After ten years of observing the field after publishing my academic study on the subject, I find there are generally only two reasons to remain confident in the historicity of Jesus: a desperate faith-based need to; and a disinterest in actually checking. The former is, of course, why believers can’t engage in honest debates over the historicity of Jesus: merely entertaining the proposition requires them first to admit their religion is false (whereas, conversely, nonbelievers are entirely content with any of the “historical Jesuses” mainstream scholars now construct). We all knew this going in (see On the Historicity of Jesus, pp. xii, 14, 18–19, 601–02, 617). What is surprising is how many people join the second camp, showing no genuine interest in actually checking if Jesus’s historicity is something we should be confident in.

There is also, of course, the unfortunate public who believe there are mountains of evidence for a historical Jesus because they keep being told that. But that tends to have the opposite effect, when they check and find they were lied to about that. The evidence is actually scant, vague, weak, and problematic. And if you don’t admit that to them from the start, you’ll lose them. Because people don’t like being conned. The exaggerative hyperbole of historicists is their own worst enemy. But today my interest is in a certain segment of historicist scholars—not the hostiles who run the con, but the friendlies who still believe we should be confident Jesus existed, and why they still believe that.

The Problem

Bart Ehrman, for example, is a hostile: he had repeatedly refused to even read either of the two peer reviewed studies finding doubt the more credible posture (my On the Historicity of Jesus, and Raphael Lataster’s Questioning the Historicity of Jesus; I’m told he denies this now, and claims to have read my book, but he has never published anything in respect to it). One can only speculate on his reasons (stubbornness, ego, peer pressure, intellectual inertia, fearing a loss of financial success or social status, family issues, who knows). There may be different reasons for every individual who puts themself in this camp, even a congeries of reasons in each case. The only thing they all manifestly share in common is the singular result: they have convinced themselves they don’t need to check anything. And because they don’t check, they remain mired in an academic dogma they’d otherwise begin to doubt.

We see this most plainly in every hostile case: so far, every critic of our studies has demonstrated, repeatedly, that they don’t even know what’s in them (you can check every single example in my List of Responses to Defenders of the Historicity of Jesus). Some of them also lie a lot. And that tells you a lot. A defensible position does not require lies to defend. But even then they mostly lie about having read the studies they claim to be answering (and thus, didn’t actually), or about other things that help them defend their not doing that. As a paradigmatic example:

[Chrissy] Hansen claims “Lord Raglan’s work has since been widely dismissed by folklorists and mythologists” but cites for this claim only two scholars, Zumwalt and Dundes, neither of whom attest to this claim, but in fact attest the opposite. Zumwalt actually supports Raglan’s mythotype and critiques only his assumption of a ritual foundation behind it. Dundes literally published a defense of applying the Rank-Raglan mythotype to Jesus; and in the work (and very page, 231) Hansen cites, Dundes endorses the mythotype explicitly as reasonable. Hansen is lying. Either she is lying about what Zumwalt and Dundes said. Or she is lying about having checked what Zumwalt and Dundes said.

Either way, we are looking at the behavior of a Christian apologist, not a scholar. And it’s worse than that, of course. Any search of scholarship for the use of the Rank-Raglan mythotype finds numerous studies employing it, and almost no one scorning it. Exactly the opposite of Hansen’s claim. As just three examples picked at random: the mythotype is taken as rote in The Heart Is a Mirror: The Sephardic Folktale published by Wayne State University Press in 2007; “The Legend of the Jewish Holy Virgin of Ludmir” published in the Journal of Folklore Research in 2009; and “Josephus’ Portrait of Moses” by famed Josephus expert Louis Feldman, published in The Jewish Quarterly Review in 1992. [Plus five more examples I could have named.] So Hansen didn’t even check (or lied about what she found).

“Chrissy Hansen on the Pre-Existent Jesus”

Later I discovered evidence that Hansen found the same list of scholars I did (she ran the same or similar Google Scholar search), and thus in fact lied about her results supporting the opposite conclusion (no scholar on that list “dismisses” the mythotype). But even more appallingly, Hansen simply blatantly lies about what the scholarship she herself cites says. It says the opposite. And the field generally attests the opposite. This appears to be in aid of only one thing: while checking got the result she didn’t want (so she chose to suppress that result), she instead promulgated a lie to try and encourage everyone else not to check The common theme: not checking. The world just has to be a certain way (for whatever reason); and checking the facts for real would undo that. Therefore, you mustn’t check. Nor must anyone else. (For more examples of this kind of thing, whether dishonest or merely bumbling, see Some Controversial Ideas That Now Have Wide Scholarly Support and An Ongoing List of Updates to the Arguments and Evidence in On the Historicity of Jesus.)

