More dramatically, peace at any cost may not be peace at all. Orators evoke circumstances when there is no other choice than risking battle, for a peace dictated by the enemy may be closer to slavery.⁹⁵ Surrender would expose the population to looting, rape and killings perpetrated by the occupier. Writing in a world shaped by the pax Romana, Luke may have also been aware that for the Romans, peace was conceivable only as victory, which excluded the option of negotiating peace, and was followed by the violent pacification, humiliation and spoliation of the vanquished after their full surrender (deditio) into the good faith (fides) of the victor.⁹⁶ Surrender held no guarantee of humane treatment. The occupied territories were turned into a wasteland. As Tacitus’ Calgacus, the leader of the Britons, would put it: ‘Theft, slaughter, and plunder they [Romans] falsely term empire; where they create a wasteland, they call it peace.’⁹⁷ Conversely, fighting for freedom can preserve the means of survival and subsistence.⁹⁸

Considering these issues, it seems that our king could lose anyway, even when he would not risk engaging in combat.⁹⁹ But taking the decision to avoid fighting at any cost, he would forfeit the chance to preserve his country.

3.5 Why Not Go Against the Odds? Realism and Extravagance in the Parable

In view of the above, we could imagine a scenario in which our king would decide to go against the odds, compensating numeric inferiority with strategy and courage, trusting in divine assistance, deciding, after careful reflection, to fight for the right reasons, to defend his country and his people. The question is, therefore, why none of these issues is considered?

The minimalism of the story may be due to the particularities of the genre. The two twin parables can be best defined as similitudes—short, uncomplicated stories reduced to the bare minimum, describing a common, typical human attitude or a recurring action, with little interest in details and complex discussions to make a single point.¹⁰⁰ While Jülicher's distinction between similitude and parable has been challenged,¹⁰¹ in our case these particularities make perfect sense. A similitude is not meant to explore causal relations, effects, the motivation of actions or various scenarios. The example of the king going to war, like that of the tower-builder, conveys a single idea: the need to assess the odds of succeeding. The tertium comparationis is prudence, required for the success of both peaceful and military endeavours.

The pragmatism of our story may also be seen as a feature of parables in general, of those about discipleship in particular.¹⁰² The lack of religious considerations may be due to the this-worldly character of the narrative in parables.¹⁰³

The combination of realism and surprise is typical for parables, which draw on real life and common human actions but also rewrite reality.¹⁰⁴ Ricoeur has pointed to the striking ‘contrast between the realism of the narrative and the extravagance of the dénouement and of the main characters’: a parable is marked by ‘the presence of the extraordinary within the ordinary’.¹⁰⁵ The parable is, thus, meant to be arresting, intriguing, out of the ordinary, extravagant, irritating, upsetting, and in some cases, even immoral.¹⁰⁶ However, this literary explanation may too easily downplay the oddity of a story that speaks of going to war or refraining from engaging in war as an exemplum for the disciples of Jesus.

4 Luke, A Pacifist?

Our parable seems to go against the idea of engaging in war, even when the king is not the aggressor, when preserving his honour and status would possibly require it, and by both ancient and contemporary standards, it would be appropriate to defend his country and his people. It would be, therefore, tempting to see Luke as a pacifist.¹⁰⁷ Alternatively, given that the parable advocates peace talks before the confrontation with an overpowering enemy and even surrender, the parable may suggest a ‘realist’ approach in matters of war.

This impression might be strengthened by other Lukan texts which, compared to parallels in Matthew, do not include references to violence and war. The outcome of the parable of the Great Festive Meal (14.15–24) is much more peaceful compared to that in Matthew (22.2–13). It does not include the mashal of the king going to war, and it does not allude to the destruction of Jerusalem.¹⁰⁸ There is nothing comparable to the terrifying divine war, described so vividly in Matt 22.7, there is no reference to the anger of the divine King, his sending of troops to destroy the murderers of his servants and burn down their city. Matthew's allegorical version of the banquet suggests that he heavily redacted the parable.¹⁰⁹ Since Luke wrote independently, there is no reason to expect him to have such violent details.¹¹⁰ Even so, the peaceful outcome in Luke is conspicuous, considering that he was also writing after the tragic end of the Jewish War.

Luke's version of the logion about Jesus not bringing peace (12.51) is also less violent compared to that in Matt 10.34. In Matthew, Jesus outrightly rejects (μὴ νομίσητɛ) his disciples’ supposition that he came to bring (lit. throw, βαλɛῖν) peace to earth. He did not come to bring peace but a sword (μάχαιραν). The sword stands here as pars pro toto for violent conflict and war.¹¹¹ In Luke, Jesus brings dissension not a sword.¹¹² A version of this logion in GThom 16.1–3, which seems to combine elements also found in Matthew and Luke and mentions war explicitly,¹¹³ may strengthen the impression that Luke is more peaceable.

