How Jesus Christ outclassed Julius Caesar

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by Neil Godfrey

One of Jesus’ more impressive tricks was to command a raging storm at sea to be quiet and go away so his disciples could continue their sea crossing without fear. Many readers of this tale are reminded of another about Jonah who, like Jesus, was caught sleeping in the boat while the crew were desperately bailing out water. The captain wakes Jonah up, words are exchanged, and the storm immediately ceases — the moment Jonah was tossed overboard.

But there was another very popular story about Julius Caesar attempting something similar, but not quite succeeding.

It was long the literary fashion for authors to show the superiority of their particular hero to other well-known heroes from older stories. The Roman poet Virgil composed an epic about Aeneas, father of the Roman race, basing many of  his adventures on those of the earlier Greek hero Odysseus in Homer’s Odyssey. Where Odysseus fell foul of monsters and lost his crew, Aeneas more prudently (or with more favourable divine blessings) avoided such dangers and brought his crew to their destination, thus demonstrating his more masterful leadership qualities to those of the well known Odysseus.

But while the Jesus story of stilling the storm borrows a few details from Jonah’s adventure, it is nonetheless a wild leap from one hero commanding the storm to cease and another begging to be sacrificed.

But then I read Wendy Cotter’s citation (Miracles in the Greco-Roman World) setting the Jesus story alongside another that was evidently very popular throughout the Roman world around the era the Gospels were composed. Julius Caesar was famously reported to have disguised his identity, clambered into a boat and demanded its pilot to take him to the opposite shore. When storm and winds threatened their safety, Caesar declared his real identity and commanded the crew to have no fear, but to know that with Caesar on board the storm could do them no harm and that they would make it safely to their destination. Unfortunately for Caesar’s ego, the storm refused to cooperate and the boat was forced to return to safety.

Now if this story of Julius Caesar’s attempts to defy the storm while in a small boat was as well-known as the numbers of surviving accounts of it would suggest, we might reasonably expect the earliest Gospel audiences to have compared the actions, attitudes and powers of the Son of God JC with the imperial JC.

This is the point made by Wendy Cotter:

The entry [of Julius Caesar expecting the storm to submit to his will] is important because it illustrates how very much a hero wanted to claim that Nature recognized his destiny and had to bow to his empowerment from heaven. . . . The political propaganda to be spread with this tale sheds light on its importance for any hero, and shows the deliberation with which Caesar’s followers would have promulgated the event. Stefan Weinstock observes that it was crucial for Caesar to outdo Pompey’s reputation as a man of extraordinary good fortune. (p. 147)

Firstly, here is the first Gospel’s account of Jesus stilling the storm from Mark 4:

35That day when evening came, he said to his disciples, “Let us go over to the other side.

36Leaving the crowd behind, they took him along, just as he was, in the boat. There were also other boats with him.

37A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped.

38Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?”

39He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm.

40He said to his disciples, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”

41They were terrified and asked each other, “Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!”

No doubt some of the details are borrowed from the story of Jonah, and some scholars see even richer imitation of an account by Homer of Odysseus suffering an unexpected gale at sea. But we may also ask of the likelihood that the original idea for the story itself came from contemporary knowledge of what was said of Roman rulers themselves. Here are the various accounts of Julius Caesar’s adventure.

Other points of comparison

One particular point of comparison that strikes me, rationally or fancifully, is the sailors’ ignorance of who Caesar was, just as the apostles had to ask who Jesus was. Caesar’s audience are allowed to identify him at the critical moment, however. Jesus’ disciples are compelled to merely wonder who their leader is.

Another is that the two voyages were made at night. And yet another is that the two voyages were intended as crossings of a short expanse of water, “to the other side”.

Dio Cassius, (from para 46 at LacusCurtius)

Wishing, therefore, to sail to Italy in person and unattended, he embarked on a small boat in disguise, saying that he had been sent by Caesar; and forced the captain to set sail, although there was a wind.