Peruse my list of critics and you will find example after example of people acting this way (whether simply not checking, or even lying about it). It is the only kind of response to our findings that ever gets a write-up (whether in a script, article, or chapter: see What I Said at the Brea Conference). After that, apart from scholars conceding that doubt is a credible position to take (whether they themselves take it or not: see List of Historians Who Take Mythicism Seriously), there is only one other kind of response: dismissals without a write-up, where someone just gives an off-hand reason why they are confident Jesus existed even despite multiple studies questioning that. They don’t bother writing up any actual defense of their position (much less critique of the peer reviewed studies questioning it).

In this last category, the most common formula is what I call a friendly dismissal, rather than a hostile one. These are usually couched in some diplomatic way like, “I can see how one might find it doubtful, but I think it’s just more plausible to conclude Jesus existed, because…” and they give some reason(s). Which of course have already been refuted or challenged in the studies they are thereby making an excuse not to read. But since the purpose of their statement is to get them out of having to check—rather than instead first checking if their reasons hold up before affirming them—this exhibits the same psychological end-game: to not check; and to justify not checking. Whether they are trying to justify this to themselves or others, it doesn’t matter. The result is the same. They don’t check.

The Scandal

Things fall apart when you check.

This was my own surprising result. I used to be a stalwart historicist, dismissing mythicists as the cranks and amateurs they were, and appealing to consensus and all the usual knee-jerk “reasons” scholars give. I made sport of the notion (see, for example, the collection of my earlier thinking at the time in Kersey Graves and The World’s Sixteen Crucified Saviors; that collection post-dates my slide toward agnosticism but its content, which it only assembled into one place, pre-dates it). It actually took considerable persuading to get me to consider reading Earl Doherty’s The Jesus Puzzle. I only did because several people whose judgment I trusted had independently asked me to, and all affirmed that he didn’t succumb to any of the usual baloney you get from mythicists, which I was by then sick and tired of—no conspiracy theories, no dumb astrotheology, no gross errors of fact or logic. When I read his work, I was very surprised by how well it held up. I had my criticisms; but I also realized the field had no adequate reply to his stronger points (see my 2002 outcome report, “Did Jesus Exist? Earl Doherty and the Argument to Ahistoricity”).

I then became concerned. It was starting to look like historicity was a questionable dogma and not actually all that defensible. I wasn’t convinced yet, but I fell onto the fence of agnosticism, awaiting some effective response from experts. None came. Eventually, patrons funded my own postdoc research study to try and sort this out once and for all. I devoted six years to researching every published or even conceivable defense of historicity. And lo, I found that for every argument, no matter how sound it looked, once you start pulling at the threads holding it together, it falls apart. The result was two peer-reviewed books (On the Historicity of Jesus, published by an academic press then housed at the University of Sheffield and run by faculty thereof; and Proving History, which I mandated by contract that Prometheus Books get peer reviewed by a professor of mathematics and a professor of Biblical Studies; Prometheus is now an imprint of Rowman & Littlefield), and several peer-reviewed journal articles (reproduced now in Hitler Homer Bible Christ). I mention the fact of peer-review because, when I don’t, the assumption or assertion becomes that none of this is real, peer-reviewed, academic work. It is. So is Lataster’s.

When I started my study I was startled to discover that no other dedicated study of historicity had been published in almost a hundred years (the last, in defense, was written in 1912; with a second edition in 1928; and that’s it). And still, since mine finding for doubt, only one other such study has passed peer review, Lataster’s—corroborating my result. And so far, that’s it. It is thus very strange that no one wants to actually read these books, not even those attempting academic critiques of them. The fact that when we check, we get this result, while the only opposition we face are people stalwartly disinterested in checking, has convinced me that we are right. Opposition now is just dogmatic, not legitimate.

This trend does not just hold for the whole shebang. It holds for every single argument for the historicity of Jesus (see Historicity Big and Small: How Historians Try to Rescue Jesus and A Few More Attempts to Rescue Jesus, as well as Desperately Searching the Epistles for Anything That Attests a Historical Jesus). And today I want to illustrate this for this last echelon of resistors: the friendly givers of off-the-cuff-reasons why they stick to the dogma and don’t look into any of the serious doubts.