Nonetheless, this impression is contradicted by texts which envisage Jesus and God as agents of violence.¹¹⁴ I will refer to Ch. 19, which pictures Jesus as a warrior king who destroys those who rebelled against his rule (19.12,14–15,27) and God as waging war against Jerusalem, the city which has failed to recognise the time of Jesus’ visitation (19.41–4).

4.1 Jesus and God Waging War Against Their People

In the parable of the throne claimant,¹¹⁵ the nobleman departing to acquire royal power (v. 12) sees his plans threatened by a delegation of citizens of his country (v. 14). Returning as king, he has those who rebelled against him killed (vv. 15, 27). While the parable may echo historical events,¹¹⁶ in the context it receives a puzzling Christological and eschatological interpretation. Identifying the return of the king and the execution of his opponents with the Parousia and eschatological judgement (or seeing in the citizens an allusion to Jesus’ Galilean critics¹¹⁷ or to Jewish authorities¹¹⁸) poses serious problems. As much as one would try to bring in socio-historical considerations about rulers punishing their opponents as a matter of honour, the act of the king is one of particular violence and cruelty: he has his enemies slaughtered in his presence (19.27).¹¹⁹ In the Christological reading of the parable, this act is assigned to Jesus.¹²⁰ He is the king who wages war against his antagonists.¹²¹ The end of the parable most likely refers to the destruction of Jerusalem.¹²²

Luke 19.42–4 envisages the destruction of Jerusalem as a consequence of Israel's failure to recognise and welcome the terms of peace (19.42), the time of God's visitation in Jesus.¹²³ In the lament over the fate of Jerusalem, Jesus foretells terrible events. The enemy will besiege Jerusalem, will crush the city to the ground together with its children (vv. 43–4).¹²⁴ While divine agency is not directly asserted, it is obvious that Luke understands the devastation of Jerusalem as an act of divine retaliation.¹²⁵ Since the Roman military intervention is a manifestation of God's judgement, it is indirectly the divine ruler waging war against Jerusalem through the Roman troops.¹²⁶ Ultimately, this, too, is a confounding account of divine violence. The message is quite similar to that of Matt 22.6–7, except for a more compassionate image of Jesus.¹²⁷

Read together, the parable of the throne claimant and Jesus’ interpretation of the destruction of Jerusalem as divine punishment through war apply the topos of the king waging war on a city to punish it for its resistance or revolt.¹²⁸

We could add here the equally drastic ending of the parable of the wicked tenants (Luke 20.9–19). Luke shares with the two other Synoptics the slaying of the tenants as punishment for their misdemeanour and the killing of the owner's son. The returning kyrios destroys the workers (Luke 20.16 follows Mark 12.9). Luke is less brutal compared to Matt 21.41, which has the kyrios put the evildoers to a miserable death.¹²⁹ But here, too, the kyrios, who stands for God, turns to violent retaliation.

4.2 Peace on Earth, Violence in Heaven?

This violence assigned to God and Jesus, culminating in a war of annihilation against Jerusalem and the destruction of the temple is difficult to explain. To be sure, Luke seems to approve of these acts of divine violence. Blaming disastrous outcomes of wars on human failure, on the lack of faith and the sins of the community is a view inherited from Deuteronomistic theology and prophetic literature, explaining historical tragedies.¹³⁰ The explanation was probably useful, as it averted a grave question of theodicy. Yet, the violence attributed to God and Jesus is unsettling. It is hard to reconcile with the message of non-violence found in many of Jesus’ exhortations, challenging the view that the Gospels in general, or Luke in particular, are pacifist. There are different ways to attempt to solve this dilemma, from acknowledging but minimising the problem to condoning divine violence, to outrightly denying it.

Focusing on Matthew, Barbara Reid distinguishes between the acts of violence perpetrated by humans, incompatible with the non-violent message of the Sermon on the Mount, and the end-time divine punishment depicted in the parables.¹³¹ However, the distinction is not entirely accurate, as some violent parables describe this-worldly punishment, culminating in the destruction of Jerusalem.¹³² More significantly, the underlying message remains violent. God retains the right to punish and inflict suffering. Further, as Reid notes, it is not obvious whether non-retaliation applies in all circumstances, and whether the precept of loving one's enemy is applicable at international level.¹³³

Klaus Berger, on the other hand, challenged the view that Jesus articulated a set of ethical principles among which pacifism would be the ultimate value.¹³⁴ Berger actually accepted (divine) violence as part of a religion which should not be reduced to an ethical system and linked it to the biblical understanding of embodiment, manifested in prophetic signs. The violent words and acts belonging to Jesus’ proclamation and the threatening apocalyptic images would be meant to warn believers to take divine judgement seriously.

