Gospel claims forty years removed and more from Jesus' resurrection are not the same thing as claims which are "only a short time later"

Jesus After the Critics

Michael C. Legaspi  

 ... Like most New Testament scholars, she holds Mark to be the earliest Gospel (composed sometime around the year 70), with Matthew and Luke—both of whom use Mark as a source ­document—coming along a generation later. John, independent of the other three, came later still. ... 

Pagels’s own position is that the question of Jesus’s resurrection goes beyond what a historian can say: “Historical evidence can neither prove nor disprove the reality”; it can only verify that “after Jesus died many people claimed to have seen him alive.”

Pagels is not entirely wrong. The evidence that Jesus was put to death—actually killed, in public, on a cross, by the governing ­authority—and that many people claimed, only a short time later, that they saw the same Jesus alive cannot seriously be doubted. ...              

 

Nice try, but no. 

We do not know that many people claimed that they saw Jesus alive "only a short time later". 

Pagels' claim to fame has been all about making this very kind of chronological error, placing later Gnostic sources on the same level as the New Testament as evidence to argue for multiple Christianities and their legitimacy. That Legaspi shrinks from calling her out on that tells you everything you need to know about Legaspi.

The only sense in which it is true that the modern phenomenon of scholarship is "now in retreat" is in the extent to which scholars like Pagels and her reviewer Legaspi themselves retreat from the critical project.  

Meanwhile in A.D. 69, around the time of the composition of Mark, many dreamers thought Nero had come back from the dead, too, but just because they existed doesn't mean we take them seriously or believe them, any more than Tacitus did, whose case proves yet again that human nature is unchanging, a mixture of credulity and incredulity from time immemorial:

... About this time Achaia and Asia Minor were terrified by a false report that Nero was at hand. Various rumours were current about his death; and so there were many who pretended and believed that he was still alive. The adventures and enterprises of the other pretenders I shall relate in the regular course of my work. The pretender in this case was a slave from Pontus, or, according to some accounts, a freedman from Italy, a skilful harp-player and singer, accomplishments, which, added to a resemblance in the face, gave a very deceptive plausibility to his pretensions. After attaching to himself some deserters, needy vagrants whom he bribed with great offers, he put to sea. Driven by stress of weather to the island of Cythnus, he induced certain soldiers, who were on their way from the East, to join him, and ordered others, who refused, to be executed. He also robbed the traders and armed all the most able-bodied of the slaves. ... Thence the alarm spread far and wide, and many roused themselves at the well-known name, eager for change, and detesting the present state of things. The report was daily gaining credit when an accident put an end to it. ...

-- Tacitus, Histories 2.8 

 

David Bentley Hart admits that "on the whole, the Gospel is probably not a very good formula for protecting public safety"

Ya think?

Here in Commonweal:

The Sermon on the Mount’s prohibitions of retaliation are absolutely binding on Christians, in both the private and the public spheres, for on the cross Christ at once perfected the refusal of violence and exhausted the Law’s wrath.

This simply begs the question, not only of present injustice, but of final judgment, which Christianity nevertheless teaches. The wrath of God has been hardly exhausted and will be meted out, according to the clear Christian teaching. This makes no sense if the Law's wrath has been "exhausted". The only conclusion to be drawn from that, if it is true, is that there will be no final judgment. This, of course, is where universalism comes from. And the doctrine of purgatory is its halfway house.

The ordinance not to retaliate, like all of the teaching, for example on poverty, is part of the wider message that the world is soon coming to an end. Take that end away, and the teaching becomes utterly obscurantist. It is only intelligible as an explicitly interim ethic in an eschatological time. But even at that, as Schweitzer correctly pointed out, it really represents the negation of ethics and is no ethic at all because all traditional human relationships under it have come to an end ("For whosoever shall do the will of God, the same is my brother, and my sister, and mother").

That is why Tacitus correctly called the Christians haters of humanity.

 

It's also why Christians themselves at length gave it up.

People will not persist in an interminable state of poverty and undergo injustice in very large numbers or for a very long period. The history of the church tells us so. It is the history of the compromise and defeat of the original eschatological message. It is a history of degeneration.

Early in the essay Hart deflects the charge of sentimentality saying that he thinks there are very few opponents of capital punishment who do not realize the heinousness of many crimes. But in its place Hart advocates for his own sunny form of unrealism:

[I]f Newman was right—and believing Catholics had better hope he was, for the sake of the intelligibility of their faith—it is not only doctrine but also the church’s understanding of its teachings that is clarified over time by the Spirit. There may be slight missteps, of course, but the general view of development tacitly taken by the magisterium is that there are no violent retreats from clearly stated new discoveries; there is only a relentless narrowing and intensification of focus. This suggests, among other things, that the teachings of the magisterium under the current pontificate are probably more trustworthy than those under the pontificate of, say, Leo X.

I expect Mary to be declared part of the godhead any day now.

The difference between Muslim extremism and Christian extremism

Muslim extremism produces all in the same profane person expert cheating, lying and murder of unbelievers.