Foreshadowing

While I was conducting my postdoc study (between 2008 and 2014) I realized something blasphemous for a “mythicist” to admit: Gnosticism Didn’t Exist. This is sometimes a good test to apply: historians will often wax on about how mythicists misuse “Gnosticism” to get their results; when they are surprised to learn my study never even mentions Gnosticism, you know they haven’t read it (even Lataster only spends a couple paragraphs on it). I chose to never employ the concept anywhere in my study because I came to believe the concept is a modern invention—what we today mean by “Gnosticism” simply did not exist in antiquity. It’s an anachronism. One more idea that falls apart when you pull at its strings. I was delighted to learn later that scores of experts in the field were coming to the same conclusion at the very same time: the Westar Institute’s seminar committee on the subject came out with the same conclusion the same year, which its Fellows unanimously approved (I am now also a Westar Fellow).

I was also starting to suspect the same is true of Docetism, and am now even more certain of that (Did ‘Docetism’ Really Even Exist?). This is important. Because a lot of hand-wavy reasons given to go on maintaining the historicity dogma hinge, for example, on claiming of every attestation of mythicism in antiquity, “Oh, that’s just Docetism,” when in the modern sense of that word they intend, that is actually full-on impossible (see How Did Christianity Switch to a Historical Jesus?, in particular its analysis of Ignatius, which I develop further in Jesus from Outer Space; likewise, my related discussions of 2 Peter). But they don’t know this. Because they don’t check. They have seen a dozen publications and peers assert this, so it must be true. Damned if the evidence bears it out. Who cares? They said it must. How could they be wrong? Well, regardless how, I’m here to tell you, they are. They are wrong about a lot of things. Because too many things in this field get repeated over and over without being checked. This has happened so routinely in the Q-source debate as to be all but a joke now (see Why Do We Still Believe in Q? and The Backwards and Unempirical Logic of Q Apologetics).

Nevertheless, in all three cases—Gnosticism, Docetism, and Q—an assumption I firmly held as a historian, because everyone else did, turned out to be dubious as soon as I examined it, even things (like Gnosticism) that are supposed to be supportive of mythicism.

Things fall apart when you check.

I started getting so used to this that it no longer surprises me anymore. Whenever you hear some trope being repeated by a scholar as a “reason” to believe in historicity, I’d bet you real money, they didn’t check; and when we check, it will fall apart somehow. Because it always does. This was the revelation that finally made me realize this is a dogma, and not a validly formed consensus (see On Evaluating Arguments from Consensus). Which means Jesus’s historicity is even more dubious than I thought. Not impossible—I still give it a respectable probability—but it’s not something we should pretend we can be so certain of. It’s something we should doubt.

Examples

Here is a sample of the most common arguments we hear from friendlies (though you’ll hear them from hostiles, too):

The Argument from Illiterate Fishermen: “The disciples can’t have constructed [invented, derived, built] this religion out of Scripture, [because] they were illiterate fishermen.” Were they? Why would you gullibly believe that? Even the Gospels don’t ever really say it (Acts alone has one sentence claiming this, and Acts is full of shit; see my discussion in Science Education in the Early Roman Empire, pp. 137–38). Did you know back then educated Rabbis were required to ply a manual trade—like fisherman? (see Not the Impossible Faith, Ch. 2) Oh. You didn’t? Now re-examine your thinking. “They were fishermen, therefore illiterate” just went down the toilet as a line of reasoning. So why should your conclusion survive the death of its premise?

It’s not even credible they were fishermen. Paul never mentions it; nor 1 Clement or Hebrews or any defensibly early text. And it looks more to me like the author of Mark invented it to construct a clever pun (OHJ, p. 440; or a play on Homer’s Odyssey: OHJ, p. 399). But regardless, were it true the “Disciples” were illiterate, Paul would have made hay of that fact all over his Epistles (OHJ, pp. 263–64). Because that would mean he alone, and not they, could read the Scriptures, which he attests was absolutely essential to demonstrating the faith and ascertaining its tenets (e.g. Romans 16:25–26 and 1 Corinthians 15:1–8 and Galatians 3:1; plus examples after examples after examples after examples after examples after examples). And yet, instead, Paul always defers to them as his equals or near superiors; this argument never comes up (just look at Galatians 1–2, 2 Corinthians 11:5–7, 1 Corinthians 1:11-13, 1 Corinthians 3:19-23, 1 Corinthians 4:1-9, 1 Corinthians 12:27-29). That means Paul—and his congregations—knew the first Apostles were just as educated as he was. Their illiteracy was a myth invented later, much like the illiteracy of Mohammed, to make their roles and efforts seem more miraculous. It has zero plausibility as history.

