Joshua Ben David and the Royal Myth

The Holy Thorn, Glastonbury, England. Legend says it grew after Joseph of Arimathea stuck his staff into the ground at that spot. It flowers at Christmas and Easter. (Jim Champion, Wiki Commons)Dan,Corn

At breakfast this morning, the subject of the subject of Easter arose…but not from the dead. It arose because the breezy, sunny morning seemed to call for a longer time sitting at breakfast, looking at the distant moor across the river Tamar in Devon. And it happened that my husband, Simon, who was raised by strict Anglicans, asked if anyone during the life of a Jewish rabbi named Joshua Ben David called him Christ.

How could my husband, who is quite well-read and well-travelled, have missed the fact that Christos―from the Greek for annointed―was an honorific hung round the neck of this married Jewish rabbi much later? Later, when the myth was being created that he was unwed (which would have been very, very odd for a son of the royal House of David, and a 30-year-old rabbi) and that he was a rabble rouser who courted death to bring all souls to a God unknown in the world until that moment. One might almost say, in fact, that the creators of the myth were also creating a God.

And so they were. And so it is about time to issue a disclaimer: Anyone who is a fundamentalist about Christian thought might as well stop reading now. If, however, you are able to entertain the possibility that Christianity is no more than a myth, if indeed, a pretty good one, read on.

Years ago, I discovered books written by the late Laurence Gardner, a prolific British writer  who had traced the lineages of the royal houses of Europe (and influenced the work of Dan Brown). Their claim of the right to rule was based, in fact, on their own knowledge of their descent from Jesus of Nazareth, as Joshua Ben David became known post-humously, who his followers claimed was the son of God. They based that claim on what they posthumously reported as his own words, referring to his father in heaven.

A new, blue heaven

Interesting, that. At the time, there was no concept of heaven as we know it. The Romans didn’t have it, nor did the Jews in the way it was spoken of. The only culture of that time/world that had a concept of an afterlife was the Druids.

And now we get to Joseph of Arimathea, the rich man who supposedly gave his burial chamber to Joshua Ben David’s family to bury him after he was crucified by the Romans. Or by the Jews, depending on whose hands you wish to splash that blood.

What blood? Indeed, it is likely Joshua, like most criminals, was hanged by ropes. Certainly, some died. But Joshua was offered “gall” as he hung on the cross. In all likelihood, it was a Druid potion making it possible for him to endure, or to seem to have died when in fact he was in a coma of sorts and thus was cut down, according to Gardner. Later, he awakened, arose, and went to France with his WIFE Mary Magdalen.

Druids helped Jesus live

The real story of Joshua Ben David, pieced together by numerous historians, is complex, and using this small space won’t tell it all. So, jumping around is necessary.

Back to that Druid thing. Joseph of Arimathea was not just a rich man. He traded in metals. He traded in Cornwall; there is little doubt that he also took Joshua Ben David with him on a trip to Glastonbury, there to meet Druids.

And there is where Joshua Ben David, future rabbi, acquired his belief in an afterlife. Of all the known populations at the time, only the Druids believed in an everlasting cycle of life, and that belief made them much less fearful of death than other folk. They didn’t think of it as a bearded old man sitting on a cloud with a sidekick deciding whether to let people into heaven or not; neither did Joshua. When he referred to his “father”―and remember, this is only from translations of translations of translations, all of them written no less than 50 years after his “death” (can you recall what happens to statements when kids play ‘telephone’?)―he referred to the origin of mankind. Not to a definable entity. His belief was clearly that it was incumbent upon mankind to be loving with each other and to be thankful that we had such a magnificent world in which to play out this phase of our eternality. No more, no less.

British royals, and Celtic Warrior Kings

And so we skip to the royal houses of Europe; they believe they derive their divine right from God, the God they think Joshua Ben David explained to one and all, or at least to those living around the Mediterranean about 2000 years ago. Since evidence points to Joshua of the royal house of David moving to France and raising a family, they have a point. But why not let the hoi polloi know this? Why keep it a secret, and try to convince the hoi polloi of the ludicrous myth of a ghost dude walking around and then ascending like a puppet hauled up on invisible strings to a place above the clouds where his lesser throne would perch beside Dad’s? Why?

Because the rest of the world’s royals at the time―Celtic warrior kings, example―derived their power from killing more enemies and stealing more cattle than other king wannabes did. So, in fact, perpetuating the myth would make it possible for rulers to rule with barely the tip of a rapier insulting the body of a foe.

For that alone, making governmental succession less bloody (in theory; note that even English kings and queens drew blood, often a lot of it, but at least they could then say they were doing God’s work and not just participating in a major cattle raid), perhaps the myth of Jesus Christ, the embroidering of the doubtless thoughtful life of Rabbi Joshua Ben David, should be thanked.

Thanked, but not necessarily believed.

Burgh Island owner reaps what she sows...or at least, in part

Burgh Island at low tide (Photo: SP Tiley)

The day after our wedding reception, when the house was full of the grown daughters’ friends, my husband and I wanted some peaceful togetherness, alone…except for my dog. She had been a bit neglected regarding walks and treats in the run up to the event. So we decided to take a drive to the beach. It was midwinter; surely there would be a place within a couple of hours of our Maryland home where Brownie could play in the surf.