When, however, they had got away from land, and the gale swept violently down upon them and the waves buffeted them terribly, so that the captain did not longer dare even under compulsion to sail farther, but undertook to return even without his passenger’s consent, than Caesar revealed himself, as if by this act he could stop the storm, and said, “Be of good cheer: you carry Caesar.”

Such spirit and such hope had he, either naturally or as the result of some oracle, that he felt firm confidence in his safety even contrary to the appearance of things. Nevertheless, he did not get across, but after struggling for a long time in vain sailed back.

Cotter only cites the one passage, but I will cite the others here to emphasize the evident popularity of the anecdote. The author links are to their Wikipedia entries where one can compare their dates and other details.

Plutarch, Life of Caesar on LacusCurtius, #38:

At Apollonia, since the force which he had with him was not a match for the enemy and the delay of his troops on the other side caused him perplexity and distress, Caesar conceived the dangerous plan of embarking in a twelve-oared boat, without any one’s knowledge, and going over to Brundisium, though the sea was encompassed by such large armaments of the enemy.

At night, accordingly, after disguising himself in the dress of a slave, he went on board, threw himself down as one of no account, and kept quiet.

While the river Aoüs was carrying the boat down towards the sea, the early morning breeze, which at that time usually made the mouth of the river calm by driving back the waves, was quelled by a strong wind which blew from the sea during the night;

the river therefore chafed against the inflow of the sea and the opposition of its billows, and was rough, being beaten back with a great din and violent eddies, so that it was impossible for the master of the boat to force his way along. He therefore ordered the sailors to come about in order to retrace his course.

But Caesar, perceiving this, disclosed himself, took the master of the boat by the hand, who was terrified at sight of him, and said: “Come, good man, be bold and fear naught; thou carryest Caesar and Caesar’s fortune in thy boat.”

The sailors forgot the storm, and laying to their oars, tried with all alacrity to force their way down the river. But since it was impossible, after taking much water and running great hazard at the mouth of the river, Caesar very reluctantly suffered the captain to put about.

When he came back, his soldiers met him in throngs, finding much fault and sore displeased with him because he did not believe that even with them alone he was able to conquer, but was troubled, and risked his life for the sake of the absent as though distrusting those who were present.

There is an ironical twist if one chooses to compare Plutarch’s account with that in the Gospel of Mark. Plutarch concludes with Caesar’s followers chiding their master for his lack of faith!

Plutarch recalls Caesar’s saying again in Moralia, The Sayings of the Romans:

9 As the transportation of his soldiers from Brundusium to Dyrrachium proceeded slowly, he, without being seen by anybody, embarked in a small boat, and attempted the passage through the open sea. But as the boat was being swamped by the waves, he disclosed his identity to the pilot, crying out, “Trust to Fortune, knowing it is Caesar you carry.”

Appian, in Civil Wars, Book 2:

Rising from supper he pretended to be fatigued and told his friends to remain at the table. He put on the clothing of a private person, stepped into a carriage, and drove away to the ship, pretending to be the messenger sent by Caesar. He gave the rest of his orders through his servants and remained concealed by the darkness of the night and unrecognized. As there was a severe wind blowing the servants told the pilot to be of good courage and seize this opportunity to avoid the enemy who were in the neighbourhood. The pilot made his way down the river by rowing, but when they came toward the mouth they found it broken into surf by the wind and the sea. The pilot, urged by the servants, put forth all his efforts, but as he could make no progress fatigue and despair came upon him. Then Caesar threw off his disguise and called out to him, “Brave the tempest with a stout heart, you carry Caesar and Caesar’s fortunes.” Both the rowers and pilot were astounded and all took fresh courage and gained the mouth of the river, but the wind and waves violently tossed the ship high on towards the bank. As the dawn was near and they feared lest the enemy should discover them in the daylight, Caesar, blaming the ill-will of his evil genius, allowed the ship to return. So the ship sailed up the river with a strong wind.