This is one of those things that just “keeps being repeated” by historians in this field, “the Disciples were illiterate,” but none of them ever stop to ask if it’s even plausible, much less credibly evidenced. They don’t check.

The Argument from Knowing Him in the Flesh: We see the same thing happen when James Tabor was once asked to explain why he believed Jesus existed, and he said he was convinced by the fact that Paul said in 2 Corinthians 5:16 that people knew Jesus in the flesh. Um. Oh dear. Tabor didn’t check. He must have heard this somewhere; maybe from some Christian peer, or maybe even a secular peer just repeating what some Christian down the line said, none of them checking this verse in context to see if this was even true. All of these “But didn’t you think about this verse?” arguments you can usually refute quite readily using the Scripture index in OHJ (and anything I missed there, is now here). You’ll find this verse listed in OHJ on page 669, where you’ll see it is discussed on page 571, where you will read this:

[W]hen Paul says, ‘although we have known Christ according to the flesh, now we no longer know him that way’ (2 Cor. 5.16), he is not excusing the fact that he did not know Jesus personally as the other apostles did, because he is referring not to himself but to all Christians, including the Corinthians he is writing to (as the context indicates: 2 Cor. 5.1-15). This is therefore a reference to our living no longer ‘according to the flesh’ but according to the spirit (Romans 8). So it is not Christ’s fleshly existence Paul is referring to here (because even on historicity the Corinthians can’t possibly have known Christ that way), but our fleshly existence, and our choice to live ‘in’ the flesh or out of it—and the fact that Christians begin in it, and ascend out of it. Thus, we all know Christ when we are in the flesh, but then we evolve beyond that. As Paul says in the very next line (2 Cor. 5.17).

Tabor was snowed by Christian apologetics. And many Bible translations make this clear. But he didn’t know that, because he didn’t check. Which means Tabor is resting his confidence in the historicity of Jesus on a manifestly false claim about what’s in the Bible. But will he change his conclusion when he realizes his premise was false? I doubt it. He is not interested. In his case, you might guess why.

The Argument from Oral Tradition: But the same thing happened with Mark Goodacre. In our conversation on Unbelievable he maintained as one of his reasons to be convinced is that in 1 Corinthians 15:1-8 Paul says he learned the gospel “from those who were in Christ before him.” But that’s not there. Why did Goodacre think that line was there? On the show, when I pointed that out, he tried to find it in the Epistles somewhere. It isn’t in them. To the contrary, Paul insists (indeed, outright swears) the opposite was the case (Galatians 1:11–18, using the same vocabulary, thus indicating he is referring to the same thing in both places: see OHJ, p. 536; as Paul indicates there, human tradition wasn’t even a respected source at the time, and is never referenced in Paul: cf. e.g. Romans 16:25-26).

And yet Goodacre was so sure of this. Because it’s what he was told. He never checked to see if what he was told was even true. I know the feeling. I was told this, too. I was thus surprised to find it wasn’t true. The only difference is, I allowed the loss of the premise to change my conclusion. Checking mattered to me. Goodacre remains stubbornly committed to the conclusion, such that it survives the loss of every premise (and indeed there are more examples than this of the same thing happening in that show). Yet this insistence on “we have evidence of an oral tradition from people who knew Jesus” remains Goodacre’s cornerstone reason for remaining a historicist. Yet there is no such evidence—the existence of such a tradition is only a hypothesis in want of evidence. It is thus always a circular argument: the hypothesis that there was a relevant “oral tradition” gets handwaved into a “fact” that is then used to support the hypothesis (see Robyn Faith Walsh on this point, although as we’ll see in a moment, even she buys into this myth at some level). But only when you concertedly check will you discover this, and finally react to the realization of it.

The Argument from John the Baptist: This conflation of hypothesis with fact, enduring because of a failure to check, is also exhibited by Francesca Stavrakopoulou when she was asked why she still thought Jesus existed (although her confidence in that conclusion, she has admitted, is not that strong): she gave the stock reason that the Gospels’ inclusion of Jesus being baptized by John seems too embarrassing to have been made up, and so they appear to have been forced to admit it only by its being well known. This is a common argument. Yet it’s a perfect example of a claim that is believed because it keeps getting repeated, but no one actually checks if it’s even true—or else, when they do check, they find that it is not, as John Gager did in “The Gospels and Jesus: Some Doubts about Method,” Journal of Religion 54.3 (July 1974), pp. 262–63.