At the opposite end, Marie Hause rejects the common understanding that violent parables envisage God as condoning and demanding violence. Thus, she argues that in an oppressive imperial context, the parable of the wedding banquet (Matt 22) could not have meant to identify the king with God. Conversely, the parable would advocate for passive, non-violent resistance against oppressive systems of power and exploitation.¹³⁵

These explanations have the merit of acknowledging the problem of attributing violence to Jesus and God. But they also show that while struggling with such texts, authors seem constrained to choose between accepting them as part of the Bible or explaining them away as legitimate, eschatological divine intervention, or, again, simply discarding the idea that the New Testament would associate God with violence.

John Kloppenborg argues, instead, that the acts of unimaginable violence God and Jesus carry out in the Synoptic parables may be due to a process of transferral, in which the violence actually perpetrated by humans in war is ascribed to the divinity, resulting in what he calls ‘imaginary violence’, a representation of violence increasingly disconnected from real-life experiences.¹³⁶ This heuristic concept may explain the depiction of God and Jesus in the Synoptic parables as agents of violence directed against humans, both outsiders and members of the in-group,¹³⁷ while acknowledging the problem it poses.

5 Conclusion

The incongruence between our parable and its application shows that the story itself is not about dedicated discipleship. Like its twin simile, it recommends prudence, assessing the odds of success, and advising against actions when these are likely to fail. Through its minimalism and by being placed within an exhortation on discipleship, a story about war and peace making is effectively blunted (‘verharmlost’). Most interpreters go along with the reading recommended by the context, explaining away the tensions with the context and the intrinsic problems of the story. A few authors pay attention to the narrative itself and suggest that it may have expressed Jesus’ views on war in his particular historical, political setting.

The parable itself speaks of a king confronted with the dilemma of going to war against a more powerful enemy or asking for an inauspicious peace. Both those who read it as a parable on discipleship and those who discover in it a political message agree that the king should refrain from engaging in war and make peace with an overpowering enemy. This appears to be the reasonable decision Jesus advises. Read in conjunction with other more peaceable texts, the story itself seems to strengthen the impression that Luke, and by extension, Jesus is a pacifist. That is why, as I was struggling with a title, I was also thinking of alternatives like ‘the wisdom of surrendering without a fight’ or ‘how to make Jesus a pacifist’.

However, in spite of some opinions, the parable cannot be used to make judgements on the appropriateness of war or peace making. The story does not address fundamental concerns, some essential in antiquity, others also relevant today: the role of military strategy and tactics versus numbers, the morale of the troops, religious questions (faith and trust in divine assistance), cultural issues (honour and shame), or more fundamental questions about the justness of the war and the right to defence or the costs of an unfavourable peace. The pragmatic perspective overlooks the importance of virtues like courage, self-sacrifice or concern for the fate of one's people. It is, indeed, an immoral parable that cannot be used to ground an ethics of war and peace.

More generally, Luke cannot be made a pacifist, as violence is not foreign to the Gospel that envisages Christ and God as waging war against humans. Jesus is portrayed as a king brutally destroying his opponents. God inflicts terrible punishment on Jerusalem through the Roman military for having failed to recognise the time of divine visitation. It is striking that, with few exceptions, interpreters take for granted the violence perpetrated by God and/or Christ in episodes addressing historical and eschatological punishment. It seems to be the sovereign right of the divine Judge to punish those who fail to welcome Jesus, to destroy human beings and countries.

We are confronted, thus, with a paradox. On the one hand, in a story about war, humans are apparently suggested to refrain from military conflict and make peace whatever the costs; more generally, most interpreters agree that the message of Jesus was non-violent and pacifist. But on the other hand, Jesus and God are thought to be entitled to wage war against their own people. The question is, why do we take it for justified when the Bible explains historical tragedies, like the defeat of the Jews’ fight for freedom, as divine punishment for alleged human failure when these were, in fact, due to political causes, specifically to the expansionism of a military superpower like Rome? Why do we take it for granted that Jesus has preached a radically non-violent Gospel that would disallow humans to defend the survival of their community, while God and Jesus have the right to destroy entire cities and nations? Reflecting on this paradox should warn against using biblical passages uncritically to ground an ethic of unconditional peace.

In a speech given at a conference hosted in Vienna in February 2023, Ukrainian human rights lawyer and Nobel Peace Prize laureate Oleksandra Matviichuk pleaded forcefully for the need to bring perpetrators of war crimes to justice because the decades-long impunity of the aggressor has made the current full-scale war possible.¹³⁸ This may remind us that while we are privileged to live in freedom, peace and welfare, it is an easy temptation to preach pacifism to the victims of aggression and demand they give up their fight for survival based on biblical quotes. Asking the victims to make peace at any cost in the name of an alleged non-violent Gospel means, in reality, condoning and prolonging the violence inflicted on them by the aggressor.