Some of Caesar’s friends were astonished at this act of bravery; while others blamed him . . .

Suetonius, Life of Caesar, #58

But on the other hand, when news came that his camp in Germany was beleaguered, he made his way to his men through the enemies’ pickets, disguised as a Gaul.

He crossed from Brundisium to Dyrrachium in winter time, running the blockade of the enemy’s fleets; and when the troops which he had ordered to follow him delayed to do so, and he had sent to fetch them many times in vain, at last in secret and alone he boarded a small boat at night with his head muffled up; and he did not reveal who he was, or suffer the helmsman to give way to the gale blowing in their teeth, until he was all but overwhelmed by the waves.

Florus, Roman History, Book 2

Having set all things in order in his rear, although mid-winter impeded his passage with a storm, he sailed to war, and having pitched his camp at Oricum and finding that the absence of part of his army, which had been left behind at Brundisium with Antonius owing to lack of ships, was delaying operations, he was so impatient that, though a gale was raging at sea, he attempted to cross in the depth of the night alone in a light reconnoitring boat to keep them off. His remark to the master of the vessel, who was alarmed at the greatness of the risk, has come down to us: “Why are you afraid? You have Caesar on board.”

I save the most poetic touch to last.

Lucan, poet who composed Pharsalia, the Civil War

But Caesar’s soul burned at the moments lost
For speedy battle, nor could brook delay
Within the port, indignant that the sea
Should give safe passage to his routed foe:
And thus he stirred his troops
, in seas unskilled,

480  With words of courage: “When the winter wind
Has seized on sky and ocean, firm its hold;
But the inconstancy of cloudy spring
Permits no certain breezes to prevail
Upon the billows.  Straight shall be our course.
No winding nooks of coast, but open seas

Struck by the northern wind alone we plough,
And may he bend the spars, and bear us swift
To Grecian cities; else Pompeius’ oars,
Smiting the billows from Phaeacian coasts,
May catch our flagging sails.  Cast loose the ropes
From our victorious prows.  Too long we waste
Tempests that blow to bear us to our goal.”

. . . . . . . .

But Caesar’s mind though frenzied for the fight
Was forced to pause until Antonius brought
The rearward troops; Antonius even now
Rehearsing Leucas’ fight.  With prayers and threats
Caesar exhorts him.  “Why delay the fates,
Thou cause of evil to the suffering world?
My speed hath won the major part: from thee
Fortune demands the final stroke alone.
Do Libyan whirlpools with deceitful tides
Uncertain separate us?  Is the deep
Untried to which I call?  To unknown risks
Art thou commanded?  Caesar bids thee come,
Thou sluggard, not to leave him.  Long ago
I ran my ships midway through sands and shoals
To harbours held by foes; and dost thou fear
My friendly camp?  I mourn the waste of days
Which fate allotted us.  Upon the waves
And winds I call unceasing: hold not back
Thy willing troops, but let them dare the sea;
Here gladly shall they come to join my camp,
Though risking shipwreck.  Not in equal shares
The world has fallen between us: thou alone
Dost hold Italia, but Epirus I
And all the lords of Rome.”  Twice called and thrice
Antonius lingered still: but Caesar thought
To reap in full the favour of the gods,
Not sit supine; and knowing danger yields
To whom heaven favours, he upon the waves
Feared by Antonius’ fleets, in shallow boat
Embarked, and daring sought the further shore.