Almost everything about this claim is false, even its logic (Proving History, pp. 145–48). The Gospel authors had no trouble leaving things out they didn’t like; so the idea that they were “forced” to include it is simply false. And the whole idea of it appears invented by Mark, who, far from being embarrassed by it, found it incredibly (indeed quite suspiciously) convenient: the famous Baptist, in the role of the scripturally required Elijah, openly endorsing Christ as his superior and successor! That’s the kind of story you make up. Not the kind you want to avoid. Only in later decades were theological problems with this story raised, evincing concerns explicitly rejected by Mark (Ibid.).

Stavrakopoulou at least pointed to a different detail as more telling for her than the baptism itself: the story (originating in Matthew, not Mark) that Disciples of John came questioning Jesus, suggesting some sort of historical tension between them. But when you read the whole story (Matthew 11:1-15) that isn’t what it indicates, but quite the contrary: it is a story attempting to claim endorsement by John’s men, by inventing them asking about it and being satisfied; Jesus is then given a speech praising John and establishing him as a prophet endorsing Jesus! Think about this. You know everyone loves the late Carl Sagan. So you tell a tale wherein Sagan sends his friends to ask you if you are the best caretaker of his legacy, and you say yes, and his friends don’t contest it, while you then boast how awesome Sagan is and therefore how authoritative it is that he endorsed you! This isn’t evincing tension. It sounds more like something you quite conveniently faked. The idea that it evinces “tension” is a hypothesis, not a fact; and it’s a hypothesis that actually strains against the evidence, rather than being established by it. But once a dubious hypothesis becomes “fact,” and gets repeated over and over, and no one checks, you end up with mythical reasons to believe in the historicity of Jesus—just like this.

Indeed, Matthew added a bunch of stuff about John to the material he inherited from Mark, but like this, all of it embellishes the same mission Mark began: to steal John’s glory for Jesus, by having him always as the prophet who announced Jesus and thus proved or endorsed him as his successor and superior. This is too motivated to be trusted. Just like Mark’s very different story, in which Jesus is asked why his people didn’t fast like John’s people did (Mark 2:18–19), which is a typical etiological myth, a pithy story explaining why Jesus’s sect behaves differently than John’s, a fact needing explanation regardless of whether Jesus was ever really asked this. We see similar mythical comparisons in Mark 6:12–29, Mark 8:27–29, and Mark 11:29-33, in every case depicting the Jesus sect as the equal or better to John’s, as Jesus is made to be the expected Messiah rather than John. These stories are far too motivated to be credited as historical. Maybe they were. But their being so convenient can only leave us unsure, not the other way around.

This is what happens when you pull at the threads. This is what happens when you check.

The Argument from Nazareth: A more esoteric yet popular example comes from Christopher Hitchens—though he did not originate it; it originated in Christian apologetics before him: that Nazareth was too obscure a town to invent for Jesus, and there is no explanation of the need to invent it at all, when they could have just stuck with Bethlehem, rather than being forced to contrive convoluted reasons to have him come from both places. Of course, only Matthew felt such need (Luke is just redacting Matthew). Matthew often does—that’s why he invents two donkeys for Jesus to ride simultaneously, because (Matthew erroneously thought) Scripture mentioned two (Proving History, p. 144). Mark has no knowledge of Bethlehem, and appears to have invented the connection to Nazareth (you won’t find that in any earlier Christian writings; not Paul, James, Jude, 1 Peter, 1 Clement, or Hebrews).

Matthew, meanwhile, tells us why he thought both towns had to be there, and it’s the same reason he thought two donkeys did: Scripture said so (Matthew 2:23 and 2:5–6). And lo, when you check, you discover a lot else besides: that Christians used scripture and variant readings of scripture we no longer have (OHJ, Chapter 4, Element 9); that even our versions state the messiah will arise not from Bethlehem (a town of Judea) but from Galilee (Isaiah 9:1-7); and that “Nazorian,” the actual title assigned to Jesus, does not in fact refer to a denizen of Nazareth but meant something else, and did so earlier than the assignment of the only-similar-sounding Galilean town to Jesus (Proving History, p. 142–45; OHJ, index, “Nazareth”). When you put this all together, it seems clearer that in fact Nazareth (then indeed a real town) was contrived to be the town of Jesus, simply to fit and explain these meanings and scriptures, and not because he actually came from there. At the very best, we no longer can be certain of the latter explanation. Once again, when you check, that argument collapses. We actually can’t be sure anymore. (And isn’t it weird this is what keeps happening?)