Christian extremism produces all in the same person serial monogamy, moonshining and snake handling which gets only themselves and sometimes their followers killed.

Tacitus criticized the Christians for their hatred of humankind, but he obviously never met a Muslim.

Candida Moss pretends that eyewitness reports can't possibly be morality tales ...

. . . and has a curious list of historical sources she likes and dislikes to say the least.

She doesn't trust The Acts of the Apostles, The Da Vinci Code, The Gospel of John, The Da Vinci Code, Tacitus, and The Da Vinci Code.

But she rather likes The Acts of Peter, The Hebrew Bible, The Letters of Paul, The Hebrew Bible, John Chrysostom, and The Hebrew Bible.

Here.

"The irony here, as I argued in my book Myth of Persecution, is that Christian myths about the martyrdom of the apostles don’t even pretend to use the earliest historical sources. Which is just fine, as long as you recognize that they are morality tales, not eyewitness reports." 

The whole idea of Jesus' resurrection is a morality tale, in which the tragedy which befell a good but crazy man consumed with ideas of justice is rationalized to preserve those ideas and those who believe in them.

A vast multitude of Christians were convicted in 64 AD not so much for the crime of starting fires as for hatred of humankind

". . . to die is gain"

"multitude ingens baud perinde in crimine incendii quam odio humani generis convicti sunt"

Tacitus, Annals 15.44

Pick Your Poison

Sunday's sermon was based on 2 Corinthians 12:1 ff., but what caught my attention was the Gospel appointed for the day, from Mark 6:1 ff., where Jesus sends out the disciples "by two and two," commanding them to take "nothing for their journey, save a staff only" and to "be shod with sandals."

The parallel in Matthew 10 contradicts these details, where Jesus says "provide . . . neither shoes, nor yet staves . . ." (vss.9-10), whereas Luke fails to mention the staves altogether, but agrees with Matthew about the footwear (10:4).

Neither Mark nor Luke represent the episode in the explicit eschatological terms which thoroughly infuse Matthew's parallel account. Indeed, Matthew transfers much of the eschatological imagery and language which Mark reserves for the yet somewhat distant time of his "little apocalypse" in Mark 13 into a much earlier period of the ministry of Jesus. In Matthew 10:23 Jesus says, "For verily I say unto you, Ye shall not have gone over the cities of Israel, till the Son of man be come." This latter is the startling saying which so preoccupied the imagination of Albert Schweitzer's Quest of the Historical Jesus. As such these differences are a reminder of how the author of Matthew is at pains to correct the record of Mark. Luke also does this in his own way and at a later date, and openly states it as his aim in providing his own orderly and accurate account, the existence of other similar declarations of the gospel (presumably Mark and Matthew) notwithstanding (Luke 1:1 ff.). The Synoptics thus represent a stream of tradition worked and reworked because of perceived but unstated deficiencies, the fact of which underscores the importance of the work of redaction criticism and of the need to let the individual compositions speak for themselves and be understood on their own terms as much as is possible.

Every critic will have his favorite problem texts from the Bible. One of mine is from 2 Peter 2:6-8 where the reader is reminded about righteous Lot, who "vexed his righteous soul from day to day with their unlawful deeds" in Sodom and Gomorrah. Jesus is made to recount this story of Lot's escape from God's judgment on those cities in Luke 17:28 ff. But neither author seems to be in the least bothered by the seamy conclusion of the story in Genesis 19 whereby "both the daughters of Lot" were "with child by their father" (vs. 36). Having lost their husbands (!) to the fire from heaven and being unable to find new ones in their mountain hideaway, they got their father senseless drunk (on successive evenings, at least) to get children by him without his knowledge. The apples don't fall far from the pillar of salt, so to speak. What a family.

And never mind the internal problems with the story in Genesis 19. Are the daughters virgins (vs. 8) even though they have husbands (vs. 14)? Or has some considerable but unstated period of time intervened? Lot at length finds himself in difficult straights, barricaded in his house, but does a righteous man offer to throw his own flesh and blood to a mob of rapists in the street to protect the messengers of God within? It's as if none of this is known, or matters, to the authors of 2 Peter and Luke.

Another wonder is the famous example from Titus 1:12 f., which approvingly quotes the ancient maxim "The Cretans are alway liars." If you need a proof text for stereotyping an ethnic group, there you have it. Some say such reputations were justly deserved, however politically incorrect it may be today to say so openly. But it is hard to imagine the Paul of the Epistle to the Romans saying such a thing: "If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men" (12:18).

Some problems are more serious than others, for example, the difficulty with identifying Cyrenius the governor of Syria from Luke 2:1 f. It bears repeating, however, that such problems are not unique to the Bible. Tacitus' understanding of the Jews in his Histories is riddled with mistakes, but we don't give up in despair of learning from him about matters nearer to Rome because of it. It should more often be considered that the weaknesses we discover on the page are more nearly a reflection of our own, and tell us more about the human condition than we care to admit, the theme of the sermon, had I been paying better attention.