Now gentle night had brought repose from arms;
And sleep, blest guardian of the poor man’s couch,
Restored the weary; and the camp was still.
The hour was come that called the second watch
When mighty Caesar, in the silence vast
With cautious tread advanced to such a deed
As slaves should dare not.
Fortune for his guide,
Alone he passes on, and o’er the guard
Stretched in repose he leaps, in secret wrath
At such a sleep.  Pacing the winding beach,
Fast to a sea-worn rock he finds a boat
On ocean’s marge afloat.  Hard by on shore
Its master dwelt within his humble home.
No solid front it reared, for sterile rush
And marshy reed enwoven formed the walls,
Propped by a shallop with its bending sides
Turned upwards.  Caesar’s hand upon the door
Knocks twice and thrice until the fabric shook.
Amyclas from his couch of soft seaweed
Arising, calls: “What shipwrecked sailor seeks
My humble home?  Who hopes for aid from me,
By fates adverse compelled?”  He stirs the heap
Upon the hearth, until a tiny spark
Glows in the darkness, and throws wide the door.
Careless of war, he knew that civil strife
Stoops not to cottages.  Oh!  happy life
That poverty affords!  great gift of heaven
Too little understood!  what mansion wall,
What temple of the gods, would feel no fear
When Caesar called for entrance?  Then the chief:
“Enlarge thine hopes and look for better things.
Do but my bidding, and on yonder shore
Place me, and thou shalt cease from one poor boat
To earn thy living; and in years to come
Look for a rich old age: and trust thy fates
To those high gods whose wont it is to bless
The poor with sudden plenty.”  So he spake
E’en at such time in accents of command,
For how could Caesar else?  Amyclas said,
“‘Twere dangerous to brave the deep to-night.
The sun descended not in ruddy clouds
Or peaceful rays to rest; part of his beams
Presaged a southern gale, the rest proclaimed
A northern tempest; and his middle orb,
Shorn of its strength, permitted human eyes
To gaze upon his grandeur; and the moon
Rose not with silver horns upon the night
Nor pure in middle space; her slender points
Not drawn aright, but blushing with the track
Of raging tempests, till her lurid light
Was sadly veiled within the clouds.  Again
The forest sounds; the surf upon the shore;
The dolphin’s mood, uncertain where to play;
The sea-mew on the land; the heron used
To wade among the shallows, borne aloft
And soaring on his wings — all these alarm;
The raven, too, who plunged his head in spray,
As if to anticipate the coming rain,
And trod the margin with unsteady gait.
But if the cause demands, behold me thine.
Either we reach the bidden shore, or else
Storm and the deep forbid — we can no more.”

Thus said he loosed the boat and raised the sail.
No sooner done than stars were seen to fall
In flaming furrows from the sky: nay, more;
The pole star trembled in its place on high:
Black horror marked the surging of the sea;
The main was boiling in long tracts of foam,
Uncertain of the wind, yet seized with storm.

Then spake the captain of the trembling bark:
“See what remorseless ocean has in store!
Whether from east or west the storm may come
Is still uncertain, for as yet confused
The billows tumble.  Judged by clouds and sky
A western tempest: by the murmuring deep
A wild south-eastern gale shall sweep the sea.
Nor bark nor man shall reach Hesperia’s shore
In this wild rage of waters.  To return
Back on our course forbidden by the gods,
Is our one refuge, and with labouring boat
To reach the shore ere yet the nearest land
Way be too distant.”
But great Caesar’s trust
Was in himself, to make all dangers yield.
And thus he answered: “Scorn the threatening sea,
Spread out thy canvas to the raging wind;
If for thy pilot thou refusest heaven,
Me in its stead receive.  Alone in thee
One cause of terror just — thou dost not know
Thy comrade, ne’er deserted by the gods,
Whom fortune blesses e’en without a prayer.