The Argument from Crucifixion: An even more typical example is one often voiced by Bart Ehrman, that Paul repeatedly refers to the “crucifixion” of Jesus, and “crucifixion” was an inherently Roman practice, and therefore could never have described any other killers of Jesus than the Romans, which entails Paul believed Jesus was recently an earthly, historical man, a victim of imperial politics. The reasoning is sound. The problem is that the premise isn’t. No word existed in ancient Greek that was distinctive of Roman execution; all the words Paul actually used were routinely used of Jewish executions and the executions of other national cultures and eras. There simply is no clear indication it was a Roman execution anywhere in Paul. To the contrary, Galatians 3 seems more plainly to say that Jesus was subject to a Deuteronomic, and thus Jewish, execution; and if you want to defend instead as authentic the interpolation in 1 Thessalonians 2, you are committed to accepting that Paul outright said so—he thus had never heard of any other executioners of Jesus but the Jews (so, lucky for the historicist, Paul never said that, because There Is No Logically Sound Case Against Interpolation in 1 Thessalonians 2).

Importantly, I did not make this up. I checked. And I found very thorough scholarship establishing the point in Gunnar Samuelsson’s Crucifixion in Antiquity: An Inquiry into the Background of the New Testament Terminology of Crucifixion (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011). And in my postdoc research phase I was inspired to check (and thus discovered Samuelsson’s study) by having previously discovered other scholars making the same point before I was asking the historicity question (but rather questioning resurrection apologetics) in my chapter on the burial legend in The Empty Tomb: D.J. Halperin, “Crucifixion, the Nahum Pesher and the Rabbinic Penalty of Crucifixion,” Journal of Jewish Studies 32 (1981), pp. 32-46; and J.A. Fitzmyer, “Crucifixion in Ancient Palestine, Qumran Literature, and the New Testament,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 40 (1978), pp. 493-513. In short, anyone hung on a pole dead or to die, by anyone, anywhere, could then be referred to as crucified, by any of the terms Paul used. These terms were in no way distinctively Roman. And all of this I discussed and summarized, with primary source examples (OHJ, pp. 61–62). Which makes this an excellent way to catch someone lying when they claim to have read my book but don’t know any of this. That’s how you tell the difference between someone who checked…and someone who didn’t.

And when we check a detail like this, everything falls apart. For example, Paula Fredriksen also said the one thing she was sure was historical about Jesus was that “he was crucified,” because Paul is a contemporary source repeatedly affirming it without argument or pushback (or so dogma presumes). But once you lose Ehrman’s premise, and discover the word “crucified” carries no specific historical or ethnic meaning, how can we be sure Paul was talking about a death on Earth at the hands of men? He seems sooner to imagine it was at the hands of celestial demonic beings (as Gaventa, Litwa, and others admit; cf. OHJ, p. 189 n. 86, and pp. 563–66). At best, that’s as likely as not. So even though we can establish Paul and his contemporaries believed Jesus was recently killed by or then hung on a pole by “rulers of this aeon,” we cannot establish that that really happened—any more than we could prove Satan’s war in heaven “really happened,” even though these same people firmly believed that, too. These are historical events from their point of view, but not from ours. So can we be so sure Jesus was “really” crucified? We would need something more than that they believed it. Particularly as they claim to have learned of it only mystically (1 Corinthians 15:3; Romans 16:25–26; Galatians 3:1; etc.). Just like Satan’s war. That sooner suggests it’s imaginary.

Of course, when we check, the Gospel tales of Jesus’s execution don’t hold up very plausibly, either. Neither the trial procedures nor the calendar date are historically credible, but seem literarily designed to make symbolical points rather than record anything actually having happened. As depicted, there is no intelligible reason why either the Jews or the Romans would have executed Jesus. Yes, we can contrive our own modern hypotheses, about some hidden underlying realpolitik or whitewashed insurrection, or some convoluted reason never explicitly articulated—but we are making those up. The stories themselves do not advocate them. And we should not confuse hypotheses with facts. There is no more history in the Gospels than there is an earthly Jesus in Paul. A great many scholars are coming to admit the first point. How long until they realize that walks us right up to the second?

Ironically, the Talmudic tale of the execution of Jesus—by stoning, for sorcery—is more historically plausible than the Gospels. But, a bit of a problem there: they consistently date this event a hundred years earlier, when Romans weren’t even there to look on, much less carry it out (OHJ, Ch. 8.1). Methodologically this puts the historicist in a pickle: what do you do when the only plausible story is clearly fiction? You are forced thereby to admit that plausibility does not prove historicity. Which means the Gospels can prove it even less—being all the less plausible. Which, by the by, gets us to another common argument produced by not checking things: the ubiquitous “but even the Jews in the Talmud attest the historicity of Jesus.” Oh, dear. Did you not check? Do you not know the Talmud dates this event to the 70s BC, and has Jesus executed by stoning, at the sole direction of a Jewish court, and in Lydda, not Jerusalem? How do you account for that? It’s a conundrum. Because you can’t use an obviously bogus account to attest the event as actual—and yet you must still explain how the century Jesus lived in was so conclusively altered. The Talmud has Jesus interact with famous personages of that century, and his fate reflects the actual political and legal realities distinctive of that century. If all that could be made up there, why are we to assume switching all these details to a different century was any less made up in the Gospels? Things fall apart when you check.