There was not. There was not one single patch of sand in Maryland on which a dog and her people could freely roam in February. We couldn’t believe it, but it was true. Even in pricey coastal Connecticut, I had been able to take my dog to the beach in winter.

When we moved to England, we―and the dog―were elated to find more than half of all Devon and Cornwall beaches allow dogs year-round, while others prohibit them between Easter and Oct. 1, the main beach season. Still, it was no hardship to find dog beaches in July, and the three of us happily visited several favorites whenever the sun peeked through.

Bigbury-on-Sea
One beach we thought might be fun was at Bigbury-on-Sea. There, the public beach is half doggie/half undoggie during summer months. But there was still lots of room! Plus, at low tide, one can walk to Burgh Island where there is an ancient pub and a swell hotel.

As it turns out, the hotel is so swell that owning it seems to have swelled the head of Deborah Clark, who was granted an exemption from the “right to roam” legislation that is intended to make virtually all of England’s coastline accessible to walkers, so that she could keep the entire island away from the roiling masses of scrofulous peasants…in other words, British families trying to enjoy their own magnificent coast. Clark claims that participating would have a devastating effect on local businesses.

Greedy hotelier battles other local businesses
No, Deborah. In fact, according to Devon Life magazine, “Nearly 75% of accommodation providers within one mile of the path consider it to be an important selling point for their business. It’s also a key attraction for day visitors to the region, who account for 40% of the annual tourism spend.”

What this unethical and greedy businesswoman meant was that allowing access to the historic island might be detrimental to luring the fops and dandies and B-rated celebrities who fork over 500 quid a night for the pleasure of sleeping at the Burgh Island Hotel. The hotel was once great, then a virtual flop-house for decades until Tony Porter resurrected it at great expense (his own) and with great trouble (again, his own). Porter is, in fact, fairly eloquent on what he thinks of Clark’s attitude, as reported by the Telegraph. He said:

“When we owned the island we allowed access to all of it and I would often meet people at the summit after climbing up there myself.

“We saw ourselves as being entrusted with the island when we had it and when we sold it we passed on our dream. It is a shame that things have changed.”

After reading Porter’s book about his project a few years ago, I did want to stay there, at least once. He and his wife had risked everything to take a derelict building and make it very special.

Banning the peasants from the land

But not now. It is people like Deborah Clark who make reasonable progressives into rabid socialists. After initially giving in to the demands of a high-powered barrister Clark had hired to ensure that the hoi polloi could be banned from the island, local authorities thought better of it and reversed the finding, giving Clarke only the closest paths to the hotel as private, and leaving the others open so that hikers could cross the island, look out to sea, visit the ancient hut at the peak. So, against the odds of big money and big ego, the common folk won most of the day.


What the reversal didn’t do, of course, was make the venerable Pilchard Inn accessible to anyone but hotel guests. Hikers and walkers are not even allowed in the door; if they require a pint or a cup of coffee after a hike, it is served to them through a half-door at the end of the building and they can consume it on outdoor picnic benches. But step inside the inn, which once served smugglers and other folks much more ethical and decent than the hotel’s current owners and faux-important guests? Nope. Commoner cooties would doubtless infest the place in short order.

Five months to a stunning flop

Last September, I met the hotel’s bartender. We attended an Agatha Christie Festival event about cocktails at a new restaurant, Port Salut, in Torquay. He is a nice guy and a good mixologist. I was hoping to see him again at events at Port Salut restaurant, also owned by Clarke. I didn’t know about her attitude toward the peasants back then.

So I thought I would just check up on Port Salut before writing about it.
What I found out is that there is a god.  Here’s what the Port Salut website had to say:

That's all Folks...

....Port Salut has ceased trading with immediate effect. This is in recognition of the difficulties in building a quality business in the Torquay location, despite the dedication and hard work of our core staff in the past 5 months. Whilst Torquay should be a premier destination and, we believe, will be in the future, this is still some time off. Port Salut will be contacting all creditors shortly with further information.

The message was dated Sept. 27, 2010. The cocktail class had been on Sept. 12.

Clark’s website said that they will contact their creditors.

Clark’s website said it’s not their fault they failed; it’s because Torquay is, well, not quite up to snuff. The fact that it is a premier tourist destination, as it has been since at least the 1930s, doesn’t seem to penetrate Clark’s self-involved consciousness. Indeed, a tiny restaurant called Sea Spray, very upscale but with a welcoming attitude, has been prospering to my certain knowledge for at least the past six years. It is less than four minute’s walk from Port Salut. Indeed, it enjoys an even less prestigious location than Port Salut had.

I sure would like to know how many of their creditors had been contacted as of Dec. 29, 2010.

And I do hope Ms. Clark will email me when, in her infinite commercial wisdom and total dedication to the welfare of the other business owners and the residents of Devon and Cornwall, she decides Torquay is finally worth a visit.

I won’t be visiting any businesses she decides to open when that miraculous day arrives.

And meanwhile, I’ll try not to tell the rest of Torquay’s business owners that while they might not know it, they are NOT a worthwhile tourism destination at the moment. Deborah Clark said so.