Break through the middle storm and trust in me.
The burden of this fight fails not on us
But on the sky and ocean; and our bark
Shall swim the billows safe in him it bears.
Nor shall the wind rage long: the boat itself
Shall calm the waters.
Flee the nearest shore,
Steer for the ocean with unswerving hand:
Then in the deep, when to our ship and us
No other port is given, believe thou hast
Calabria’s harbours.  And dost thou not know
The purpose of such havoc?  Fortune seeks
In all this tumult of the sea and sky
A boon for Caesar.”  Then a hurricane
Swooped on the boat and tore away the sheet:
The fluttering sail fell on the fragile mast:
And groaned the joints.  From all the universe
Commingled perils rush.  In Atlas’ seas
First Corus lifts his head, and stirs the depths
To fury, and had forced upon the rocks
Whole seas and oceans; but the chilly north
Drove back the deep that doubted which was lord.
But Scythian Aquilo prevailed, whose blast
Tossed up the main and showed as shallow pools
Each deep abyss; and yet was not the sea
Heaped on the crags, for Corus’ billows met
The waves of Boreas: such seas had clashed
Even were the winds withdrawn; Eurus enraged
Burst from the cave, and Notus black with rain,
And all the winds from every part of heaven
Strove for their own; and thus the ocean stayed
Within his boundaries.

One must wonder if such a popular tale prompted the one of Jesus taking on the storm at night with fearful disciples. Then add a few details from Jonah, maybe even from the Odyssey, and we have a nice fresh story that has comforted millions of faithful ever since.

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  • 2010-08-22 03:27:10 UTC - 03:27 | Permalink

    I’m impressed by the better NT scholars who have mastered all the facets of their disciplines — Greek, Aramaic, Ancient Near East history, religious history, etc. That said, I sometimes doubt if they know very much outside their world to recognize parallels. When a seminary graduate who’s an expert in Koine Greek says that a given phrase is “unusual,” I can’t help but think, “I wonder if this guy ever read the Iliad in Greek, or anything besides the New Testament and Patristic works.” When a doctor of divinity asserts that some saying of Jesus is unique in the ancient world, I wonder if he ever read anything by Pythagoras, Plato, etc. When an associate professor says that Jesus is historically just as well attested as Julius Caesar, I wonder if he’s ever read anything at all outside NT studies.

  • 2010-08-22 12:59:08 UTC - 12:59 | Permalink

    Those who do ply their wider learning to NT studies are the most interesting — and seemingly the most controversial. One even finds a scholar like Jeffrey Gibson or James McGrath attempting to pour scorn on insights from others outside their guild by merely pointing to some very elementary summary of a topic as if that is all there is of relevance to know about it. One scholar (Hock?) who studies the NT within the context of the wider literary culture of the times rightly said that a study of the literature — all literature, not just the Jewish religious texts — of the era changes ones perspective on the NT and is indispensible for a thorough grasp of it. Popular novels and epics are only a small part of this wider curriculum, but even those were enough to alert me to narrow vision of much that is written about the Gospels and Acts. Think of all the ink spilt over the 16:8 ending of Mark, for example, that could have been more profitably applied to studying implications of its similarity to the sudden departures that often conclude classical plays.

  • John
    2010-12-12 05:37:15 UTC - 05:37 | Permalink

    Neil, thanks for pointing out the similarities between the Jesus and the Caesar boating incidents. Here is another example of a parallel between a classical historian and a passage in the canonical gospels. I hope the long post is OK.

    The essay below was extracted from the footnotes of “The Traditional Translation and Interpretation of the Last Supper:Betrayal of the Original Text “, published in Journal of Higher Criticism, Spring 2005. and posted on Internet (Yahoo Geocities) from 2/28/06 to 9/2009.

    The Humiliation of Vitellius and the Agony of Jesus, A Literary Parallels previously un-noticed by formally trained scholars.

    Luke presents the most elaborate dramatic account of the “Agony in the Garden” (Mark 14:35-36, Luke 22:44, Matthew 26:37-39.). Most early manuscripts do not contain Luke 22:43-44 (*) suggesting it is a late interpolation into the canonical texts. ( (*) From footnote F483, NEW AMERICAN STANDARD BIBLE®, The Lockman Foundation, PO Box 2279, La Habra, CA 90631, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995.).