Sure, if the Gospels said Jesus was executed by being trampled under Emperor Tiberius’s personal war elephant, the credibility of the story would suffer in a way the actual story does not. But that is already expected. Mythographers, like any authors of fiction, will tend to choose storylines that culturally make sense, because that is where they are getting their communication framework from in the first place—when they aren’t forced to go off-book by other concerns, such as how the Gospels completely violate all historical reality when it comes to the legal and calendric details. As is proved by the Eastern chronology: whoever composed the Gospel known to the Babylonian authors of the Talmud (and we know it was Christians, the Torah-observant Nazorian sect in particular, as this fact is referenced by the heresiologist Epiphanius), they decided it was more culturally relevant to have Jesus stoned by the Sanhedrin under the Hasmonean regime rather than the Romans. But to make that make sense, they had to relocate it a hundred years earlier, thus preserving historical plausibility—or…perhaps it was the other way around? Whether that was the true story and the Western chronology the rewrite, or the canonical account the original and the Eastern chronology the rewrite, or both were equally contrived, once the “when” was chosen, the authors had to change the method and political context of the execution—either way, making the story fit their chosen context was clearly a motive shared by all. Otherwise we cannot explain why those Nazorian Christians would change the method, date, and context of Jesus’s execution. But once we accept this, we have to admit, the Western chronology becomes just as suspect, does it not? The only thing we can be sure of is that Christians, East and West, were far more fond of producing historical fiction than historical research.

There are many more examples I could give of this “making an argument without checking first” as the most common basis for maintaining trust in the historicity of Jesus, from the old canard that “Paul didn’t have to remind people of things he already told them” (while those who check discover the contrary: Paul does that all the time) to the even older canard “but Paul quotes Jesus” (while those who check discover: Paul only ever mentions getting such information from revelations), and beyond (look what happens, for example, when you try to argue from semen, women, or brethren: every single time, check, and the argument falls apart). But I will close with one of the most common, just to tie a bow on all this and drive the point to conclusion.

The Argument from Apostles Before Him: Probably every historicist has tried this in some form or other, but a recent example is when Robyn Faith Walsh gives her reason to think Jesus existed:

…Because what Paul provides is a story of Christ, because he never knew Jesus. He rarely tells us anything about the historical Jesus. He doesn’t really care. He gets no authority from that. [But] you know, he tells us that Peter and James are still around. Those guys get authority from having known the historical Jesus, but they didn’t write anything down. Paul did. And you know he’s authorized because he has the most recent intel, he’s talked to the risen Christ and so that’s what he emphasizes.

She also argues that Paul mentions a “Last Supper,” which isn’t true. He only appears to reference a vision (he says “the Lord” told him about it directly, the word “last” is never there, and only Jesus is present in the scene he relates), similar to the vision of a meal Acts reports for Peter. That’s another example of something that, when you check, it falls apart (see my discussion in Mark’s Use of Paul’s Epistles and What’s Up with 1 Corinthians 11:23?, and the corroboration of my conclusion in the findings of Beverly Roberts Gaventa and Francis Watson).

But let’s focus on this common fallacy of assuming prior Apostles means Disciples. Is there any evidence in Paul that “those guys get authority from having known the historical Jesus”? No. To the contrary, that conundrum is conspicuously absent from the letters of Paul: that they knew Jesus and he didn’t is never an argument he ever has to face or rebut. As far as Paul appears to know, the first time Peter and gang ever saw Jesus was after Jesus died, and they only knew he died from scripture (this is, after all, literally what 1 Corinthians 15:3-5 says; but see my survey of all the evidence in OHJ, Chapter 11.2, 11.4, and 11.8). There is a reason Paul has never heard of anyone being a “disciple” of Jesus, and why he keeps assuming “apostle” simply meant someone receiving a vision of Jesus (1 Corinthians 9, where there is no notion of any other way to see Jesus; Romans 10:12-16, where the Greek makes clear he is talking about apostles; and so on). Paul also never argues that he has any greater authority because he spoke to Jesus “most recently.” That’s a hypothesis, not a fact. And it’s not a good hypothesis, either. When you check, that notion simply doesn’t hold up; rather, quite the opposite: in Galatians 1 Paul makes clear the only respectable way to have really seen Jesus was by vision (OHJ, pp. 524–27, 536, 553–54). Yes, the idea that Paul was in some sort of contest with the Disciples over their having been hand-picked before Jesus died is a notion repeated over and over again in the field. But when you check, it falls apart. It’s not in Paul. So, this is a common reason given to believe in historicity. But it’s a really bad reason.