Greek Men Conjugate in Their Sleep

When I was growing up, my mother kept telling me that smart boys pretty much had three options professionally. You either studied to become a doctor, a lawyer, or a preacher. She was trying to get me ready for the future, since by the time I was a freshman in high school, I was more interested in making explosives in chemistry class and in playing football than in anything else. (If you weren't obsessed with football in Wisconsin in the 60's there must have been something wrong with you.) So when a victory over a track and field injury through surgery meant that I could continue to compete in football, it seemed like divine intervention to me and the die was cast. A preacher I would be.

In college in those days the place where all preacher wannabes met their Waterloo was in Greek grammar and syntax class, at the beginning of the sophomore year. If you didn't pass the verb exam with 90 percent accuracy, you didn't go on. You'd be steered at that point to a degree in "education," and become a certified teacher in the church, but not a preacher. We were, of course, terrified of this possibility, not because the outcome was so bad, but because it meant that we didn't have "the right stuff."

It was a good system, and weeded out the intellectually less gifted pretty quickly. By the second quarter of Greek you could already tell who was going to make it and who was not, and those over whom a question mark hovered tread their way precariously. Greek is a very difficult language in many respects, not in the least because of the precision of expression it affords through a multiplicity of inflections, both for the noun and the verb. And if you came to it without having learned Latin or French or German in the grades, you were at a distinct disadvantage, especially at the relatively late stage of college when beer and girls represented a far more appealing past time than drilling with flash cards two hours every evening. It's much better to get language under your belt before you get there so that you can actually spend your time reading the ancients in the original languages with smart guys who've spent their whole lives doing the same.

It's true that since this high water mark in the 70's there has been a precipitous decline in standards and expectations in America, but from the perspective of the history of education over the last hundred years, the story is really much much worse. For many years I mistook the high point in my own experience for the veritable Olympian heights, only to realize much later that it was merely a stop at the lowest of the base camps situated far below the summit. Today by comparison most divinity students aren't even mucking about in the grassy foothills far below . . . for them the mountain is not even in sight.

To appreciate my point fully consider some of the books used by a ministerial student during the years 1880-1884, which I acquired a hundred years after the fact through a friend. They are inscribed by one B. Henry Succop, who studied at what is now Concordia Theological Seminary, Ft. Wayne, Indiana, a scion of a storied and prolific clan of Lutherans of the day. The young Henry was wont to mark his progress in the margins of his books, recording the day, the month, and the year at each point along the way, employing perfect penmanship I might add. His youth is in evidence because just like any school boy he doodles, delightfully, on the pages as he daydreams. There are even some fine figures he created, colored, and cut out for imaginative moments upon his desk, tucked between the pages. This means that Henry was younger than the typical divinity student of today, who matriculates at a seminary only after completing an undergraduate degree somewhere first.

The only volume in evidence for 1880 shows Henry reading Julius Caesar's commentaries on the Roman civil war, in Latin, using a Weidmann edition published just two years prior. In 1881-82, he moves on to Cicero and Livy in Latin, and Plutarch's lives of Themistocles and Pericles in Greek, employing late Teubner editions dating from 1872 to 1877. In 1882 he is also reading Virgil's Aeneid, again in Latin, not in translation. Come 1883 Henry is quite busy, reading Cicero's Against Catiline and the Odes of Horace in Latin, as well as the Ajax of Sophocles and the Philippics of Demosthenes in Greek, again employing the latest Teubner and Weidmann editions as available. Rounding out the list for that year is Justin Martyr's Apologies, in Greek. For the final year, 1884, there is evidence for only one subject, St. John Chrysostom, in Greek. Quite the plate full apart from the rest of the curriculum, about which there are no clues. And, oh yeah, the trots between the pages, they're in German, his native language.

B. Henry Succop came to Concordia prepared to read the ancients in Latin and Greek, and not just the New Testament or the fathers, but the best authors the pagan past had to offer. This means he had learned his Latin and his Greek in the grades. It also means those so-called backward, conservative, fundamentalist Lutherans thought it important for their future leaders like Henry to spend time studying the cultural opposition. In consequence, Henry's library more closely resembles that of a classicist. Poke around in the library of a contemporary preacher if he'll let you. You'll find far lighter reading in it, I assure you.

If it be objected that Henry's experience was peculiar and parochial, it must be remembered that public school students of the day themselves were reading difficult Latin authors such as the historian Tacitus by the time they were in high school. This was the case because most colleges had a foreign language requirement of three semesters of Latin, and high schools were expected to send them students who could complete them successfully. Today, by contrast, the country is crawling with degree mills without such requirements. Majors in classical antiquity themselves often have to wait until the senior year for a seminar in Tacitus. So-called doctorates in less demanding fields stalk the land who have never once studied a foreign language for a week, and masters of divinity litter the landscape who have passed Greek with a rudimentary summer course and presume to rule on matters of eternal significance but can't pronounce the letters of the Greek alphabet arranged carefully to embody those ideas. "If therefore the light that is in thee be darkness, how great is that darkness!"

No wonder the thoughtful man in the pew is sad. He is alone.