    There is a remarkable literary resemblance between the Agony in the Garden (Luke 22:44) and the arrest of Jesus, the failed Messiah (Luke 22:50), and the Agony in the Palace and the arrest of Vitellius the failed Emperor (see below, Tacitus, Histories, 3. 84. See also Suetonius, The Twelve Ceasars, Vitellius 16-17).

    (reformatted by ‘vridar’)

    • Both suffered misgivings and fear after their enterprises fail,
    • both are eventually deserted by their followers,
    • both are captured by a tribune leading a cohort.
    • One of their captor’s has his ear cut off. Jesus one-ups the Roman emperor by rebuking the assailant and healing the ear.
    • Both Jesus and Vitellius were stripped of their clothing
    • and then lead away to be mocked and killed.
    • Jesus was crucified between two “thieves”. Vitellius sees where two prior claimants to the Imperial throne died.
    • Both Vitelllius and Jesus summon up a final dignity and die with a memorable quotation on their lips.

    This suggests the Lukan author or redactor was trying to address two audiences. An unsophisticated audience would hear only of Jesus’ noble suffering, while the sophisticated Roman reader would see the deliberate parallel drawn with the ignominious capture of Vitellius. Would it be going too far to say that this was a subtle warning to well informed members of the upper levels of Roman society not to take Christian anecdotes too seriously?

    From: Tacitus’ Histories:

    [3. 84] When the city had been taken, Vitellius caused himself to be carried in a litter through the back of the palace to the Aventine, to his wife’s dwelling, intending, if by any concealment he could escape for that day, to make his way to his brother’s cohorts at Tarracina. Then, with characteristic weakness, and following the instincts of fear, which, dreading everything, shrinks most from what is immediately before it, he retraced his steps to the desolate and forsaken palace, whence even the meanest slaves had fled, or where they avoided his presence. The solitude and silence of the place scared him; he tried the closed doors, he shuddered in the empty chambers, till, wearied out with his miserable wanderings, he concealed himself in an unseemly hiding-place, from which he was dragged out by the tribune Julius Placidus. His hands were bound behind his back, and he was led along with tattered robes, a revolting spectacle, amidst the invectives of many, the tears of none. The degradation of his end had extinguished all pity. One of the German soldiers met the party, and aimed a deadly blow at Vitellius, perhaps in anger, perhaps wishing to release him the sooner from insult. Possibly the blow was meant for the tribune. He struck off that officer’s ear, and was immediately dispatched.

    [3.85] Vitellius, compelled by threatening swords, first to raise his face and offer it to insulting blows, then to behold his own statues falling round him, and more than once to look at the Rostra and the spot where Galba was slain, was then driven along till they reached the Gemoniae, the place where the corpse of Flavius Sabinus had lain. One speech was heard from him showing a spirit not utterly degraded, when to the insults of a tribune he answered, “Yet, I was your Emperor.” Then he fell under a shower of blows, and the mob reviled the dead man with the same heartlessness with which they had flattered him when he was alive.

    Note that “to defend the law with their own blood and with their noble sweat in the face of sufferings unto death” (4 Macc 7.8) might be the literary inspiration for Luke 22:43-44.

  • Thorleif Ragnarsson
    2013-02-10 00:21:08 UTC - 00:21 | Permalink

    Also Tacitus and Suetonius refer to Jesus Christ in their writings of history. You people have no wisdom. You are totally blind to the historical references to Jesus Christ by roman historians and Josephus Flavious confirming his ministry and miracles, arrest and trial and Crucifixion by Pontius Pilate. Also remember John the Apostle was an eye witness to all these things the author of the Gospel of John. All these ordinary fishermen traveled through out the known world from England to Ethiopia to southern Russia to India and all were tortured frequently and jailed and flogged and beaten everywhere they went and all but John were martyred for witnessing, touching, seeing, hearing, eating with the Risen Christ and watching Him Accend into Heaven. Not one recanted and they knew the Truth. Would you do that for a lie you knew the truth about? No. John was beaten and flogged all the rest of his life and put in a vat of hot boiling oil and when that didn`t kill the old man the emperor banished him to Patmos. Luke was one of the greatest historians and even Sir William Ramsey went out to prove Luke was wrong in his archaeology and ended up becoming a Christian by what he found and realizing Luke was absolutely correct in every detail and considered Luke one of the greatest historians of all times.