Walsh also says she finds it hard to believe that they all (Peter and Paul and the lot) made up a historical Jesus. Which is another argument I have heard before; and it reflects, point blank, the phenomenon of not checking. If she would check, she would find out that I and Lataster—the authors of the only legitimate studies finding historicity doubtful—agree with her on this. I even included it as a theory I ruled out as having too small a probability to credit (OHJ, pp. 53–55). The only alternative to historicity that I found has any chance of being more likely is that Mark (or someone of his generation) “made up” what we mean by a historical Jesus, not Paul or any of the first Apostles. In their generation, no one had come up with any such idea yet; that’s why it is so bizarrely absent from all pre-War Christian literature (all of Paul; 1 Clement; Hebrews; even James, Jude, and 1 Peter if you categorize them that early). In their day, they were talking about a celestial event (an incarnation, death, and resurrection) that they only knew happened by revelation (and “secret messages” in scripture). Yes, they thought that was a historical event, just as they thought Satan’s war in heaven was a historical event. But we know better.

And they might not have been making any of that up. They might have sincerely believed it all (the anthropology of religion affords countless parallels: OHJ, Ch. 4, Element 15). They might also have made it up (that’s a lot easier to do; it also has countless precedents in the anthropology of religion, as I survey in Ch. 10 of Not the Impossible Faith, though Mormonism and Islam come to mind as oft-cited examples). It might also have been a little of both. But the bottom line is, going around claiming a celestial being visited them in a dream or waking vision, conveying secret information, is something we know to be quite plausible, because it happened a lot back then, and since. And in respect to the resurrection of Jesus, Walsh would concede that is what did happen. All we are saying is that this same circumstance just as easily accounts for both Jesuses: pre-mortem and post-mortem (see my Analogy in Resurrection Apologetics). Walsh is evidently unaware of this, our actual theory. And consequently, because she remains stuck on an implausible theory, she remains convinced of historicity. Imagine what will happen when she discovers this assumption of hers is false? When she finds out peer-reviewed mythicism argues something other than what she has been assuming? Will she update her conclusion, now that its premise is eliminated, or will she try to come up with something else to defend the dogma by?

Conclusion

This is the most common reason the consensus on Jesus is useless: it is based on false assumptions about what the alternative even is, much less the evidence for it; and, as we’ve seen, it is based on a series of ancillary dogmas that turn out to be false when checked. It is thus based entirely on not checking (or not admitting to the results once checked). Which is all indicative of a malformed consensus, which cannot be used as an argument—it is, rather, its own refutation (see, again, On Evaluating Arguments from Consensus). Only scholars who have checked all these things have relevant opinions. Everyone else literally does not know what they are talking about. Sometimes intentionally. Sometimes owing to bad practices inculcated in their training. Sometimes due to laziness or disinterest. But regardless of the why, the what remains: the ignorant are not relevant authorities.

Citing such scholars on this matter is therefore a textbook example of the fallacy of Argument from Authority. If they haven’t checked, they can’t know. And if they can’t know, their being mere “experts” in the field is of no relevance. Appealing to them would be like appealing to a forensics expert who hasn’t reviewed the evidence specific to the case you are seeking their opinion on. Yeah, they are an expert. But even experts are not psychics. If they didn’t even look at the arguments and evidence in that specific matter, if they don’t even know what they are, they can’t honestly know their merits, can they? Their opinion on it is therefore worthless. Only after they inform themselves will their opinion matter—and that means only when they check, and that means check it all: what the only credible alternative to historicity actually is, what evidence it actually appeals to, and the merits of every knee-jerk ancillary dogma resorted to in any effort to deny it. Because I can tell you, every “But surely x” argument for historicity falls apart when checked. And that should tell us something.

And that’s the bottom line. Notice just from this article alone how many bad arguments for historicity occupy the field. This is why the field remains stuck on the dogma of historicity: they don’t even know these are bad arguments. Because they aren’t checking.

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