  • Thorleif Ragnarsson
    2013-02-10 00:39:10 UTC - 00:39 | Permalink

    “Consequently, to get rid of the report, Nero fastened the guilt and inflicted the most exquisite tortures on a class hated for their abominations, called Christians by the populace. Christus, from whom the name had its origin, suffered the extreme penalty during the reign of Tiberius at the hands of one of our procurators, Pontius Pilatus, and a most mischievous superstition, thus checked for the moment, again broke out not only in Judæa, the first source of the evil, but even in Rome, where all things hideous and shameful from every part of the world find their centre and become popular. Accordingly,
    an arrest was first made of all who pleaded guilty; then, upon their information, an immense multitude was convicted, not so much of the crime of firing the city, as of hatred against mankind”. The Annals 15.44. Here we see the affirmation of Jesus Christ living during the time of Tiberius Caesar, Christians in Rome 30 years after Jesus Christ Ressurected, suffered the most extreme penalty ( Crucifixion ) at the hands of one procurators Pontius Pilate during the reign of Tiberius Caesar, and a most mischievous superstition, thus checked for the moment, again broke out not only in Judæa but in Rome ( the Resurrection and Assention of Jesus Christ the Son of God ).

  • 2018-02-19 21:38:11 UTC - 21:38 | Permalink

    I just wanted to share a comment I posted in the reader comment section of one of my blog posts on my blog (see http://palpatinesway.blogspot.com/2017/10/ ) regarding Jesus and the Caesars:

    I’ve been thinking a lot about the resurrection appearances referred to in the pre-Pauline Corinthian creed, and how they might be thought of in the context of Dr. Dennis R MacDonald’s mimesis work on the New Testament. Perhaps the resurrection appearance claims were Noble Lies (a la Plato, Euripides, etc.) meant to lend divine clout to (and help the disciples carry on) Jesus’ message of love of God, neighbor, and enemy after Jesus died (a cause the disciples may have been willing to die for)?

    In “Mythologizing Jesus (2015, pg. 3),” Dr. Dennis MacDonald writes:

    “The importance of the Homeric epics in antiquity is undisputed. A contemporary of Mark and Luke praised them as follows: ‘From the earliest age, children beginning their studies are nursed on Homer’s teaching. One might say that while we were still in swathing bands we sucked from his epics as from fresh milk. He assists the beginner and later the adult in his prime. In no stage of life, from boyhood to old age, do we ever cease to drink from him’ (Ps.~Heraclitus, Homeric Questions 1.5-6, cited in MacDonald, Mythologizing Jesus, pg. 3).”

    Since the Gospel writers and Paul wrote in Greek, one would assume they would be they would be familiar with this.

    Continuing on, Dr Dennis R MacDonald argues:

    “Greek education largely involved imitation of the epics, what Greeks called mimesis; Romans called it imitatio. Homeric influence thus appears in many genres of ancient composition: poetry, of course, but also histories, biographies and novels. One must not confuse such imitations with plagiarism, willful misrepresentation, or pitiful gullibility. Rather, by evoking literary antecedents, authors sought to impress the reader with the superiority of the imitation in literary style, philosophical insights, or ethical values. Literary mimesis often promoted a sophisticated rivalry between the esteemed models and their innovating successors (MacDonald, Mythologizing Jesus, pg. 3).”

    Maybe, in the resurrection appearance claims present in the pre-Pauline Corinthian Creed, the first Christians were inventing these appearance accounts to present Jesus as greater than the Roman emperors. In this regard, Justin Martyr writes:

    “What about your dead emperors, whom you always esteem as being rescued from death and set forth someone who swears to have seen the cremated Caesar [Augustus] ascending from the pyre into the sky?” (Justin Martyr, First Apology, 21.3).”

    It seems impossible to pull back the veil in front of the pre-Pauline Corinthian Creed to discover whether the resurrection appearance claims therein were Lies, Legendary Accumulation (although they may be too early to be Legendary), Hallucinations, or whether the apostles actually did encounter the risen Jesus?

    And there may be good reason to suppose the early Christians were directly concerned with establishing that Jesus was greater than Caesar. Price comments regarding Randel Helms analysis that:

    The syncretic flavor of Mark is at once evident from his reproduction of a piece of Augustan imperial propaganda and his setting it beside a tailored scripture quote. “The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ the Son of God” closely matches the formula found on a monument erected by the Provincial Assembly in Asia Minor (1st century BCE): “Whereas… Providence… has… brought our life to the peak of perfection in giving us Augustus Caesar… who, being sent to us and to our descendants as a savior…, and whereas… the birthday of the god has been for the whole world the beginning of the gospel (euaggelion) concerning him, let all reckon a new era beginning from the date of his birth.” Mark 12:17 also seems to establish that only trivial things are to be rendered unto Caesar, whereas the true esteem is to be given to God.

    And we know the Jews of that time engaged in mimesis, just as the Greeks and Romans did, such as the material Matthew invented to portray Jesus as the new and greater Moses.

    One last thought on the possible portrayal of Jesus as greater than the Caesars:

    Craig Koester’s Revelation commentary says:

    “The section climaxes by noting that [Jesus] holds seven stars in his right hand (Rev 1:16). This cosmic imagery conveys sovereignty. An analogy appears on a coin from Domitian’s reign that depicts the emperor’s deceased son as young Jupiter, sitting on the globe in a posture of world dominion. The coin’s inscription calls him “divine Caesar, son of the emperor Domitian,” and the imagery shows him extending his hands to seven stars in a display of divinity and power. John has already identified Jesus as the ruler of kings on earth (1:5), and the imagery of the seven stars fits the book’s larger context, which contrasts the reign of Christ with that of imperial Rome. (p. 253).”

    Brandon D. Smith comments on Koester’s Revelation commentary here that:

    Koester is referring to the coin in the image used in Rome around AD 88-96 during the reign of the brutal Caesar Domitian. Koester’s insights here give us an interesting look at the background of John’s writing during hostile Roman persecution. It also helps us think about the later date of Revelation’s writing (the end of the first century) versus a potential earlier dating (some say it might’ve been written closer to AD 65). This is enough to chew on a little bit.

    But it offers us more than that. This information helps shed light on the theology of Revelation. First, it shows us that much of Revelation’s imagery (beasts, numbers, etc.) are direct shots at the Roman empire. Many believe (and I could be convinced) that Revelation is written during intense Roman persecution and this letter was first written to encourage the Church during that time. However, as a non-preterist, I believe portions of the letter are speaking of future events—i,e., Jesus hasn’t come back yet; the New Jerusalem isn’t here yet; etc. In any event, this note might help us better understand the anti-imperial leanings of John.

    Second, it shows us how high John’s Christology was. He’s not merely putting Jesus on par with some exalted or glorified person. Rather, he’s portraying Jesus as divine—specifically pitting Jesus’s true divine sovereignty against the supposed divine sovereignty of the Roman emperorship. Roman caesars liked to pretend to be gods, but John is reminding them and us that there’s only one true God. Jupiter is seated on the world with stars hovering around him? Ha—Jesus created the world and clutches the stars in his hand. As I argue in my thesis, John explicitly and purposely ties Jesus into the divine identity of YHWH, and this little note only adds to the case.

    Perhaps Jesus as surpassing Caesar is more pervasive in the NT than originally thought.

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